The sky had dulled to a gray-green sar above Umbra’s End, casting a pallid light over the warped treetops. Beneath that eerie sky, three Hunters crept along a ledge half-swallowed by fungus and twisted roots—silent, deliberate, and tense.
Garrik moved first, his boots skimming across stone without a sound. Bane followed, axe sheathed but close. The final of their trio, Phil, brought up the rear—his sharp eyes darting from glyph to glyph as if expecting the stone itself to attack.
"This path used to be stable," Garrik muttered, kneeling to brush aside moss from an old elvian marker. It pulsed faintly, reacting to his touch. "Residual magic. From the First Warding."
Phil crouched beside him. "Still active?"
"No," Garrik said. "But awake. Like it rembers the last thing that passed through."
They pressed forward. The terrain turned volatile—magma-like veins beneath the roots, air thick with static. Old magic. Not Fallen, not Harbinger. Sothing older.
Stone runes embedded in trees flickered as they passed—flashes of orange or blue depending on proximity. Garrik adjusted course, steering them eastward along a safer incline.
The forest narrowed near the cliffside—where corrupted trees gave way to jagged stone, and a narrow channel cut between two old root networks. They’d reached the route he’d scouted.
Bane paused, placing a hand to his belt—and froze.
The axe.
His palm itched with heat. It wasn’t glowing yet, but it pulsed faintly, as if waking.
Phil noticed. "The axe again?"
"It’s reacting... to sothing down there." Bane’s voice was tight. "Sa feeling I had during the last fight, but... heavier."
Garrik took a breath. "Phil I’m sure you feel it too..."
Phil was silent.
His silence indicating he felt it too.
They descended slowly, ducking under arched roots that glowed faintly with residual runes. The deeper they went, the more distorted the walls beca—veins of crystal etched into stone, so of them cracked and bleeding light.
Then they reached it.
The base of the central glyph anchoring the seal.
Carved deep into a ring of obsidian-like stone, it pulsed with layered energy—green, gold, and red like magma behind glass. A ripple passed across its surface. One of the anchor nodes nearby was dimming. The glyph lines feeding into it had thinned.
Phil’s jaw clenched. "This node’s collapsing."
Garrik moved quickly, pulling out a sigil lens. He scanned the node, by looking through the lens, tracing the fading veins.
"It’s not destroyed—just... drained. Sothing’s pulling its energy inward."
"Harbinger?" Bane asked.
Garrik nodded. "Likely. The stronger nodes used to cover the entire convergence. Now I’m seeing less than half. The bindings are collapsing layer by layer. If we can’t reinforce the surviving ones—"
The ground trembled.
Not a quake. A pulse.
A thrum echoed in their bones—low, ancient, and sentient. The glyph shimred. For a second, all light in the cavern dimd. Then it returned—but different.
Phil’s pupils contracted.
"That was no pulse," he said. "That was a warning."
And then ca the wave.
A psychic surge blasted outward from the glyph—not enough to throw them back, but enough to touch them.
Their thoughts blurred. Each saw a glimpse of sothing vast, sothing awake and angry beneath the surface. A shape moving beneath the glyph’s mirrored face.
Phil staggered but caught himself.
Bane clutched his head, and wounds from the previous fight, teeth gritted. "Shit..."
Garrik stood motionless, wide-eyed. "It’s watching us."
No more words passed between them.
Because deep beneath the cliff, Darkness had begun to stir.
***
The afternoon sun spilled lazily over the clearing behind Gondor’s cabin, its golden warmth brushing against the scattered training dummies, cracked crates, and warped logs. It was a rough patch of land, but it served its purpose. There was space to move, to breathe, to fight.
Kael stood at the center, bare-chested, skin kissed by light and scar, the wooden staff in his grip steady. Muscles coiled beneath his skin like waiting springs, his stance calm but charged. A storm beneath still waters.
Across from him, Gondor paced with slow, deliberate steps, that ever-present smirk tugging at the edge of his lips. "So," he said, rolling his shoulders. "You sure about this?"
Kael gave a short nod, eyes not leaving his. "Yeah. It’ll be fun. Besides..." He tilted his head slightly, a faint grin forming. "I can tell from your eyes. You’re curious about . Maybe this’ll help with that."
That earned a low chuckle from Gondor. "Cocky."
They moved. Slowly at first—asured jabs, guarded deflections. The sound of wood cracking against wood echoed in the clearing. Gondor’s strikes were sharp, forceful, like he was sculpting stone with each swing. But Kael—Kael flowed.
