The fire was low by the time they prepared to move. Orange coals blinked like dying eyes under the wind's hush. No one said a word as they went through what was left of Thorne's gear, the mood was somber, you could cut the air with the tension. No ceremony, no speeches. Just the sound of metal and cloth, the tired scrape of hands too used to death. Ryvak grabbed ammo and a cracked canteen, fingers shaking like a thief. Beth knelt and slid a spare combat knife into her boot without looking at anyone. Asher reached for the same canteen Ryvak had grabbed, unscrewed the cap, and raised it to his nose. His face darkened.
"It's been tampered with," he muttered, low. He tossed it aside. Didn't look at either of them. Beth froze. Ryvak looked like he'd swallowed gravel. Asher turned back to the rest of the gear. Under Thorne's chestplate, he found a folded square of paper, thick, sealed with the red wax crest of Fortress Vireon. The handwriting on the outside was clean, slanted. Meant for someone. Not him. His thumb paused over the edge of the fold. He didn't open it. Didn't even read the name. Not yet. He slipped it into the inner pouch of his jacket like a sin he wasn't ready to confess. The kind of thing that waited. Orders? A confession? A goodbye? He turned the envelope in his fingers like it might whisper something. Or worse… something he was never meant to see. He almost pulled it back out to open it. Almost. But some sins looked back when you read them. He didn't ask if Beth or Ryvak had noticed. The flames behind them snapped once, loud and sudden. Ash drifted through the wind like snow that had forgotten how to melt.
And Thorne? He burned quiet. Like he had nothing left to say. "He died twenty feet from me," Asher said. "I didn't hear a single fucking thing." Ryvak twitched. "I told you, I must've fallen asleep." Beth didn't look up from the flint she was sharpening. "You weren't asleep." Ryvak stiffened. "What the hell does that mean?" Asher's eyes narrowed. His hand drifted toward his blade but didn't grip it. "Tell me again, Ryvak," he said. "From the start." Ryvak swallowed. "What? No—I didn't! That thing next to you was already snapped. I didn't touch it." "So the first one was already destroyed," Asher muttered. "Someone broke the antenna and tried to frame me as the culprit." He looked at Beth and Ryvak suspiciously. Beth's tone stayed cold. "But the second one..." Ryvak paled. "The one you found two nights ago," Asher continued. "The one you smashed like it was your job." "I thought it was bait!" Ryvak snapped. "That's how they were tracking us, right? I was trying to help." Beth looked up. "You thought?" "Yeah," Ryvak said, voice cracking. "I mean—I looked at it and it just felt wrong. Like I had to destroy it." "Who told you that?" Asher asked. "No one," Ryvak said too fast. "It just made sense. I don't know why, it just..." "Felt like yours?" Beth asked, flat. He froze. "Yeah," he whispered. "Like the thought was mine. But now... I'm not sure anymore." Beth took a step toward him. Not hostile. Not gentle.
"Do you remember picking it up?" Ryvak frowned. "No. Just smashing it. That's all I remember. I thought I did something smart." Asher watched her. Watched them. Beth isn't surprised. She already knew. She was waiting for him to say it out loud. So... Beth believes me? Or does she believe me now? The headache pressed behind his eyes like a warning. Ryvak lowered his head. "I think I was used." Beth's voice was cold iron. "Void suggestion. It's real. Doesn't feel foreign. Just... inevitable." Asher hated how easily she said that. He turned to Beth. "Don't you have anything to say?" A shriek cut the sky. Thin, sharp. Another sandfly. Maybe more. Beth stood. "Ravine. Move. Now." They ran. The world narrowed to their footsteps and breath. The gully was shallow, root-veined, but it would have to do. They threw themselves into it, hearts pounding. No one spoke. They didn't need to. A few hours later, early morning, the sky bruised with the promise of dawn, they huddled beneath the ridge, motionless. A swarm of monstrous locusts passed overhead. The sound was like a thousand bones clicking in unison. Shadows moved across the sand like blades in the morning light. Beth curled on her side. Ryvak curled tighter, eyes open but unfocused. Asher sat upright, his blade across his lap, body still, thoughts louder than the silence around them.
An hour in, he heard it. Beth. Whispering. Not English. Not human. Not even the Voidlanguage used in some of the old war relics. Just rhythm. Breathing. Chanting. Her Void Shard glowed faint beneath her collarbone like a second heartbeat. Asher shifted, slow and quiet. He crept closer. Just enough to see. The glow pulsed. Then faded. The whispering stopped like someone had pressed mute on the world. Beth didn't stir. Her body remained still, breath steady, eyes closed. A pressure built behind his ribs—not pain, but presence. His own Stone pulsed once. Faint. Like it recognized something. She didn't tell us she had shard powers. They moved again at noon. Sun climbed like a curse. None of them spoke. Their boots dragged, the silence was heavier than their packs. Asher's thoughts twisted in loops. Something about Beth's whispering hadn't left him. And Ryvak—if Void suggestion could twist someone like that, would he even know? Would he remember if he'd been influenced at all? Or had he played the fool because it gave him cover? A scapegoat always had an alibi. And fear was a convenient script. Ryvak could've faked the whole thing—the guilt, the confusion, the crack in his voice. Easy to claim you were controlled when no one could prove it either way. The land began to change near sunset. A jagged silhouette cut across the dunes. Metal. They crested the final ridge and saw it: an old Imperial watchtower half-sunken into sand, the extraction point. Beth and Ryvak moved in fast, checking the perimeter, sealing up the doors, setting traps. Emergency rations were still intact. Asher stayed behind. Filled his canteen from the drip tap. The water was warm, stale. But clean. He sat in the sand behind the tower and watched the shadows crawl. And decided. He knew who the killer was. The subtle, poison slow enough to make him and Thorne drowsy, unfocused. The silence. The timing. All of it finally clicked. It hadn't been fear or panic. It hadn't even been survival. It had never been about loyalty. It had been about following orders. And now? He was done playing dumb. He'd confront them. Just one final question remained. The other person. Was the other person helping or completely in the dark, a victim like himself and Thorne? One last chance. Either the truth came clean, or he burned the rest of this group down himself. Then he saw it. A raven. Perched on the rusted edge of the tower's dish. Watching him. Still. Too still. Not a desert bird. Not one of theirs. Its head tilted like it knew him. Then it flew. Asher stood. No words. Just the slow, dragging pull of instinct something about the bird felt wrong. Or right. Maybe both. It circled once, then circled the watchtower. He followed. Only a few steps. Just to see.
Far across the world, something cold stirred. Like a thread tugged loose from fate. Something ancient. Something waiting. At the same time hundreds of miles away, in a dark ominous tower, within Vireon. A girl jolted awake, breath shallow. She whispered into the dark, "No, Asher. You need to live."