The fissures no longer slept. That much was clear the moment Clara, Damien, and Evelyn emerged from the cavern into the twilight.
The land stretched before them in uneasy stillness, but the horizon was wrong. Smoke rose in black columns from distant villages, and when the wind shifted, the faint sound of bells shattering reached their ears. The ground itself seemed to twitch beneath their boots, a faint vibration that never stopped—like a breath held too long.
Clara walked ahead, arms wrapped around herself. She hadn't said a word since touching the fissure. Her eyes glowed faintly when the light caught them, crimson laced through the natural green of her irises.
Evelyn muttered from behind, voice deliberately loud. "Fantastic. Nothing screams 'healthy travel companion' like glowing demon-eyes."
Damien shot her a look, but Clara stopped in her tracks before he could answer. She turned slightly, her face pale but her voice steady.
"They're not demon-eyes. They're… echoes. If I try to hide them, it'll only make me more dangerous to you."
Evelyn's hand flexed on the hilt of her blade. "Cute honesty. Still doesn't change the part where you're basically a walking red flag."
Clara forced herself to face forward again. "You think I don't know that?"
Her voice cracked slightly at the end, and Damien noticed. He walked faster, closing the distance between them. "You don't need to carry this alone. We'll figure it out together."
But even he hesitated as the words left his lips. Clara could feel it—hesitation wrapped in loyalty. Trust that wavered with every pulse of crimson in her veins.
The silence that followed was heavier than the fissures themselves. The three walked for hours through charred forest paths, each step crunching on brittle leaves. The smoke thickened the further they went, until Evelyn pulled her cloak over her mouth.
"What in the hell happened here?" she muttered.
They crested a ridge. Below, the ruins of a hamlet lay in smoldering ruin. Roofs caved in, wells cracked open, livestock scattered. Not a sign of life remained. But etched across the ground—burned into soil and stone—were spirals of faint crimson light.
Clara's knees weakened. She knew those patterns. She had seen them in her vision through the fissure.
Damien exhaled sharply. "Yurin's threads. He's moving faster than we thought."
Evelyn crouched, tracing a broken spiral with her blade tip. "Threads? This isn't weaving. This is carving. He's turning entire towns into… into runes."
Clara crouched too, pressing a trembling hand to the scorched soil. The faint glow pulsed against her skin like a dying heartbeat. She swallowed hard.
"He's not destroying them for the sake of destruction. He's… anchoring. Each ruin feeds into the next. A chain, pulling toward the center."
Evelyn snorted. "Ah, yes. The comforting thought that our not-so-friendly mastermind isn't senselessly evil—just strategically evil."
Damien ignored her sarcasm, his eyes fixed on Clara. "You saw this when you touched the fissure, didn't you?"
She nodded slowly. "I saw everything. But the closer we get, the louder it becomes. It's not just Yurin weaving—it's the Architect responding. They're… speaking to each other. And if they finish their conversation—"
Her voice broke. She couldn't finish.
Evelyn rose, dusting ash off her knees. "Then let's make sure they don't finish. I'd rather stab a friend in the back than wake up as breakfast for a god."
Damien spun on her. "Don't."
"Don't what?" Evelyn asked flatly. "Don't speak the thought we're all choking on? You saw her eyes. You felt that hum. Don't lie to yourself, Damien. If she tips even an inch too far, she's not Clara anymore. She's theirs."
The words hung between them, sharp as knives. Clara's breath caught, but she didn't defend herself. What defense did she have, when part of her agreed?
Instead, she whispered, "If that happens… you won't have to stab me. I'll do it myself."
Damien's face twisted, horror flashing in his eyes. "Don't you dare say that."
Evelyn's gaze narrowed, though for once there was no sarcasm. "Then make sure you don't give me a reason."
The three descended into the ruined hamlet in silence. The spirals glowed faintly under their boots, pulsing with the same rhythm that Clara's heart now carried. Every step forward made it harder to tell where she ended and the Architect's song began.
For the first time, Clara realized something that made her stomach twist.
The more she resisted the pull, the stronger it became.