Faster than before. Sharper. More precise. His body moved before the strike even landed, like his instincts had evolved into sothing more.
Gondor noticed.
He narrowed his eyes mid-parry, sweat already glistening on his brow. "You weren’t this fast last ti."
Off to the side, Lyria watched with arms folded tightly across her chest. Her gaze was focused, unblinking. She’d seen Kael fight before—watched him bleed, rise, falter. But this... this was different. The way he slipped past Gondor’s kick, like he had seen it coming before the leg had even moved. The perfect rhythm in his steps, the minimal wasted motion.
Then she saw it.
A flicker.
There—his eyes.
Just for a heartbeat, they shimred, catching the light like molten steel fresh from the forge.
Kael didn’t notice it. But Lyria did.
Gondor pushed forward with a flurry of strikes, only to be stopped by a swift counter. He exhaled, stepping back, shaking his head. "Well, damn. Either you’ve been training in your sleep... or there’s sothing else cooking in that soul of yours."
Kael said nothing. His breaths ca steady. Too steady. He felt more alive, more aware, like sothing beneath his skin was whispering—ready.
Gondor straightened, his tone shifting. "Where do you two head next?"
Kael hesitated, catching Lyria’s glance. "South. A temple. Where skulls whistle."
Gondor raised a brow. "Seeking answers or chasing ghosts?"
Kael’s voice was quiet. "Maybe both."
Lyria tensed, just a little. Her arms uncrossed. Her eyes sharpened.
Gondor humd thoughtfully. "Interesting... Because ever since you two showed up, I’ve been feeling sothing. Sothing old. Familiar."
Kael frowned. "What do you an?"
"The mont she stepped in asking for a mage, I felt it." Gondor’s voice lowered, less playful now. "I didn’t say anything then. Your condition was unstable, and the presence was faint. But now..." He paused, gaze flicking to Lyria. "Now it’s clearer. Though faint I feel it still, You’re carrying sothing... unusual."
Lyria froze.
Kael’s hand found her arm instinctively. "Gondor, what are you getting at?"
He took a step forward, his expression unreadable. "I know what the Fractalis is."
Kael’s stomach dropped like stone. "You—?"
"I didn’t see it." Gondor’s voice grew distant, almost reverent. "I felt it. It’s Elvian. Ancient. And no matter how faint, I can feel magic Akin to my kind. There’s only one object that carries sothing that... old."
Kael’s chest tightened. "You’re saying—"
Gondor reached up and unfastened the top clasp of his coat. He pulled the fabric aside, revealing a pale green tattoo etched just above his collarbone. It pulsed faintly in the sunlight, glowing softly with veins of magic, like it was alive.
"Elven blood," he said. "This mark lets maintain this human form."
Lyria took a step back, voice low. "You hid that from us."
"I’ve hidden a lot," Gondor replied, calm as ever. "Because I’ve seen what your kind does to mine."
Kael stared at him, voice quiet. "My father once ntioned... other races. Not just monsters and n. But why reveal this now? And Why to us?"
Gondor didn’t flinch. He stepped forward again, his tone leveling. "Because I want to propose a deal."
Kael blinked. "A deal?"
"yess...I want to co with you."
The words dropped like a stone into still water.
Lyria’s eyes widened. "You what?"
Gondor’s grin returned, sharper this ti. "For one, it promises to be... interesting. But more importantly, you’ll need soone who knows about the Fractalis. Soone who understands magic. And..." He let the mont breathe. "Soone to guide you—both of you—especially kael’s Newly found potential and the one laying dormant inside of you as well."
Silence.
Heavy. Thick with unspoken truths.
And though Kael didn’t want to admit it, there was truth behind Gondor’s words. He needed help. The whispers, the strength, the flickers of sothing other—they were becoming more frequent. More intense.
Lyria’s voice sliced through the silence. "And what do you get out of this?"
Gondor’s grin faltered—just barely. "Research," he said. "And maybe a chance to see for myself sothing incredible before the darkness of this world swallows it."
His tone softened. "I’m not your enemy. So I’d appreciate a little more hospitality... and a little less suspicion."
Kael didn’t answer.
Because deep in his chest, just behind his ribs, sothing stirred.
It pulsed again.
And he wasn’t sure if it was a welco—or a warning.
Reviews
All reviews (0)