The silence in the alley stretched long after the last footstep faded behind them. They didn't speak—not because there was nothing to say, but because the weight of what had just passed still hung in the air like a shroud. The Garden of Echoes was behind them now, and yet, it followed them—in scent, in sorrow, in soul.
Elian walked ahead, his eyes dimmer than before, a hollow ache etched into the lines of his face. Maren kept close, but even she didn't know how to bridge the chasm left by the memory he had given up. Not yet.
The city around them breathed differently here. Wind whispered through shattered glass and rusted steel, carrying with it the scent of old rain and forgotten screams. Somewhere in the distance, a bell rang—three slow, haunting chimes. An omen.
"Elian," Jonah said finally, his voice quiet, but urgent. "We need to rest. Just for a moment."
Elian didn't stop walking.
"We're not safe," he replied, his voice hoarse. "Not here. Not anywhere."
It wasn't paranoia. It was instinct. The kind of instinct born from blood and war. Because behind them—somewhere, somewhere in the crumbling city—something had begun to hunt.
---
They found shelter in the remains of an old printing house. Ink stains still marked the floors, and dusty paper clung to the walls like ivy. Sora lit the lantern and set it between them as the group gathered in a circle. Their faces, half-lit by flame, looked older somehow. Worn. Hardened.
"I don't like this place," she muttered. "It feels like the shadows are listening."
"They are," said a voice from the darkness.
Everyone stood in an instant, weapons drawn.
From the far end of the room, a figure stepped forward—lean, draped in a black coat lined with red stitching, boots quiet as silk. His face was hidden beneath a metallic half-mask. His eyes—glinting like a hawk's—studied them with cold amusement.
"Elian Vale," he said, voice like glass cracking beneath ice. "I was hoping I'd find you before the others did."
"Elian," Jonah whispered. "That's…"
"Jareth," Elian confirmed grimly.
The name alone was enough to send a chill through their bones.
Jareth. The Bounty Phantom. A hunter so feared in the underground that entire syndicates paid him not to track them. His targets never lived to see a second sunrise.
Elian stepped forward, sword unsheathed. "I thought you worked for coin, not kingdoms."
"I do," Jareth replied, his mask catching the lantern's glow. "But when the price is high enough, I make exceptions. And oh, Vale—the price on your head could buy me a throne."
No one moved.
No one dared.
Then Maren whispered, "We can't fight him."
Jareth chuckled darkly. "She's right. You can't."
Then came the unexpected.
"I don't want to kill you."
Even Elian blinked.
"You're too entertaining for that," Jareth continued. "But they won't stop sending others. Worse ones. You're becoming a symbol. And symbols are dangerous."
"So why are you here?" Elian asked cautiously.
Jareth walked toward the table, his steps deliberate. He placed a small glass vial on it—clear liquid inside, glowing faintly blue.
"A gift," he said. "Call it... a token of interest."
"We're not idiots," Sora snapped. "Why would we trust anything from you?"
"Because I just saved your lives," he replied simply, and pointed toward the window.
A black dart was embedded in the wood. Poison-tipped.
Jonah's eyes widened. "We're being watched."
"No," Jareth corrected. "You're being hunted. And unlike me, they don't like talking."
---
After he vanished, the silence was unbearable.
"What the hell just happened?" Sora breathed.
Elian stared at the vial. "A warning."
Maren sat down hard, rubbing her temple. "We can't keep doing this, Elian. We're not built for running forever."
"No," Elian said, voice low. "We're not. That's why we stop running."
"What are you saying?" Jonah asked.
"I'm saying it's time we strike first."
There was silence.
Then slowly, Sora nodded.
"We find out who's sending the bounty hunters," Elian said. "We burn their network. We erase the board."
"And what if it's the Council?" Maren asked.
Elian looked at her. His eyes no longer flickered with hesitation.
"Then we end the Council."
---
That night, as the others slept in turns, Elian stood by the window, watching the rain drizzle on the broken streets. His hand touched the glass where the dart had struck. Close. Too close.
He didn't remember his brother anymore. But he remembered the feeling. The laugh. The warmth.
He wouldn't lose anyone else.
Not again.
Outside, hidden by the night, another shadow watched. Quiet. Patient.
But Jareth was wrong about one thing.
He did want to kill Elian.
Because sometimes, symbols weren't just dangerous.
They were the key to destroying the world.
---