There was no dawn in the Rift.
Only a pale dimming of the dark, like the sky itself had forgotten how to rise.
They buried the lost soldiers in silence—no rites, no markers. Darien gave a short nod to the last shovelful of earth. Caelen didn't speak at all. Lys stood apart, her eyes glowing faintly, lips moving in quiet chant.
Auren didn't help dig.
Not because he refused.
Because the ground wouldn't let him.
Every time he tried, his fingers brushed the stone and it pulsed—subtle, almost like a heartbeat. The others didn't feel it. But he did. And worse—he understood it.
It was listening.
By midday, they reached the central pit of the ruin—a spiral staircase carved directly into the earth, slick with age and frost.
Caelen led, his sword drawn and crackling faintly with Shardlight. "We go together," he said. "If anything happens—"
"We run?" one of the guards offered.
"No," Caelen replied coldly. "We kill it."
Auren didn't believe him.
Because down here… some things didn't die.
They just waited.
The descent blurred.
Each step down felt like falling through time. The air thickened, light thinned. Shardlamps flickered, even Lys's glow dimmed. The walls bore new glyphs—twisting, mirrored symbols that made Auren's head ache to look at.
Darien paused once, touching a cracked slab. "This isn't Voidcraft," he muttered. "It's older. Deeper."
"Pre-Crown?" Lys asked.
Darien's hand trembled slightly. "Pre-Light."
At the bottom was a door.
Or what had once been one.
It was shattered—slab fragments scattered like fallen teeth, the glyph at its center broken clean through.
Beyond it, a hall.
Not stone.
Bone.
Spines arched into pillars. Ribs made vaults. Skulls were carved into sconces, their hollow eyes glowing faintly with violet fire.
No one spoke.
Even Darien's breath caught.
Because this was not a ruin.
It was a temple.
And something had woken.
The choir began at the first step.
Not voices, not words.
A hum.
Discordant, layered, unending.
Lys collapsed first, clutching her head. "Make it stop—it's in the shards—it's in my skin—"
Caelen caught her, gritting his teeth. "Pull out! We fall back, now—"
But Auren stepped forward.
And the hum lessened.
He didn't understand why.
Only that the deeper he walked, the more the sound folded around him—not hurting… but recognizing.
The shattered glyphs on the floor glowed beneath his feet.
As if welcoming him home.
At the center of the temple stood a monolith.
Floating above a basin of violet fire, it pulsed like a heartbeat. Shards—dozens, hundreds—floated around it. Cracked. Scarred. Singing.
Not in harmony.
In suffering.
Auren stumbled closer, and the hum crystallized into whispers:
They Bound us in light.
They labeled us cursed.
They fed us into thrones and called it duty.
But fracture is freedom.
And now… we sing again.
Auren touched the stone.
And the world broke.
He stood within a memory not his own.
Thousands of Shardbearers, chained in golden halls. Crown Priests carving into them with blades of will. The Shards weeping—not crying, but bleeding, raw light spilling from wounds etched into souls.
A voice above them all:
"Stability must be maintained. The Fractured must be silenced."
And then the silence shattered.
Screams.
Fire.
Light turned inside out.
And from the breach—Them.
Eyes without form. Hands without end. Whispers made flesh. The Fractured Choir rose, not in vengeance—
But in truth.
They did not seek to destroy.
They sought to be heard.
Auren gasped awake, stumbling back.
The fire was gone.
The Shards… silent.
The others rushed to him—Caelen, Darien, Lys—shouting, demanding answers.
But Auren looked past them.
Because someone was standing in the doorway.
One of the lost scouts.
Pale.
Eyes glowing faintly violet.
Mouth moving silently to a tune no one else could hear.
Caelen raised his blade.
But Lys caught his arm. "No. Look."
The man's Shard floated outside his chest—cracked, humming. But not broken.
Transformed.
He opened his mouth.
And for a moment, the Choir echoed in all of them.
Auren dropped to one knee, gasping. Darien fell back, blood leaking from his nose. Caelen roared, slicing the air between them.
Silence fell.
And the scout vanished.
Like he'd never been.
No one spoke for a long time.
Finally, Darien said, voice hoarse, "This changes everything."
"They're not rogue," Lys whispered. "They're not corrupted."
"They're becoming," Auren said.
And in his chest, something shifted.
Not just glow.
Not just power.
But resonance.
With the broken.
With the forgotten.
With the truth.
They returned to the surface.
The Rift was still.
But it watched them go.
And as Auren looked back one last time, he felt it.
A choice was coming.
Not between Crown and chaos.
But between silence and song.
And for the first time, he wondered:
What if fracture wasn't failure?
What if it was freedom?
[End of Chapter 8]