Elias drifted in and out of consciousness.
There was no clean separation between waking and sleep, only layers of sensation that overlapped and blurred together. Pain was the constant—deep, grinding, omnipresent—but it no longer screamed. It pressed. It weighed. It reminded him that something fundamental inside him had shifted and had not yet decided what shape it would take.
He smelled smoke first.
Not the acrid stench of battle or corruption, but the softer scent of burning wood, carefully managed. He heard breathing next—slow, uneven, close. Someone else was there.
Elias tried to move.
His body refused.
A sharp ache flared across his chest, radiating outward like fractured glass grinding against itself. He sucked in a breath despite himself, the sound ragged.
"Don't," a familiar voice said immediately. "You'll make it worse."
Arin.
Elias forced his eyes open.
The world swam. Darkness clung to the edges of his vision, but the center gradually focused. He lay on a bed of layered cloaks and cloth, surrounded by stone on three sides. A small fire burned nearby, shielded by stacked rocks and positioned low enough that the smoke dispersed before rising too high.
They were still in the valley.
But deeper now. Better hidden.
"How long," Elias rasped, his throat dry, "was I out?"
Arin sat beside him, leaning back against a boulder. His shoulder was bound again, more tightly this time, and his face looked drawn in the firelight.
"Most of the night," Arin said. "And part of the morning."
Elias closed his eyes briefly.
Too long.
"Did they come back?"
"No," Arin replied. "Not directly."
Elias opened his eyes again. "Indirectly?"
Arin hesitated.
"That's not comforting," Elias said.
Arin snorted quietly. "You're not wrong."
He shifted slightly, then continued. "They pulled out clean. No pursuit, no probing attacks. But… we weren't alone while you were unconscious."
Elias's fingers twitched faintly. "Explain."
"Scouts," Arin said. "Far ridges. High ground. Watching. Not approaching."
Elias exhaled slowly, pain flaring again with the motion. "So they're reassessing."
"Yes."
"Good," Elias murmured.
Arin stared at him. "Good?"
"Yes," Elias repeated. "It means they don't understand what happened any better than I do."
"That's supposed to make me feel better?"
"No."
Silence settled between them, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the distant sound of wind moving through the valley.
Elias became aware of something else then.
The absence.
His shadow lay beside him, darker than the surrounding darkness, but… wrong. Thinner. Less defined. It no longer shifted in response to his breathing or the flicker of the fire. It was present—but quiet. Withdrawn.
Injured.
Elias swallowed. "The shadow."
Arin followed his gaze. "Yeah. It hasn't moved much."
"How long?"
"Since you collapsed."
Elias felt a familiar tension coil in his chest—part worry, part frustration, part guilt.
"I broke the balance," he said quietly.
Arin shook his head. "They forced it."
Elias didn't respond.
Blame was irrelevant. Outcome wasn't.
He focused inward, carefully, gently, reaching toward his core.
Pain answered immediately.
Not sharp. Not explosive.
Structural.
Like a beam cracked under too much weight, still holding—but no longer trustworthy.
Elias withdrew at once, breath shallow.
"Don't," Arin said again, more firmly. "Whatever you did back there… it hasn't settled."
Elias stared at the stone ceiling above them. "It may never."
That earned him a sharp look.
"What does that mean?"
"It means," Elias said, choosing his words carefully, "that I crossed a threshold without preparation."
Arin frowned. "You won."
"I survived," Elias corrected. "That's different."
Arin opened his mouth to argue—then closed it again.
"…Fair."
They stayed like that for a long while.
As the sun climbed higher, light filtered faintly into their shelter. The valley outside remained quiet, but not peaceful. Elias could feel it now, more clearly than before.
The land remembered what had happened.
Not in emotion.
In tension.
Eventually, Arin stood. "I'm going to check the perimeter again."
"Be careful."
Arin smirked faintly. "Says the guy who nearly tore reality in half."
"Exactly," Elias replied.
Arin left, moving carefully, deliberately loud enough that Elias could track him by sound alone.
