Hearthsoul Chronicles 81 He stands

He studied the face, cracked though by ti. It was an odd design, a female, dressed in red or brown, he was unsure. White hair, surely, the contrasting hues told of multiple colors. She seed guarded, below the image, naked humans…

He froze.

Statues.

He was clear of it. rrin peered on, noting the deliberately fissured bodies of the guards. So winged naked n, won…All three eyed. This sent a shudder down, renewing the known fear.

The witnesses against the stone statues!

He cast a glance at the stone pillars, narrowed his sight, and found the rest bearing the sa. All the stones told of a similar story. Greater fear. What if What if, right now, death had co for his witnesses?

rrin squird. Move mist it! He cursed within. Move!

There was no response. There had to be. He wanted it.

I'm Elshadie Godmist it! I'm ant to be the most contained thing in the world—the strongest! He scread now. Why is my leg sothing I cannot fix? I can take the wind, he felt that stirring of force, like a cup slowly refueled with power.

I can turn flesh to stone. I can raise mountains and cause storms. His clothes flapped now, so did Yoid's and Catelyn's.

Again, the distance stepping.

I can kill the fallen and can move through dreams. What can't I do? What! What!

Howling, he heard the roar of the wind.

Fist clenched, surging that power. What exactly can't I do?

The recursive thought ca upon him: The mind is the ultimate dominator—sothing Catelyn had once hinted at.

Force!

rrin flad that intense force—the conquering power from the unseen world. The river of queer light. In it, wrapped by it, he felt safe. Above it all.

I must move!

He knew now of a nearer threat. The stone statues had found them. This knowledge was extracted from the far steps, multiple heavy footsteps. Too dense for a human. But for a living stone? Surely.

The force peaked within him, like a storm seeking a path to liberation. He channeled it. Moving into his knees like a current, lightning. A jolt of power, imnse in its natural state. Legs trembled; in them, he sensed a wound.

A person had the awareness of physical injuries, this was not that. Instead, within, this presented itself as an excise from the lower half. His legs. Sohow, the caster had cleaved the connection.

In that mont, rrin realized a certain truth. Violent force could not heal it. Knowledge from that internal identity told of this. Sothing else was the rectifier. The other force.

A theory at first. The changes in feelings—one calming, the other violent. There was a difference between them. Strangely, he knew that as the current necessity. And so he did. Instantly, the sensations changed; no longer the violent desire or assertive control but a llow need for peace—beauty.

He tunneled that force, felt the serene white power, and knew the started healing. On the internal scar, the cleave that broke the connection between upper and lower bodies, there, the force flowed. Half subconscious. It did not need the conscious push, a knowing; it moved with a knowledge of what to do.

A slow warmth caressed his legs. There was an expansion in his heart. He smiled, panted, smiled. The repetition. Pain ca not only from the upper bodies, no, now the lower participated in that assault. How savory it felt. Who knew pain could beco a wanted sensation?

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He heard the sound, reined in the emotion, and took to his feet. Catelyn stirred to his motions, Yoid too, still unconscious. So good it felt, the legs.

Where are they?

He delved into the ashman's readiness. Steadied his mind, watching the high walls and pillars. Distraction ca nonetheless. There was a lot to unpack from his failed mission. From the attack to the sudden revelation from the bird.

He could make casters. What that ant was unknown to him.

The attack did serve a function; it opened his mind. He thought himself special, strong. A lie. Compared to the brightCrowns, he was nothing. So easily, he was defeated. Leaving escape as the only alternative. rrin could not imagine the outco if the man had entered the greyworld.

Surely, he would have lost it.

Almighty never.

He shuffed his feet over the hard ground, warm, searing even. Savory. It cald him. His witnesses still had a chance. That was good. Naturally, he had quelled the wind. If he could, violent confrontation should be avoided. Those things were unknown. His witnesses were the priority. Them and only them.

A whistling sound.

