The path was a trough of rubble and shadows. Uriel walked ahead, but his gait lacked the firmness of the stone that composed him.
He staggered, hesitant, as if every step was a condemnation and every crack in his body spread not from physical fatigue, but from an internal, slow, and cruel erosion.
He didn't dare turn around. He knew they were there: Gaellum, Lycor, Gretel, Seres. He could feel the weight of their gazes on his back, a tangible pressure laden with caution and a silent judgment that always, always, ended up reaching him. The whisper was persistent, a poisonous mantra: They don't trust you. They never have.
The night district breathed stillness. Around him, the ghosts of a dead city—crumbling buildings, wooden beams like broken ribs—watched him pass. The silence wasn't empty; it was a dense, expectant presence.
"Not much further," Uriel murmured, more to banish his own thoughts than to inform. "My shelter is... close."
That's when he felt it. A presence so familiar and terrifying that it made him tremble slightly.
"Shelter?" said a clear voice, that of a young man. "What a ridiculous word."
Uriel shuddered. He didn't stop walking, but his stone fingers clenched tightly, creaking softly.
"No..." he whispered through his teeth. "Not now."
The laughter grew, becoming sharp in his ears.
"You always say that."
Beside him, as if it had been walking with him from the beginning, a figure slowly appeared.
Somehow unnaturally, he was walking on air without ever touching the ground. His appearance was that of a young man with messy black hair, sharp, attractive features, dressed in dark and impossibly impeccable clothes. His red eyes shone with their own light, cold and penetrating, and his smile was a curve of pure arrogance.
"Look at you," said Shade, tilting his head with theatrical curiosity. "Walking like a faithful dog leading its masters. Do you think they see you as anything more than a tool? Or perhaps as a monster about to turn on them?"
Uriel clenched his stone jaw.
"Shut up... you're not real," he whispered.
"Ah, that line!" Shade brought a hand to his chest, feigning pain. "Classic. Overused. And so, so false."
He leaned forward until his face was centimeters from Uriel's. He could feel his breath, which smelled of nothing, of the void.
"I'm as real as your guilt, Uriel. More, even."
Uriel tripped over a rock he couldn't avoid. His heavy body swayed and almost collapsed.
He heard, behind him, the metallic scrape of Gaellum adjusting his sword. He didn't turn. Shade clicked his tongue in disappointment.
"Come on. Do you really think they can forget? Or that you can?" His smile widened, showing a row of perfect teeth. "The last time you tried to 'make friends,' for example. I remember it perfectly."
Uriel squeezed his eyes shut. It was useless. The images were already sprouting, pushed by that voice.
"No..."
"Oh, yes. You were so pathetically hopeful. 'Everything will be fine,' you'd tell them. 'Trust me.'" Shade's voice became intimate, a whisper that seeped into the cracks of his mind. "And then... the blood. The screams. The hands clutching your stone legs, begging. And you, motionless. Powerless. Or perhaps... not so powerless."
"SHUT UP!" Uriel's cry erupted like an explosion, hoarse and torn.
The group halted abruptly. Gretel lowered her center of gravity, spear ready. Lycor made his daggers appear between his fingers as if by magic. Gaellum positioned himself slightly in front of Seres.
Shade laughed, a clear, cheerful sound that contrasted horribly with the tension of the moment.
"Do you remember their last words, Uriel? I do." His voice became a mimicked whisper. "'I trusted you.' 'I thought you were different.' 'Promise me.'"
Uriel fell to his knees. The impact against the dry ground resonated like a dull thunderclap.
"No... no...!"
"Broken promises. One after another. Like you."
"It wasn't my fault!"
Shade let out an open, strident laugh that echoed off the surrounding ruins.
"Really? You're still clinging to that thin thread?" He stopped laughing abruptly. His face became serene, almost compassionate, which was even more terrible. "Tell me, Uriel. If it wasn't your fault... whose was it?"
Uriel opened his eyes. The world was blurry.
"You're not real! You're just... my imagination!"
Shade rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
"Interesting theory. Pity it's wrong." He straightened, expanding. "I'm real. As real as the hatred you carry inside. And the funniest thing..."
He made a dramatic pause, savoring the moment.
"I'm a part of you. The best part, I'd say. The honest one."
"No! You're not me!" roared Uriel, shaking his head violently.
"No?" Shade arched an eyebrow. "Then where do those thoughts come from? That certainty that everything will end badly? That urge to destroy before being destroyed? They're not my ideas, Uriel. They're yours. I just give them a voice."
