The dungeon spat them out into the gulch with lungs full of stale air and boots heavy with blood and dust. Aeric dragged himself up the last step, Marcello limping behind him, Theresa pale and silent. The market outside roared with life — merchants shouting over prices, Hunters calling for carriers, recruiters rattling off names for the draft.
It should have been a relief. Instead, it felt like stepping from one hell into another.
Aeric was halfway to convincing himself they'd slipped by unnoticed when the noise shifted. Not silence, but a ripple. The crowd parted without realizing, voices dropping, eyes turning toward the figure waiting at the edge of the dungeon square.
Hendrix.
Plain robes, gray streaks in his hair, no weapon at his side. But the air bent around him, slowed for him, just like Aeric remembered.
Day Break slammed back into him — the sky torn open, his father's hand ripped from his own, fire raining down. And Hendrix, untouched, a still point in chaos, slowing time itself as the world ended.
Now he was here. Waiting.
Hendrix's eyes locked onto Aeric at once. Concern. Unease. Guilt. All of it written plain on a face Aeric hadn't seen since the day his family died.
"You survived," Hendrix said, voice steady, though his expression said more.
Aeric's jaw tightened. "You saw what happened. You saw them die."
Hendrix's gaze flickered, just once. "I saw everything that day. And I failed you. I thought—" He stopped, shook his head. "I thought your path would open, that I could guide you when the time came. But now…" His eyes darkened. "Now there's nothing. I can't see you anymore."
Marcello shifted uneasily. Theresa glanced between them but said nothing.
Aeric clenched his fists. "Good. Maybe that means I'm free."
"No," Hendrix said, almost too quickly. "It means you're in danger. You're walking blind, and so am I."
His gaze slid past Aeric — to the hulking form of the golem. The stone figure loomed silently, dungeon ash clinging to its body like a second skin.
Hendrix's breath caught. "That isn't just a golem." His voice carried, sharp enough for the others to hear. "It's soul-bound."
Theresa's head snapped toward Aeric. "What?"
Marcello swore under his breath. "You've got to be kidding me."
Aeric blinked, thrown. "Soul-bound? I don't even—"
"You don't have to understand it," Hendrix cut him off, his tone hard. "It happened. And it's dangerous."
The weight of the words hung between them, Marcello muttering curses under his breath while Theresa's eyes narrowed in disbelief. But Hendrix stepped closer, lowering his voice so only Aeric could hear.
"You used Gary's soul," Hendrix whispered, the words hitting like a blade. "It's him inside that stone. Trapped. Bound. Whether you meant it or not."
Aeric's chest tightened, his throat dry. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
Hendrix's voice softened, almost breaking. "You don't understand what you've done. But you will. And when that day comes… I may not be able to save you."
The market noise surged back — merchants haggling, children crying, Hunters barking orders. Hendrix lingered a heartbeat longer, then gave a slow, reluctant nod.
"I'll be watching. Not because I can see. Because I can't."
And with that, he turned, the crowd swallowing him whole.
Theresa broke the silence. "He's right, isn't he? You don't know what that thing really is. How do you even know that man anyway?"
"Yeah," Aeric said, eyes fixed on the spot where the man had vanished into the gulch. His throat was dry. "He was there when my world ended."
The words hung heavy as they pushed through the crowd, heading toward the healer's tent where the foreman had been carried.
Theresa walked close, her expression tight. "So who was that? He calls out the golem in front of everyone, and you just let him walk away?"
"It's not that simple," Aeric muttered.
Marcello scoffed. "Looked pretty damn simple to me. He shows up, stares you down, tells us this thing stomping behind us has a soul trapped inside it—and you don't deny it. You don't even argue."
The golem's heavy steps thudded after them, silent, unflinching.
"I didn't ask for this," Aeric said through his teeth.
"No one's saying you did," Theresa said, though her voice was sharp. "But if he's right, if that thing is really soul-bound… then what the hell are we supposed to do with it?"
Aeric shook his head. "I don't know."
Marcello let out a dry laugh, bitter as gravel. "That's comforting. We're walking next to a walking tombstone with a soul chained inside, and you don't know." He limped faster, pushing ahead toward the tents. "If it turns on us, that'll be the last thing we hear too."
Theresa glanced at Aeric, her eyes softer than her voice. "Whoever he was, he knew you. And if someone like that's worried…" She trailed off, shaking her head. "That should scare all of us."
They walked the rest of the way in uneasy silence, the golem's footfalls pounding like a drumbeat none of them wanted to hear.
