The night did not grow darker.
It only grew quieter.
The layered light above the Threshold Fields dimmed by a fraction, enough to suggest the passage of time without granting the mercy of shadows. The ruins held their pale glow, and the grass whispered less, as though conserving itself.
No one slept.
Some sat with their backs to stone, eyes open and unfocused. Others paced short, restless circuits, careful not to stray too far. Hunger gnawed at everyone now—not sharp enough to cripple, but persistent enough to sour every thought.
The injured hunter lay near the center of the shelter, his useless arms wrapped in rough bindings. He stared at the ceiling of broken stone, breathing shallowly, as if afraid that even breath might cost him something more.
Caelum sat nearby, listening.
Not to voices. To *patterns*.
The hum of the Gate pulsed faintly through the ground, steady and distant. Every so often, the air thickened for a heartbeat, then relaxed again. A system cycling. Measuring. Waiting.
Waiting for what?
---
The mistake came from the edge of the group.
His name was **Darius Hale**—broad-shouldered, older than most, with a Binding that manifested as heat shimmering around his hands. He had been quiet since hunger set in, conserving energy, watching the others eat and argue and fail.
When he stood, no one noticed at first.
He moved with purpose, stepping past the edge of the shelter toward the open grass beyond. The hum of his Binding flared softly as warmth gathered around his palms.
Li Xueyan's head snapped up.
"Don't," she said.
Darius didn't stop. "I won't be long."
Jonah straightened. "That's not a plan."
Darius glanced back, eyes hollow. "Neither is starving."
He turned and walked into the fields.
---
The grass parted before him, bending away from the heat. The air around his hands distorted, a faint mirage rippling outward as he stalked forward.
Caelum rose to his feet.
"Someone should go with him," Élise said quietly.
"No," Li replied at once. "That doubles the risk."
Aarav took a step forward anyway, then froze as pain flared up his arms. He swore under his breath, clutching his wrists.
Darius moved faster.
A shape burst from the grass—a small creature like the ones they'd hunted before, all lean muscle and glassy skin. Darius reacted instantly, thrusting his hands forward.
Heat roared.
The creature was reduced to ash in seconds.
Darius laughed, sharp and breathless. "See? Easy."
Another shape emerged.
Then another.
The heat around his hands intensified, flaring brighter, hotter. The grass around him blackened, curling inward as the temperature spiked.
Caelum felt it then.
A tension building too quickly.
"Darius!" he shouted. "Stop!"
Darius didn't hear him.
Or didn't want to.
---
The third creature leapt.
Darius raised his hands again.
This time, the heat didn't respond cleanly.
It surged.
Then *reversed*.
The shimmer around his palms collapsed inward, slamming back through his arms and into his chest like a hammer. Darius screamed, the sound raw and torn, and dropped to his knees as flames crawled backward along his skin before vanishing entirely.
He collapsed face-first into the grass.
For a heartbeat, no one moved.
Then chaos broke loose.
---
"Get him back!" Jonah barked.
Takahiro moved first, sprinting forward with controlled speed. He reached Darius and dragged him clear of the scorched grass just as the remaining creatures fled, vanishing as abruptly as they'd appeared.
Darius was alive.
Barely.
His breathing was shallow, ragged, each inhale accompanied by a wet, rattling sound. His hands—once steady and strong—were burned black along the palms, skin cracked and blistered, the flesh beneath gray and unmoving.
Élise knelt beside him, hands hovering uncertainly. "I—I don't know how to treat this."
Samuel Crowe crouched opposite her, face grim. "This isn't a wound," he said. "It's a consequence."
Darius's eyes fluttered open.
"I—got it, didn't I?" he whispered hoarsely. "Food."
"Yes," Jonah said quietly. "You did."
Darius smiled weakly.
Then his gaze unfocused.
His chest rose once more.
Then did not rise again.
---
Silence fell like a dropped curtain.
Élise pressed her fingers to Darius's neck, breath hitching. She waited. Counted. Checked again.
Nothing.
She sat back slowly, hands trembling.
"He's—" Her voice broke. She swallowed. "He's gone."
Aarav turned away, bile rising in his throat.
Someone sobbed softly.
Li Xueyan closed her eyes for a brief moment, then opened them again, gaze hard and clear.
Jonah exhaled slowly, shoulders stiff. He did not speak.
Caelum stared at Darius's still form, a cold weight settling in his chest.
He had felt it—the surge, the imbalance, the moment where things tipped too far. He had known, instinctively, that it was wrong.
And he had still been too late.
---
The Gate pulsed.
Once.
The sound rolled across the fields, low and resonant, as if acknowledging the outcome.
Samuel's jaw tightened. "There," he said softly. "That's the cost."
"Cost of what?" someone demanded.
"Of thinking power is a tool," Samuel replied. "Instead of a contract."
No one argued.
---
They moved Darius's body back to the shelter.
No ceremony. No words. Just the careful, awkward handling of something that had been a person moments ago.
When they set him down, the grass beneath his body darkened slightly, bending lower than the surrounding blades.
Élise noticed.
She clenched her fists.
The shard at her collarbone pulsed, warm and insistent. She could capture this—the first true death, the exact shape of the moment it happened. She could preserve it perfectly.
Her fingers brushed the glass.
Then stopped.
*I will not store fear.*
She let her hand fall.
---
The group did not sleep after that.
They sat in clusters, whispering or staring into the distance. Hunger retreated, replaced by something colder and heavier.
Aarav sat with his head in his hands, elbows on his knees. "If I'd gone," he muttered. "If I'd redirected—"
"You'd be lying there too," Li said flatly.
Aarav looked up, anger flaring. "You don't know that."
"Yes," Li replied. "I do."
The tension between them crackled, sharp and dangerous.
Caelum stepped between them—not blocking, not confronting. Just *there*.
The air eased.
Aarav looked away first.
Li studied Caelum for a long moment, eyes narrowing.
Then she turned and walked to the edge of the shelter, choosing distance over argument.
---
Jonah approached Samuel quietly. "Was there anything we could've done?"
Samuel shook his head. "Not once he pushed past the limit."
Jonah's lips pressed into a thin line. "So this is it, then. We just… accept it?"
Samuel met his gaze. "You learn from it," he said. "Or you follow him."
Jonah nodded slowly.
Learning, he could do.
---
Caelum walked to the edge of the shelter and looked out over the fields.
The grass where Darius had fallen was blackened now, a scorched scar cutting through the pale expanse. The land had not healed it.
It had *marked* it.
Caelum felt the Gate's pull again, stronger than ever, threaded now with something new.
Finality.
This was no longer theoretical. No longer a warning whispered through ruins and echoes.
Someone had died.
Not because of malice.
Not because of cruelty.
But because hunger had narrowed his choices until only a bad one remained.
Caelum closed his eyes briefly.
This should have been the moment where everything stabilized—where the group drew together, found resolve, moved on stronger.
It didn't.
Something had broken instead.
And for the first time since arriving in the Threshold Fields, Caelum understood with absolute clarity:
He could not prevent every loss.
The Ascent would take what it wanted.
And it would not ask permission first.