He took another step closer. His presence emitted neither heat nor cold, only an absolute oppression.
"I am the truth you refuse to accept. And that's why you'll never be able to get rid of me."
Pure, desperate rage exploded in Uriel's core.
A guttural roar came from his very depths, and without thinking, he drove his fist into a huge boulder jutting out beside him.
The crash was deafening. The stone didn't just split; it exploded, pulverizing into a rain of shards and dust. The ground trembled, and a shockwave of air and debris shot out, forcing the group to cover themselves.
"Uriel!" Seres's voice managed to filter through the rumbling.
Shade, who had jumped back spectacularly, then cowered. His arrogance faded, replaced by an exaggerated grimace of fear. He raised his hands in surrender.
"W-wait! I'm sorry!" he whined, his voice trembling convincingly. "I'm sorry, sorry, sorry! I didn't want to make you angry! Please, don't... don't make me disappear again!"
He curled into a ball, looking at Uriel with pleading eyes.
"I was just... just joking... I won't say it anymore..."
Uriel panted, vapor rising from the cracks in his body.
"J-just... shut up..."
Shade slowly raised his gaze. The smile had returned, colder than ever.
"You see?" he whispered, just for him. "Not even with all your strength can you kill a thought."
Then, his gaze shifted to the group. The smile became conspiratorial.
"Look at them now," he murmured into Uriel's non-existent ear. "Don't deny it. You see it in their eyes."
Through a curtain of sweat and confusion, Uriel looked up. Lycor hadn't lowered his dagas; his posture was one of imminent attack. Gretel assessed him with the cold gaze of someone calculating risks and weak points. Gaellum remained on guard, a protective wall in front of Seres. And Seres... she looked at him with concern, yes, but also with a deep, painful doubt. The doubt of someone who wants to believe but has seen too much.
"Distrust," Shade sang softly. "Fear. Caution. It's the same pattern, Uriel. The cycle never breaks—it just restarts."
His voice became sweet, persuasive.
"They'll kill you. As soon as you stop being useful, or as soon as you become a risk. It's logical. It's... survival." He paused. "Unless you act first. You have the power. You could... secure your survival. Now. It would be quick."
Uriel brought his hands to his head, as if he could crush the thoughts.
"I don't want to!"
"But they do," insisted Shade, his voice now a thread of a serpent. "It's always been like that. Always."
"SHUT YOUR MOUTH!"
The darkness itself seemed to vibrate with his shout. Before the echo dissipated, Seres moved. She ignored Gaellum's outstretched arm trying to stop her and took several firm steps toward Uriel. She didn't get too close, but she planted herself in front of him, within his line of sight.
"Uriel," she said. Her voice wasn't loud, but it had a clarity that cut through the tension like a knife. "Look at me."
Uriel, between pants, forced his eyes to focus on her.
"You are not alone," Seres continued, keeping her voice firm and serene. "You don't have to listen to that voice. It is not who you are."
Shade slowly turned his neck toward Seres. Genuine interest, mixed with disdain, shone in his red eyes.
"Oh..." he exhaled, smiling with curiosity. "Compassion? Such a touching gesture. And dangerous?" His gaze returned to Uriel. "Do you really believe she can save you? From me?"
Uriel didn't pay attention to him. He held Seres's gaze.
"We don't judge you for what you feel," she said, and each word was a nail trying to fix something that was crumbling. "And we won't harm you. I promise."
Uriel watched her. In her eyes, for an instant, Seres's doubt seemed to fade, replaced by a quiet determination. It wasn't an empty promise. It was a risk she was willing to take. For him.
He took a deep breath. The trembling in his hands began to subside.
Shade clicked his tongue with annoyance.
"Pathetic..." he murmured, and for the first time his voice sounded tired, almost bored. "Your existence always was. A monument to failure and dumb hope."
His words hung in the cold air, losing substance. Then, like a stain of ink dissolving in water, the figure faded. There was no dramatic effect, just a ceasing to be.
The silence he left behind was almost physical. Uriel slumped forward, supporting his hands on the ground.
The fatigue that washed over him wasn't that of the body, but of a soul that had fought a life-or-death battle in the space of a few minutes.
He panted for a long time, focused on the feel of the earth under his palms, on the sound of his own breathing gradually calming. The dust from the destroyed rock settled slowly around him, covering him with a fine gray mantle.
Finally, he raised his head. Without looking at the others, in a hoarse but clear voice, he said:
"Let's go. The shelter... it really is close."
And, pushing himself up with a visible effort, he got to his feet and resumed his walk. The steps, this time, were a little less unsteady.