The healer's tent reeked of alcohol and herbs. Lanternlight flickered over the foreman's cot, his chest bandaged and his face gray but alive. A pair of assistants hovered nearby, trying to keep him stable.
Aeric ducked inside with Theresa and Marcello, the golem's heavy tread following close behind. The tent poles creaked as the construct stooped to fit through the flap, its shadow swallowing the lamplight.
The assistants froze. One nearly dropped his satchel.
Marcello swore under his breath. "You can't seriously bring that thing in here."
"It's not doing anything," Aeric muttered.
"Yet," Marcello snapped. "You heard what that man said. There's a soul in it. A person. And you don't even know whose."
Theresa's arms crossed tight over her chest. Her eyes never left the golem. "He's right. We don't know what it wants. Or what it remembers."
Aeric's teeth ground together. "It doesn't want anything. It listens. It protects."
"That's what worries me," Theresa said quietly.
The foreman stirred at the noise, grimacing as he tried to sit up. "What the hell's stomping around my tent?"
Marcello gestured sharply at the golem. "Ask him."
All eyes turned to Aeric. For a moment, the weight of it pressed down — the healer's fear, Theresa's doubt, Marcello's anger. The golem stood motionless, stone eyes catching the lamplight, as if waiting for Aeric's answer too.
Aeric drew a slow breath. "It's mine. It's bound to me." He tried to keep his voice steady, calm. "I don't know how, not yet. But it hasn't hurt anyone. It fought for us in the dungeon, and it kept me alive when I should've been dead this morning."
The assistants exchanged worried looks.
Theresa's gaze narrowed. "That's not the same as safe, Aeric."
Marcello spat into the dirt at his feet. "You don't keep a rabid beast in the tent just because it hasn't bitten you yet."
Aeric's jaw clenched. "It's not rabid. It's not even alive. It's stone."
The golem shifted slightly, its weight making the tent poles groan. The sound alone was enough to make the assistants flinch back.
The foreman rasped from his cot, voice hoarse. "If it's staying, it stays outside. I don't care who's soul-bound or what binds it. I've seen enough monsters for one lifetime."
Silence pressed down, broken only by the golem's faint grinding as it shifted, its massive frame straining the tent poles. The assistants clutched their satchels like shields, waiting for someone to act.
Aeric exhaled through his nose, shoulders tight. "Fine."
He turned to the golem. The thing loomed, eyes like dull stone lamps fixed on him, as if waiting for his word. Aeric swallowed hard, then jerked his chin toward the tent flap. "Outside. Wait for me."
For a moment nothing happened. Then, with a slow grind of stone on stone, the golem ducked and lumbered out, ducking beneath the canvas. Its heavy footsteps shook the earth until they faded, settling just beyond the flap.
The tent seemed to breathe easier without it.
Marcello muttered, "That's better."
Theresa didn't speak, but her arms stayed crossed, gaze heavy on Aeric.
He ignored them both, though his chest ached. As the noise of the market returned to fill the silence, he felt a faint pull in the back of his mind — like a thread stretched taut, tying him to the hulking figure waiting just beyond the canvas. Not a voice, not words, just… presence.
It's still here.
Still mine.
The foreman coughed, grimacing as he pushed himself up on one elbow. His eyes swept Aeric, lingering longer than before. "So it's true. You're awakened."
Aeric gave a curt nod.
The foreman's gaze sharpened. "Then you should know better. Carriers don't dive into boss fights. That's suicide. And worse — it pulls trained Hunters off balance when someone out of formation charges in. You weren't assigned that fight. You weren't even supposed to be near it."
Aeric's jaw tightened. "If I hadn't stepped in, you wouldn't be breathing to give this lecture."
The foreman's eyes narrowed, but his silence admitted the point. He'd been pinned, bleeding out, when the boss raged through the cavern. He hadn't seen Aeric's strike, only the aftermath.
Marcello stepped forward, fists clenched. "Damn right. Aeric held the line when the rest of us were about to break. He took the boss head-on while the rest of us scrambled. You'd be a corpse if not for him."
Theresa's tone was steady, but her words cut sharper than Marcello's fury. "He fought because no one else could. And he's awakened — he wasn't punching above his weight. He was doing what needed to be done."
The foreman let out a wheezing laugh that turned into a cough. "Awakened or not, you don't rewrite the chain of command mid-fight. Hunters fight bosses. Carriers haul and support. That order exists for a reason. The moment you broke it, you risked all of us."