Alone again, Elias turned his attention fully inward.
He had avoided doing this since waking, but avoidance was not strategy.
He needed to understand the damage.
Slowly, cautiously, he reached for his core again—not to draw power, but to observe.
The fractured structure greeted him like a wound that had never been allowed to heal properly. Cracks spiderwebbed through the central mass, deeper now, wider. Where there had once been resistance—hard limits enforced by instability—there was now… openness.
Not control.
Capacity.
A dangerous difference.
His breathing quickened.
The fragment had responded to that openness. He had felt it—felt the world peel back for a fraction of a second, exposing something vast and unfinished beneath the surface of reality.
That memory sent a chill through him.
Too soon.
The words from his dream echoed again, unbidden.
Too soon.
Elias clenched his jaw.
He had always known this path would demand sacrifice. He had simply underestimated the price of acceleration.
The shadow stirred faintly beside him, reacting to his thoughts.
Elias turned his head slightly. "You didn't choose this," he murmured.
The shadow did not respond—but it shifted, just barely.
He took that as acknowledgment.
Hours passed.
When Arin returned, his expression was grim but controlled. "They're still there," he said. "Different positions. Different observers."
"Rotating," Elias said. "They're studying patterns."
"Yes."
"They won't attack again today."
Arin raised an eyebrow. "How can you be sure?"
"Because they already got what they wanted."
"And what's that?"
"Confirmation," Elias said. "That containment is no longer reliable."
Arin grimaced. "That's… not ideal."
"No," Elias agreed. "But it's not the worst outcome either."
Arin looked at him sharply. "Explain."
Elias shifted slightly, ignoring the pain. "If they believed suppression was viable, they would try again. More force. Better formations. Escalation."
"And since they're not…?"
"They'll change approach," Elias finished. "Influence. Interference. Manipulation."
Arin sighed. "That's somehow worse."
"Yes."
They shared a brief, grim smile.
By evening, Elias could sit up—barely. Arin helped him, bracing him carefully.
"Don't make a habit of this," Arin muttered.
"I'll try not to," Elias replied.
The act of sitting revealed just how much strength he'd lost. His limbs felt heavier, coordination slightly off. Even small movements demanded focus.
This was the price.
Not loss of power.
Loss of reliability.
As night fell, Elias spoke again. "We can't stay here."
Arin nodded. "I know."
"The valley is compromised," Elias continued. "They'll maintain observation until we leave."
"And when we do?"
"They'll follow," Elias said. "But at a distance."
Arin frowned. "Then what's the plan?"
Elias stared into the fire. "We change the terms."
"How?"
"We stop running in a straight line."
Arin blinked. "You want to lead them somewhere?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
Elias didn't answer immediately.
He was thinking of the ruins. Of the degraded runes. Of the way the valley had responded when the fragment stirred.
"There are places in this world," Elias said slowly, "where the rules are thinner."
Arin felt a chill crawl up his spine. "And you want to go to one of them."
"Yes."
"On purpose."
"Yes."
Arin exhaled. "You're insane."
"Probably."
"Dangerous."
"Definitely."
Arin rubbed his face. "And I'm coming with you."
Elias looked at him. "You don't have to."
Arin met his gaze without hesitation. "I know."
That settled it.
They left before dawn.
Elias leaned heavily on Arin as they moved, adjusting their pace to accommodate his condition. Each step was measured. Each decision deliberate.
The observers noticed.
Elias felt them reposition almost immediately, the pressure shifting subtly as eyes followed their new trajectory.
Good.
Let them watch.
Let them think they understood.
As the valley receded behind them, Elias allowed himself one final glance back—not at the ruins, but at the space between them.
Something ancient remained there.
Awake.
Not aligned with him.
Not hostile.
Interested.
The road ahead twisted into unfamiliar terrain, leading toward places marked only by absence on most maps.
Elias straightened as much as he could, pain be damned.
If the world insisted on accelerating his fall—
Then he would decide where he landed.