The southern plains narrowed until the dust gave way to stone. For half a day Elena and Adrian walked through a valley carved as if by fire rather than water. The air shimmered with heat; every breath tasted of metal. When at last the ground fell away, they saw it – the river the maps called the Glaessan, now a black scar through the earth.
It was not water anymore. From bank to bank stretched a field of fused crystal, smooth in places, jagged in others, rippling like frozen waves. Sunlight scattered in a thousand shards, painting the cliffs with fractured color. Adrian stood at the edge, eyes narrowed.
"The Order claimed this was divine punishment," he said quietly. "A city once stood here. When its people defied the Flame, the river turned to glass."
Elena crouched and brushed the surface. It was cold. Beneath her fingers faint lines ran like veins, and deep within, light moved – slow pulses, red as embers beneath ice. "It's still alive," she whispered.
Adrian's reflection glimmered beside hers. Then, as the wind stilled, the image shifted. It was still his face, but younger, armored, eyes bright with the zeal of another century. Behind that version of herself stood a host of soldiers bowing their heads. She gasped and stepped back; the mirage shattered into ripples.
He caught her arm. "What did you see?"
"The past," she said. "Or the future. I don't know anymore."
He said nothing. The light beneath the glass pulsed once, twice, then went still.
They followed the frozen river downstream, searching for a crossing. The cliffs closed in until the air grew cool and echoes returned their footsteps. Near dusk they found a narrow path that sloped toward the surface. Adrian tested it first, sliding down to the riverbed. The crystal held beneath his weight, creaking faintly like thin ice.
"Careful," he called up.
Elena descended after him. Every step sent small sounds ringing into the gorge – notes of glass against glass. The music unnerved her; it was too precise, as if tuned. When the last of the sun sank, the reflections became their only light.
That was when she saw movement.
At first it was only a flicker – shadows crossing beneath the translucent surface. Then came the whisper of feet, soft, irregular. Adrian drew his sword, the metal gleaming with reflected crimson.
Figures emerged from the gloom along the bank. Men, or what had once been men. Their clothes were tatters of gray and red; their eyes burned faintly from within, catching the light like coal dust. Their skin carried a sheen like glass itself, translucent at the edges.
"Scavengers," Adrian muttered. "Half-touched."
The nearest one spoke, voice distorted as though through water. "Travelers on the sacred mirror. Leave what you carry."
Elena stepped closer to Adrian. "They're sick."
"They're starving," he replied, low. "And the Seal draws them like carrion draws crows."
He raised his voice. "We have nothing worth dying for."
The leader smiled; the expression cracked his face in two. "You bleed light. That's worth everything."
The scavengers moved together, fluid and wrong. Adrian pushed Elena behind him and shifted his stance. "Stay back," he said, not to them – to her.
The first rush came fast. Steel rang against something that sounded more like stone than bone. Sparks scattered across the crystal plain. Adrian moved with practiced precision, but the enemy did not fall like ordinary men; they staggered and returned, unfazed by pain. When his blade caught one full across the chest, the wound glowed rather than bled, veins of red spreading through translucent flesh.
Elena drew her dagger, the small blade flashing as another shape lunged at her. She ducked, turned, and drove the point beneath its jaw. A hiss escaped the creature – a breath of smoke that curled into the air and vanished.
More came. Ten, maybe twelve. The river's mirrored surface became a storm of movement and reflection, each clash multiplied a hundred times.
Adrian's control began to slip. His strikes grew faster, harder; the blade no longer measured but punishing. The Seal's red light bled across the glass, catching in his eyes. For a moment he looked almost inhuman – fire and shadow bound in muscle and breath. The scavengers faltered before him, and those he struck burst into bursts of heatless flame.
"Adrian!" Elena's voice broke through the din. He turned just as another creature lunged at her from behind. He caught it barehanded, drove it down with a force that cracked the glass beneath their feet. The creature dissolved into black dust.
Silence fell – brief, ringing.
Adrian stood in the center of the shattered reflections, chest heaving. The light of the Seal still pulsed across his face. When he looked up at her, the glow lingered a heartbeat too long before fading. He wiped the sword clean on his sleeve, though no blood stained it.
"They were already gone," he said, almost to himself. "The shadows just hadn't finished using them."
Elena approached carefully. "You lost control."
His jaw tightened. "I did what I had to."
"You enjoyed it." The words slipped out before she could stop them. He flinched as if struck, then turned away, staring at the river's black horizon.
Wind rose through the canyon, carrying the smell of burnt air. The glass underfoot began to hum, faint at first, then stronger – a low vibration that crawled up through their boots. Elena crouched and touched the surface. Light rippled outward from her fingers, crimson like the Seal.
Whispers followed. Not words, not yet – just cadence, a language beneath hearing. Then, through the noise:
You cannot kill what remembers you.
Elena's hand jerked back. Adrian stepped beside her, sword half raised. The humming deepened into a pulse. Beneath the translucent river, shadows moved – vast, slow, patient.
"Run," he said.
They scrambled toward the nearest slope. Behind them, the glass began to fracture, lines spreading like veins of lightning. From one of the cracks, a shape rose – a dark column twisting into the air, part smoke, part molten reflection. It took no true form, but its presence bent the light around it.
At the edge of the bank, Adrian hauled her up and they stumbled into the brush. The thing did not follow. It only watched, its surface rippling with hints of faces, of their faces, countless and distorted. Then it sank back into the river with a sound like breath drawn in reverse.
For a long moment neither spoke. The air felt thinner now, as if the world itself had exhaled and not drawn breath again. When Elena finally turned, Adrian's eyes were distant.
"What did it mean?" she asked.
He sheathed his sword. "That the Seal doesn't only remember the dead. It remembers what it kills."
She shivered, pulling her cloak close. In the distance the river glowed faintly, a wound refusing to close. The wind carried a whisper – her name, maybe, or just the echo of it – before fading into silence.
They set off again under a sky bruised by twilight. Every so often Adrian would glance back at the dark shimmer behind them. Once, he thought he saw figures walking along the glass, pale against the reflection of the moon. When he blinked, they were gone.
Ahead, the land sloped downward toward the ruins of another city – spires half-buried in dust, faint lights flickering among them like dying stars. Whatever lay there, they would reach it by dawn.
Behind them, deep beneath the river's skin, the shadows began to stir again. The hum returned, faint but steady, matching the beat beneath Elena's wrist. The Seal's glow answered, pulsing once in warning.
Something was following.
And far away, the air itself seemed to whisper –
the fire wakes.