The gate closed behind us without a sound.No hinges creaked. No wind stirred. The bone arch simply sealed, leaving only the hollow hum of the corridor ahead.
The air was thicker here, heavy and metallic, tasting faintly of iron. Each breath felt like swallowing water laced with heat, every exhale fogging faintly in the dark. The walls, if they could be called that, weren't solid stone. They shifted faintly, like veins beneath pale, translucent skin.
Aria clung to my arm, her breathing shallow but steadier now that the curse-mark had dimmed. Her glow had not returned, though, and without it, she looked like a ghost—fragile, barely tethered to this world.
Lyra walked a few paces ahead, her steps soft and measured, blade drawn but low at her side. "Stay alert," she said, her voice a quiet echo. "The Fortress is alive. It notices every heartbeat."
Her words weren't a warning. They were a certainty.
The shard inside me pulsed harder with each step, syncing with the hum that filled the corridor. The heat spread, coiling tighter through my veins. The whispers, quiet since the gate opened, began to stir again. Not words—just pressure. A presence leaning closer.
Aria's hand tightened faintly around my wrist. "Kael… are you still… you?"
I didn't answer. Not because I didn't want to—but because I wasn't sure anymore. My vision flickered at the edges, the world flashing in shades of crimson every few breaths. Each flicker came with a faint, phantom growl deep in my ears.
Then the hum shifted.
It rose in pitch, vibrating the corridor until the walls rippled like disturbed water. From the darkness ahead, a shape emerged—not walking, not moving, but forming. A figure, tall and thin, draped in shadow. Its face was featureless, save for two faint slits of red where eyes might have been.
Lyra stopped, blade lifting slightly. "Herald," she murmured. Her tone carried no fear. Only recognition.
The figure tilted its head, the faint red slits locking on me. When it spoke, it didn't move its mouth. The voice simply bled into the corridor, into my skull.
"You opened the gate."
The shard burned hotter in response, its pulse quickening until my heartbeat felt like a drumbeat in my ears.
"You carry it," the voice continued. "And yet you resist. Why?"
I tightened my claws, the heat rising to my throat, my jaw. "Because I'm not a puppet."
The Herald's head tilted the other way, a soundless gesture of… amusement, maybe. "Not yet."
The shard flared, and the presence inside it surged forward, louder than before. This time, it wasn't just whispers. It was a voice—clear, deep, layered like many speaking at once.
Stop resisting. Take the power. The girl breathes because of us. The wolves fell because of us. Do you think you can protect her without us?
The words weren't sound. They slid beneath my thoughts, through them, threading heat and rage into every syllable.
Aria's grip tightened again, her fingers trembling against my wrist. "Kael… talk to me. Please."
I tried. But my mouth didn't open. My throat locked as the shard's voice pressed harder, sharper.
Let go. Let us wear the skin. Just for a moment. We will tear the Herald apart. We will save her. All it will cost is—
I roared aloud, a sound that shook the corridor and silenced everything for a breath. My claws slammed into the wall, sinking into the shifting surface as I forced the words out.
"I'm not yours."
The Herald's shadowed figure straightened, its red slits narrowing. "Not yet," it repeated softly. And then it moved.
It didn't step. It flowed. One moment it was ten paces away. The next, it stood before Lyra, its arm—a long, writhing limb of black mist—lashing toward her. She caught the strike on her blade, the impact ringing through the corridor like a bell.
"Move," she snapped, glancing back at me for the first time. "If you lose yourself now, she dies. And so do you."
The shard pulsed again, the heat spilling so hot I felt smoke curl from my claws. The whispers surged into a chorus.
Let us in. Or watch them both fall.
And for the first time, I felt my grip slipping—not from pain, but from the weight of want.