His voice grew rougher, bitter as ash. "And now? The Tower will want to know how a fresh awakened pulled a soul-bound out of nowhere. The Guild will see nothing but liability in a contract breach like yours. If I shield you, they'll cut this whole outpost down to make an example."
His expression hardened, final. "So I'll be clear: your contract is terminated, Pentafrax. Effective immediately."
Marcello swore, pacing like he might tear the tent wall down. "You're insane. You'd rather toss aside the one man who kept that boss from tearing you in half?"
Theresa's arms dropped to her sides, her voice low but tight. "This isn't discipline. It's fear. They can't control him, so they'd rather cast him off."
The foreman sagged back into his cot, eyes heavy with pain and fatigue. "Fear keeps order. And order keeps us alive. Remember that."
The canvas flap fell shut behind them, muffling the groans and coughing inside. Outside, the market noise slammed back into place — hawkers calling prices, Hunters bartering, carriers hauling crates through mud. The world hadn't paused for their little reckoning.
Marcello stomped a few steps ahead, fists balled at his sides. "Terminated. Just like that. Like you're some worthless carrier they can throw away. Bastards."
Aeric adjusted his grip on the sword at his hip, jaw tight. "Doesn't matter."
Marcello spun on him. "The hell it doesn't. You're awakened now, Aeric. They don't just toss awakened on the scrap heap. Any guild would kill to snatch you up."
Theresa caught up, keeping her voice low but sharp. "And the Association knows that. Which is exactly why they cut you loose first. They're making sure you don't become their problem."
Marcello glared. "Then Aeric should fight it. Hell, he saved their lives. If that doesn't mean something, what's the point of the damn Association at all?"
Theresa's eyes flicked to Aeric, steady and searching. "Fight it, and you paint a target on your back. The Tower, the Guilds — they'll all circle. They'll want answers about the golem, about your awakening, about why that man was waiting for you outside that dungeon. You think you can dodge that kind of attention forever?"
Aeric felt the pull in the back of his mind — the golem, waiting. Silent. Watching. He forced his shoulders to relax. "I'm not fighting anything. Not yet."
Marcello threw his arms wide. "So what, you just take it? Let them toss you aside after what you did in there?"
"I'm saying," Aeric cut in, voice steady but low, "that if they want me gone, fine. Better to walk away than dance on their leash. I'll figure it out. My own way."
Theresa studied him a moment longer, unreadable, then exhaled. "That might be the only reason you're still breathing right now. They think cutting you loose keeps them safe."
Marcello muttered an expletive under his breath but didn't push further. The three of them moved into the flow of the market, swallowed by the press of bodies, the noise, the stink of blood and coin.
Aeric kept his eyes ahead, every step heavier than the last.
Terminated. Contractless. A marked man already.
But inside, beneath the ache and exhaustion, a flicker of something else stirred.
Hope.
Aeric dug into his belt pouch and pulled free one of the glass vials he'd bought from Dorrin.
"Here." He pressed it into Marcello's hand.
Marcello blinked, then smirked despite the grime on his face. "Finally. Thought you were saving all the good stuff for yourself."
"Just drink it," Aeric muttered.
Marcello pulled the cork with his teeth, spat it aside, and downed the bitter red liquid. A grunt escaped him as the potion burned down his throat, then he stomped his boot against the dirt to test it. The limp was gone.
"Better," he said with a sharp nod — and then kept stomping, every step heavy, more out of fury than pain now.
"Termination," he spat, loud enough to earn a few stares. "Like you didn't just drag their sorry asses through that dungeon. If the Association had any spine, they'd be kneeling in thanks."
Theresa hissed at him under her breath, tugging him closer so he wouldn't draw more attention. "You're going to shout it in the middle of the gulch? Do you want half the Guild recruiters sniffing around before we're even out of earshot of the tent?"
Marcello threw his hands up. "Maybe they should! Maybe they should know the Association's cutting loose the one person who kept the boss from flattening us."
Aeric stopped walking, forcing them both to stop with him. "Enough." His voice came out flat, tired, but firm. "The last thing I need is the two of you tearing into each other on top of this."
Theresa's eyes softened, but her voice didn't. "Then say something, Aeric. What's your plan? Are you just going to walk into the next mess blind? Or do you actually know what you're doing?"
Aeric met her gaze, steady despite the knot in his chest. "I know what I'm not doing. I'm not dragging you two down in another argument. Not here. Not now."
