The Stone Fields began where the marsh ended — a barren stretch of gray land scarred by lightning and time. No trees grew here. No birds sang. Only stones, great slabs of them, scattered like bones beneath a low, bruised sky. The air hummed faintly, thick with the charge of old magic.
Liora and Corren arrived just before dusk. The journey east had been silent but heavy with unspoken fears. The deeper they walked into the fields, the lighter the world seemed to grow — not in color, but in weight, as though the earth itself resisted holding form.
Liora paused on a ridge, scanning the horizon. A shimmer pulsed faintly across the plain — a circle of standing stones half-buried in dust. The light there was faint but unmistakable, a dull silver throb like the echo of a heart.
"That's it," she said. "The second Circle."
Corren adjusted the strap of his pack, eyes narrowing. "Doesn't look like much."
"It's sleeping," she murmured. "But not for long."
They descended into the hollow, their boots crunching against gravel and bone. The stones loomed taller as they approached, etched with runes eroded by centuries. The light that pulsed through them was rhythmic, alive, but fractured — as though something beneath strained to escape.
Liora knelt at the base of one pillar, brushing dirt away to reveal a sigil. She recognized it immediately: the mark of the Shapers.
"This one's been touched," she whispered.
Corren drew his knife. "Touched by what?"
"By them. Whoever — whatever — came before Maren sealed the first. The Shapers didn't just bind power; they molded it. They gave it bodies, forms. And when those forms broke, they left behind... echoes."
Corren looked around uneasily. "You're saying the ground's alive?"
"In a way," she said. "Everything shaped once wants to remember its shape."
As if to prove her words, the wind shifted, carrying with it a low, vibrating hum. The runes flared with sudden light. Liora stumbled back as the ground trembled.
"Something's waking," she said sharply.
The center of the circle split open, revealing a pit of white fire. Shapes began to rise from it — tall, half-formed silhouettes. Some were human, some not. Their edges flickered like mirages, their eyes empty but burning.
"The Unshaped," Liora breathed.
Corren raised his blade, though it seemed pitiful against the sight before him. "How do we stop them?"
"We don't," she said. "We bind them before they remember what they were."
She drew the silver threads from her pouch — remnants of the first Circle's weaving — and began to whisper the old language. The air thickened, the fire dimmed, and the shapes stilled. For a moment, it seemed to work.
Then one of the figures stepped forward.
It was taller than the rest, its face sharp as glass, its body neither male nor female but something beautifully terrible in between. When it spoke, its voice echoed from every direction.
"You are the one who reshaped the First Seal."
Liora froze. "I am."
"You meddle in what was perfect. The world was safe in silence."
"Safe," she said bitterly, "or suffocating?"
The figure tilted its head, studying her. "You think yourself clever — healer, mender, thief of balance. You call upon the Shape but do not understand its hunger."
"I understand enough," Liora said. "That balance built on fear isn't balance at all."
The figure smiled, its form flickering like flame. "Then you shall see what happens when fear is unshaped."
It raised a hand, and the world shattered.
The air convulsed. The ground beneath Liora's feet vanished into a whirl of silver and black. She fell through light, through sound, through memory. Voices screamed around her — Maren's voice, Ryn's growl, her own heartbeat pounding like thunder. She saw flashes of worlds layered upon each other: rivers running backward, forests burning under glass skies, beasts made of smoke and sorrow.
When she landed, she was no longer in the Stone Fields.
The air here shimmered like heat, though it was cold enough to burn. She stood on a plain of mirrored glass stretching endlessly in every direction. Her reflection shifted — human one moment, something else the next.
"Where—?"
"Between," said the voice. The figure was here too, unchanged, its shape perfect and cruel. "You stand in the seam. The place where all forms collapse. The Unshaped realm."
Liora steadied herself, forcing her mind to hold. "Then I'll shape my way out."
The figure laughed, the sound echoing forever. "You cannot shape without surrender. You must give something to gain a form. That is our law."
She reached for her pouch — gone. Her knife, gone. Only her voice remained. "Then take what you need," she said. "Just let me leave."
The figure's smile widened. "Careful, little Circle-binder. You speak as a Shaper now."
A shiver ran through her. The world rippled, and suddenly she was not alone. Shadows surrounded her — hundreds of them, whispering. They bore her face, but each one was wrong. Some had too many eyes. Some none. Some smiled when she did not.
They whispered in unison: Shape or be shaped.
Liora fell to her knees, clutching her head. The air pulsed with every heartbeat. The figures pressed closer, their touch cold as regret.
"No," she gasped. "I won't let you define me."
She slammed her palms against the mirrored ground. The reflection beneath her cracked — and from the cracks, light poured out. Silver threads snaked up her arms, weaving into her skin, her veins glowing with living pattern. The whispers faltered.
"I am not your creation," she said. "I am your continuation."
The light exploded outward. The mirrored plain shattered, and the figure screamed — a sound like glass breaking under pressure.
When the world reformed, Liora was back in the Stone Fields, on her hands and knees. Corren knelt beside her, shouting her name. Around them, the stones glowed with steady, quiet light. The Unshaped had vanished.
"You disappeared," he said, his voice shaking. "You were gone for— I don't even know how long."
Liora took a ragged breath. "I went… between."
He looked at her arms, where faint silver markings now traced her veins. "What happened to you?"
"I took their power," she said. "Or maybe it took me. I'm not sure yet."
The ground trembled again, softer this time. From the pit, a faint hum rose — not of hunger, but of recognition. The Second Circle was awake, and it knew her now.
Liora stood slowly, brushing dust from her hands. "It's done," she said. "This one's bound. But the rest will feel it."
Corren frowned. "The rest of what?"
"The remaining ten Circles." She looked east, where the horizon burned faintly with dawn. "They're waiting."
He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "And I suppose we're going to wake every one of them, aren't we?"
She smiled faintly. "We're not waking them. We're teaching them to dream."
As they began their trek away from the Stone Fields, the light behind them pulsed once — steady, strong, alive. The Shape was growing more complex, threads of creation and destruction woven together.
And somewhere far beyond their sight, in a ruin older than the marsh or the fields, eyes opened — eyes that remembered the first forming of the world.
The Shapers had heard her.
And now, they were coming.