The valley did not welcome them.
Mist clung low to the ground, thick enough to blur the distance but thin enough to give the illusion of visibility. Rocks jutted from the earth at uneven angles, and the wind funneled through the basin in slow, circular currents that carried sound farther than they should have.
Elias felt exposed the moment they stepped into it.
Not physically—there were enough ridges and broken terrain to offer cover if needed—but strategically. The valley was a convergence point. Too many paths fed into it. Too many places for eyes to watch from.
Arin felt it too.
"We shouldn't stay here long," he muttered.
"No," Elias agreed. "But avoiding it entirely would cost us days."
"And staying might cost us more."
Elias didn't answer. He was already mapping angles in his mind, tracking elevation changes, calculating lines of sight. The observers from the previous night hadn't reappeared, but that meant little. If anything, it suggested coordination.
They moved deeper into the valley.
The pain in Elias's chest flared with every step. Not sharp enough to stop him, but persistent, like a reminder etched into bone. His fractured core pulsed unevenly, and the shadow followed close, never straying more than a foot from his boots.
Too close.
He hated that.
By midday, they found the ruins.
Not large. Not impressive. Just the remains of old stone structures half-buried in earth and moss. A collapsed archway. Broken pillars. Weathered carvings so worn they were barely distinguishable from natural erosion.
Arin frowned. "This wasn't on the map."
"Most ruins aren't," Elias replied.
He crouched near one of the pillars, brushing away dirt with careful fingers. Faint markings emerged—runes, degraded but unmistakable.
Old.
Very old.
"These predate the last major wars," Elias said quietly.
Arin raised an eyebrow. "You can tell that just by looking?"
"Yes."
The runes were crude compared to modern standards. Inefficient. Unrefined. But there was something else—an underlying structure that felt… different.
Less constrained.
Elias's shadow stirred uneasily.
That was when the pressure returned.
Stronger than before.
Arin straightened slowly. "We're not alone."
"No," Elias said. "We're surrounded."
The first arrow struck the stone near Arin's head, embedding itself with a sharp crack.
"Down!" Arin shouted, already moving.
They dove behind a fallen slab as arrows rained down from the surrounding ridges. This time, there was no attempt at negotiation.
No testing.
This was commitment.
Elias clenched his jaw. "They've decided."
"Decided what?" Arin snapped, drawing his sword.
"That observing is no longer enough."
The shadow surged outward, spreading across the ground like spilled ink, forming a thin barrier that deflected two incoming arrows. Elias felt the strain immediately—his core protested, sending a wave of nausea through him.
He forced it down.
Figures emerged from the mist.
Not the same group as before.
More of them.
At least twelve, moving in coordinated patterns, flanking from multiple directions. Some wore light armor suited for speed. Others carried staves etched with portable formations.
Arin cursed. "This isn't a scouting party."
"No," Elias said. "This is a capture team."
A formation activated to their left. The ground shimmered briefly before a concussive wave tore through the air, slamming into their cover and shattering stone.
They rolled away just in time.
Arin charged the nearest attacker, blade flashing. The man blocked, staggered, then retreated as another took his place. They rotated seamlessly, exhausting him through numbers rather than brute force.
Smart.
Elias moved to intercept a formation user, hurling his dagger. The blade struck true, disrupting the runes mid-activation. The resulting backlash knocked the man unconscious—but Elias felt the recoil ripple through his own body.
Pain lanced through his chest.
His vision blurred.
Too much.
The shadow lashed out instinctively, striking an attacker from behind and hurling him into a pillar with bone-crushing force.
Elias staggered.
Arin noticed immediately. "Elias—!"
A heavy blow struck Elias from the side. He hit the ground hard, breath knocked from his lungs. Before he could recover, bindings of glowing script wrapped around his limbs, pinning him in place.
A containment formation.
His core screamed.
The shadow thrashed violently, trying to break free, but each movement sent feedback through Elias's body. Blood filled his mouth.
Arin roared and cut down one of the binders, but another replaced him instantly.
They were closing in.
Efficient. Relentless.
Elias realized something then, with sudden clarity.
They were not afraid of killing him.
They were afraid of letting him act freely.
That meant one thing.
They knew what he could become.
A voice rang out from the mist.
"Enough."
The attackers halted.
A figure stepped forward—tall, cloaked, their face hidden behind a smooth mask etched with unfamiliar symbols. The air around them felt… heavy. Not overwhelming, but absolute, like gravity given form.
Arin froze.
Elias couldn't move.
The figure approached calmly, ignoring Arin entirely, stopping a few steps from Elias.
"So this is the anomaly," the figure said. The voice was distorted, neither male nor female. "Disappointing."
Elias glared up at them. "You brought an army for disappointment."
"Precaution," the figure replied. "You've already exceeded projections."
They raised a hand. The bindings tightened.
Elias screamed.
Something cracked.
Not bone.
Something deeper.
The shadow howled—no longer silent, no longer controlled—and exploded outward.
Darkness flooded the ruins.
The containment formation shattered like glass.
Elias felt his core tear open.
Silver light erupted through the black.
For a moment—just a moment—the world stopped.
He saw the fragment again.
Not distant.
Not dreaming.
It was there, layered over reality, broken runes aligning briefly, responding to his agony.
The masked figure staggered back. "Impossible—!"
Elias rose.
Not gracefully.
Not fully in control.
But standing.
Blood streamed down his side. His shadow writhed around him like a living storm, unstable, violent.
Arin stared. "Elias…"
"I know," Elias said hoarsely.
The attackers hesitated.
That hesitation was fatal.
The shadow struck again and again, faster than thought, tearing through formations, ripping weapons from hands, shattering coordination. Elias moved with it, not commanding, but guiding—barely.
Each action burned.
Each step threatened collapse.
The masked figure retreated sharply. "Withdraw! Now!"
The capture team obeyed instantly, vanishing into the mist with practiced efficiency, dragging their wounded with them.
Silence fell.
Elias stood alone amid the ruins, swaying.
Arin ran to him and caught him before he fell.
"Elias—stay with me—don't you dare—"
Elias laughed weakly. "You worry too much."
"You nearly died."
"Yes," Elias said. "But now they know."
"Know what?"
"That I'm no longer something they can put back in a box."
His legs gave out.
Darkness took him.
He woke hours later.
Night had fallen. A small fire burned nearby, carefully shielded. Arin sat beside him, exhausted, bloodied, but alive.
Elias tried to move.
Pain answered.
Everywhere.
"You're awake," Arin said quietly.
"Yes."
"You scared the hell out of me."
"Good," Elias murmured. "That means you were paying attention."
Arin huffed. "You're impossible."
Elias stared up at the stars through the broken stone. His shadow lay still, unusually calm.
Something had changed.
Not for the better.
Not for the worse.
Irreversibly.
"They won't try to capture me again," Elias said.
Arin frowned. "Why not?"
"Because now," Elias replied, "they're not sure they can."
He closed his eyes.
The road ahead had narrowed.
And retreat was no longer an option.