The silence in the room buzzed louder than any noise Kael could rember. He lay back against the bedding, breath steady, but heart restless. The cold light of morning spilled through the window, falling across his bare chest.
He pulled the sheets aside and stared at his skin.
Smooth.
Unmarked.
There was nothing.
No sigil. No brand. Not even a hint of the burn that had pulsed only days ago. As if it had never existed at all.
His brow furrowed. He pressed his palm to the place over his heart, rembering the way it had glowed faintly... the whispers that ca with it... the presence watching him from behind his own eyes. Felt too real to be a dream.
Gone.
But not forgotten.
Lyria’s voice was a gentle breath beside him. "You’re looking for it, aren’t you?...the pulse on ur side?"
He glanced up, startled.
She was already there, seated on the edge of the bed, gaze soft and searching. Her hand reached out, fingers brushing his chest down to his side where the burn should’ve been. The warmth of her touch made him flinch—not from pain, but from the rush of mory.
"Is it still hurting?" she asked.
Kael shook his head with a small smile, though his eyes betrayed uncertainty. "No. Just... feels like sothing’s missing."
Her fingers lingered a second too long, caressing his skin like she feared it would vanish. She leaned in slightly, her voice a whisper now.
"Don’t scare like that again."
He nodded.
Then she pulled back, clearing her throat as if rembering herself. "Kael, this is Gondor," she said, glancing toward the doorway.
The tall man stepped in with folded arms, a faint scowl pinned to his otherwise neutral face. "Glad to see you’ve joined the land of the living...i Must say you are one lucky lad"
Kael sat up straighter. "I’m guessing You’re the one who helped Lyria heal ?"
"I made sure she didn’t fall over from sleep deprivation, yeah...the healing was all you though"he said noticing how there were no traces of the black veins on his skin
Kael gave a faint chuckle. "Then guess I owe you one. Thank you."
Gondor gave a short nod. "Don’t thank yet."
Kael’s smile faded as a chill ran through his spine. That feeling again—like sothing watching him from behind the veil of reality. His hand drifted to his chest instinctively.
Still nothing.
But the weight was there. The wrongness.
Lyria noticed the change in his expression. She moved closer, cradling his jaw with both hands, her eyes burning with conviction.
"If anything ever tries to take you," she whispered, "I’ll burn the world down to get you back."
There was no tremble in her voice. No hesitation. Just devotion sharpened into obsession.
Kael opened his mouth to speak, but the world tilted.
His vision darkened at the edges, a low thrum echoing in his ears.
Then—he was gone.
Caught in so sort of trance
---
A tower lood in the distance, crumbling against a sea of bones. Pale skies bled ash. The tower’s windows glowed with green fire, flickering like eyes.
He stood ankle-deep in the remains of sothing once human.
And he heard it.
Kael...
He turned.
But there was no one.
Return...
Then, nothing but silence.
---
His eyes snapped open with a gasp.
Lyria was inches from him, concern morphing into fear. "You zoned out," she said, panic threading her voice. "Kael, what did you see?"
He stared at her for a long ti, then whispered:
"I feel... different."
---
Deep within the forest surrounding Umbra’s End...
Bane crouched low, pushing a branch aside as he and Phil erged into another clearing. The fog had grown denser, clinging to their boots and making it hard to see more than a few ters ahead.
Phil barely spoke, but when he did, it was with sharp clarity.
"Garrik should be just beyond this ridge. We were planning to keep engagent to a minimum. Avoid triggering another collapse."
Bane shot him a glance. "Collapse?"
"Too many Fallen in one area. They bleed into each other. Distort the forest. Get smarter. aner."
That was... new.
They moved carefully. The clearing they arrived at next was scorched in a tight spiral—charred bark, blackened soil, and heat-split stone. Bane imdiately knelt to inspect strange glyphs etched into the rocks. They weren’t Hunter sigils.
"These weren’t made by us," he muttered.
Phil didn’t answer.
He was already staring ahead, at sothing lying near the base of a twisted tree.
It was the hilt of a blade.
Bane approached cautiously. The tal shimred faintly, runes dulled by blood and soot. It wasn’t a Hunter’s weapon. But it was familiar.
Phil exhaled. "He carried this sword so he wouldn’t have to use his relic. Said it reminded him of simpler fights. Ones he could walk away from."
Next to the sword was a body—half-crushed, split open down the center, limbs barely attached. A fallen. But not just any.
Its armor bore remnants of a Vanguard crest.
Bane’s stomach turned.
"This thing was human once," he muttered.
Phil nodded grimly. "So of them... don’t die clean...the rumors are true humans are turning into fallen"
Sothing rustled behind them.
Both n froze.
The bushes shifted, leaves brushing against sothing tall and breathing.
Then it stepped out.
A Fallen—barely ford—its body still mid-mutation. One arm dragged behind it like wet rope. Its ribcage twisted outward, skull cracked down the center, and its eyes...
Its eyes glowed with a sickly crimson fire.
But it wasn’t mindless.
It looked at Bane.
And spoke.
"You killed him!!..."
The voice was gurgled, stretched, as if fighting through shredded vocal cords.
Bane’s hand went to his blade instantly.
"Hey, you’ve got it all wrong buddy!"
Phil’s scythe was already raised.
"Don’t get in my way."
"What the hell?" Bane whispered.
The Fallen smiled with split, rotting lips. Its body began to twitch unnaturally, joints bending the wrong way.
Then it lunged.
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