For a beat, the three of them stood in the stream of carriers and merchants, the world moving around them like they weren't even there. Then Marcello let out a long breath and scrubbed his hand down his face.
"Fine," he muttered. "But sooner or later, you're going to have to decide. Because like it or not, you're not just a carrier anymore."
Theresa didn't argue. She just nodded once, eyes lingering on Aeric, unreadable as ever.
They started walking again, the tension still hanging between them — not broken, not settled, just waiting for the next spark.
They pushed deeper into the gulch, leaving the tent and the sting of the foreman's words behind. The crowd thinned near a line of food stalls, the smell of fried root and bitter broth carrying over the mud. Aeric stopped, leaned against a post, and let the noise of the market wash over him.
Marcello still stomped like a war drum, though the limp was gone thanks to the potion Aeric had handed him moments earlier. He muttered, "Still say it's horse shit."
Theresa folded her arms, steady as always. "You're not wrong. But shouting about it won't change a thing. The Association already made their decision."
Her eyes lingered on Aeric. There was weight there — not pity, but recognition. She and Marcello had crossed the line years ago, leaving carrier ranks behind when they awakened into mercenaries. Aeric had been the lone transporter at their side, the one dragging supplies and hauling weight while they fought. Now he wasn't.
"Which means we have to decide what comes next," Theresa said.
Aeric didn't answer right away. His gaze drifted toward the press of the crowd, where somewhere beyond the stalls the golem waited like a shadow bound to him. His jaw tightened.
Soul-bound. Forbidden. Dangerous. Hendrix had made that much clear.
He hadn't even known what he was doing when it happened. Just a desperate act, clinging to life after what had transpired on the bus. He thought he'd only been pulling for strength, for something to fight with. But instead he'd dragged Gary back into the world, shackled into stone.
And now Hendrix knew.
Your family's blood is already on my hands, Aeric. I won't let you follow them.
The words rattled in his head like loose iron. He clenched his fists, steadying himself, then pushed the thought aside. His friends were watching him.
He forced a breath out. "Marcello's right — they tossed me aside. Theresa's right too — fighting it head-on just makes me a bigger target."
Theresa raised a brow, surprised he said it aloud.
"So," Aeric continued, voice firmer, "we figure it out ourselves. Not as a carrier and two mercs, but as equals. All of us awakened. All of us choosing where to go."
Marcello blinked, then a grin started tugging at his face. "Now you're talking."
Theresa's arms eased a little, her stance shifting from defensive to thoughtful. "That changes things. Carriers can be discarded. Mercenaries can't. If you're one of us now… we move differently. But it also means every guild, every recruiter, every Tower scribe with ink to burn is going to come sniffing for you."
Aeric straightened, pushing off the post. "Then we don't wait for them to decide. We move first. My contract's cut. That makes me free."
For the first time since stepping out of the dungeon, the three of them stood without snapping at each other. The tension hadn't vanished, not completely, but it had shifted — burned down into a shared ember, the start of something else.
They cut away from the crowded stalls, scanning the square until Aeric finally spotted the hulking shape in the distance. The golem hadn't lingered near the medical tents — it had wandered off, lumbering to the edge of the gulch where the broken fence line met open scrub.
It stood there now, half in shadow, the late light striking its stone shoulders. A pair of sparrows hopped in the dirt at its feet. With a grinding creak, the golem bent, lowering one massive hand. Instead of crushing, it spread its stone palm flat.
The birds hopped onto it, chirping, unafraid.
The golem lifted its hand slowly, deliberate, almost careful. The sparrows fluttered their wings, but they didn't fly. They clung to the stone until the hand rose high, then sprang off in a flurry of feathers, circling back toward the rooftops.
Marcello slowed, eyes wide. "…You seeing this?"
Theresa stopped beside him, her arms crossing tight. "It's not supposed to do that."
Aeric swallowed hard. The thing wasn't just waiting for orders. It was… curious. Maybe even gentle. But Hendrix's words were still hammering in his skull. Soul-bound. Forbidden. Dangerous.
The golem straightened, its faceless head turning toward them. The shift was subtle, but Aeric felt it — like the construct knew it was being watched.
Marcello let out a low whistle. "Never thought I'd say this, but… it looks alive."
Theresa didn't soften. Her eyes cut toward Aeric, sharp as glass. "Alive, bound, or worse. Don't start fooling yourself just because it plays nice with birds."
Aeric clenched his jaw but said nothing. He didn't know what it was either. Only that it was his.