Chapter 65 – Shadows Beyond the Firelight
The embers of the great bonfire still smoldered when Kyle rose from his cot. Dawn had not yet broken, but sleep had become impossible. The dream still clung to him—the chained figure, the whispers that clawed at his mind, the ultimatum: to bind, or to break.
He fastened his cloak and stepped outside. The air was sharp and cold, carrying the faint scent of ash from last night's fire. Survivors still slept in tents and makeshift shelters, their breaths rising as thin clouds in the predawn air. For a moment, the silence almost felt like peace. Almost.
"Couldn't sleep either?"
Kyle turned. Seris stood leaning against a broken pillar, her arms folded, a smirk on her lips despite the dark circles under her eyes.
Kyle shook his head. "The whispers… they're louder every night."
"Maybe you should stop listening," she offered.
He gave her a look. "You think I haven't tried?"
Seris's smirk softened into something more sympathetic. "Yeah. I know." She pushed off the pillar. "Come on. If we're awake, might as well make ourselves useful."
Signs in the Dunes
They walked to the outskirts of the ruined citadel, where the desert stretched endless and pale beneath the fading stars. A pair of scouts waited there, tense, their torches casting uneasy shadows.
Kael was already present, speaking in a low, clipped tone. When he saw Kyle, his expression hardened.
"You felt it too?" Kael asked.
Kyle frowned. "Felt what?"
Kael pointed toward the horizon. At first Kyle saw nothing—only the vast emptiness of sand and stone. Then his shard pulsed against his chest, sharp and urgent.
The dunes shimmered faintly, as though something moved just beyond the reach of sight. Shadows gliding where no light should fall.
"They've been circling since midnight," one scout whispered. "Too far to track. Too close to ignore."
Seris's hand went to her blade. "Raiders?"
Kael shook his head. "Not raiders. Watch."
As the sky began to pale with the first hint of dawn, the shadows flickered—and vanished. No footprints marked the sand. No sign of life remained.
Kyle's pulse quickened. "Illusions?"
Kael's jaw tightened. "Not illusions. Echoes. The kind tied to fragment corruption."
The words dropped like stones into the silence. Even Seris's confidence faltered.
"Then it's connected," Kyle murmured. "To what's under the citadel."
Kael met his gaze, grim. "Yes. Whatever we disturbed… it's drawing things here."
Council of Uneasy Flames
By mid-morning, the survivors had gathered again in the broken council chamber. The air was thick with unease. The scouts' reports spread quickly, whispers stirring through the crowd.
Elder Maerin, her voice hoarse, addressed them. "We cannot survive another battle so soon. The fortress is broken, our people wounded. If these shadows are drawn to us…"
"…then they'll keep coming," finished another elder bitterly.
Accusing eyes turned toward Kyle. He felt the weight of their stares like stones pressing against his ribs.
Seris rose before he could speak. "Blaming him doesn't fix the problem. If those things are connected to the ruins below, then we need him more than ever. He's the only one they've spoken to."
Murmurs spread. Some nodding in reluctant agreement, others whispering fear.
Kael raised his hand. "Enough. The choice is simple. We can scatter, abandoning this place to whatever stalks it, or we can stand, rebuild, and face what's coming." His gaze swept the chamber, steel-hard. "But if we stand, we do so knowing the center of this storm is here. And that means Kyle."
Kyle forced himself to his feet. Every instinct screamed at him to stay silent, to shrink from the burden. But Seris's words, Kael's conviction, and the whisper's echo all drove him forward.
"I didn't ask for this," he said, voice steady despite the knot in his chest. "But I won't run from it either. If I am the key… then I'll be the one to face what's coming."
The chamber fell silent. For a moment, Kyle thought he saw respect in their eyes—tempered by fear, but respect nonetheless.
The First Attack
That night, the shadows returned.
Kyle felt them before the sentries cried out—his shard burning against his chest, warning of fragment anomalies. He rushed to the battlements, Seris at his side, Kael already shouting orders.
The dunes writhed. Dark shapes moved like smoke given form, slipping across the sand without disturbing it. Then, with a sound like tearing cloth, they surged forward.
Sentries loosed arrows, but the shafts passed through the shadows as though through mist. The creatures struck the walls—not with claws or steel, but with cold, suffocating silence. Torches flickered and died in their presence.
"They're draining light," Seris hissed, slashing with her blade. Her strike met resistance—not flesh, but the heavy drag of energy. The shadow recoiled, its form unraveling into threads of darkness before reforming.
Kyle drew his shard, pulse racing. He sent out a resonance wave, and the shadows shuddered violently. The shard pulsed hotter, brighter, responding to the corruption.
Bind… or break.
The whisper surged through him again, echoing across the battlefield.
Kyle pushed forward, projecting a harmonic pulse. Where the resonance touched, the shadows faltered, their forms distorting like glass under heat.
"It works!" he shouted. "The shard destabilizes them!"
Kael barked orders, pulling soldiers back to protect Kyle's position. Seris covered his flank, her strikes slowing the shadows enough for his resonance to unravel them.
But for every shadow destroyed, two more emerged from the dunes. The night became a blur of chaos—shouts, clash of steel, the cold silence of the creatures pressing closer.
Kyle's chest burned, his shard flaring painfully as he poured more energy into the resonance. Sweat ran down his face, his arms trembling from the effort.
Then, through the press of shadows, Kyle saw it—an echo larger than the rest, towering, its form almost human but faceless, chained at the wrists.
His blood ran cold. The figure from the dream.
The shard screamed in his chest, resonance spiking to unbearable levels. The choice roared in his mind.
Bind… or break.
The Choice in Battle
Time seemed to slow. The towering echo raised its chained arms, and the shadows rallied, pressing harder. Survivors cried out, walls shuddered, torches died.
Kyle staggered, nearly collapsing under the force of the resonance. He saw the terror in Seris's eyes, the grim resolve in Kael's. He felt the weight of every survivor depending on him.
Bind, or break.
If he bound it, he might hold the shadows back—temporarily. But the seal would tighten around his soul as well as theirs. If he broke it, the shadows might scatter—but at the cost of unleashing something far worse.
In the chaos, Kyle did the only thing he could.
He chose.