Instincts took over, and rrin fell into the dance of self. His hands swayed, dragging the air weaves—that illusory fabric of wind. It wrinkled, swung. A boom filled the room, and he staggered back, stone falling like rain before and around him.

The flash mory cleared for revelation. Stone. A boulder had been hurled down from the high cliff, broken only by the instant surge of the wind.

Realization: The stone statues had found them!

rrin looked up. A mistake. Stone rained down—too fast. He stepped back. A mont stretched to its extre, saw Catelyn and Yoid, bare ters away. Protect them! The one choice. One that could not be refused. They had to live. Everyone had to live.

Yet there was no way to save them all. The stones were many—too many that no concentrated wind could hold. There would be breaches. What was needed was a singular wall of violent air, a vortex shaped into a barrier.

That and only that.

He backed, bent his knees, closed his eyes, and drowned in the forced silence. Quick breaths aired, and his muscles grew tender, relaxed. One did not allow the tension to start when the motions began. And now was a ti for it. The dance had begun, and his body knew it with certainty.

The wind headed the call, force commanded. The ground dust sprinkled up, stone scattering to all points. Too many sounds, a distraction. He maintained a subtle awareness of the surroundings, not fully plunging himself into that trance state needed for the dance. No, not now. Enemies were creatures wrought from stone—sa for everything. Environntal awareness proved needed.

A chill curled through his body; the wind trailing like threads woven into form. It obeyed the hasty call, bashing into the coming stones. He bent his hands, rose the downward wind, scattering it overhead.

With caster vision, the weaves took the form of fabric, queer clothes, wrapped around themselves, in a starta form. Before him, over him in the form of a transparent do, the threads flowed. Yoid and Catleyn were beneath it. In reality, the wind surged round, the stones smashing into the vortex of air, shattering into debris, thrown back. A barrier of storm.

He pulled back a layer of air, saw it weakened. This was a common thing, he observed. When the threads were spun, they beca wind. The strength of that push produced the violent storm that he needed. He fird his feet, tunneled force, twirled and spun the weave. A stormy boom echoed through the cave, and rrin was nearly thrown from the suddenness.

Expected, yes, but sudden nonetheless.

Strength was needed here, he recognized. Luckily, the stones were reducing. Strange, yes, but caution held him. Perhaps they had grown tired of him. He hoped, knew, Casters could be a tenacious bunch—the statues could have a fear of that unknown power.

He, often feared it.

Then there was none. Hidden within the do of swirling wind-brown, red in reality, rrin noted that pause of collision. Nothing. This shuddered him. Hope held strong, but the other—the latent fear, told of another.

What if?

Even beasts had a limit to a chase. Rage could fuel so, but ultimately, all things gave up against the unattainable prey. Were the statues enough of animals to consider this? He step forward, followed by the wind calming.

He watched through the brief slits of turning wind, above, eye zooming. Where are they? He searched.

Just then, countless eyes looked down—cold assulting his senses. Dread. Sothing was coming.

He turned to Yoid and Catelyn, shouted, "Wake up!" They stirred to his words, Yoid rose with expert quickness, Catelyn, still groggy.

This is bad!

A bright whiteness speared down, smashing into the rocks, marshaling the wind into a throe. This uprooted him, back thrown into a pillar. The flash, then constant pain, he coughed, knelt, stood, and scread. "Run!"

Yoid grasped the ssage—in a swift flow of actions, he cradled the half-dazed Catelyn and ran. Fast. rrin noted a certain know-how to the path he took. It didn't matter. I need to escape

Another spear of light ca down, beaming beside him—as a push—he smashed into the catacomb walls, and tasted sothing familiar. Blood. Stone trickled down over him. Weakness. Tired. His bones were pained, flesh searing.

I need to escape! A fleeting thought.

He looked up and saw on the cliff a spear forming. Light in shape. What casting could have achieved that, he wondered. I need to escape, but how? He blinked, shook his head. Still pinned to the wall crater, he knew the imminent event. That spear within him.