Morning arrived without ceremony.
No sunrise broke cleanly over the forest canopy, no birdsong announced a new beginning. Instead, light seeped slowly into the Northwood like water through cracked stone—muted, gray, uncertain. Elysia woke before anyone else, her eyes snapping open as though pulled from sleep by invisible hands.
For a moment, she didn't remember where she was.
Then the dream returned.
Ash. Broken crowns. The Shade's shifting faces. The weight of its words pressing against her chest like a brand that refused to cool.
Ashborn.
She swallowed hard and pushed herself upright.
The ravine lay quiet. Mist clung low to the ground, coiling around rocks and roots like something alive. Alden slept lightly nearby, one hand still wrapped around the hilt of his sword. Lyra sat cross-legged at the edge of the stream, eyes closed, fingers tracing faint patterns in the air.
Elysia watched her for a long moment.
Lyra's movements were delicate but deliberate, as though she were tuning an instrument no one else could hear. The air around her shimmered faintly, barely visible unless you knew to look for it. When she finally opened her eyes, she did not look surprised to see Elysia awake.
"You carry the dream heavily," Lyra said.
Elysia hugged her knees. "It felt… real."
"Because it was," Lyra replied calmly. "The Shade doesn't speak in metaphor. It speaks in consequence."
That did not make Elysia feel better.
She glanced down at the compass resting beside her pack. Its glass surface caught the weak morning light, the needle trembling faintly as if impatient.
"It keeps pulling," Elysia said. "Even when I don't touch it."
Lyra nodded. "It will. You are aligned now."
"Aligned with what?"
Lyra's expression turned serious. "With what was broken."
Before Elysia could press further, Alden stirred. He rose smoothly, already alert, eyes scanning the trees.
"We have company," he said.
Elysia's heart jumped. "The Eastern Reach?"
"Not yet," Alden replied. "But something's been following us since dawn."
Lyra stood, drawing her cloak tighter. "Animals don't stalk like this."
The forest around them felt suddenly closer, the mist thickening. Elysia felt the warmth in her chest shift—tighten—like a muscle coiling in anticipation.
A sound drifted through the trees.
Whispering.
Not wind. Not leaves.
Voices.
Elysia flinched. "Do you hear that?"
Alden's jaw tightened. "I hear it."
Lyra's eyes gleamed. "Residual spirits."
Elysia stared at her. "Spirits of what?"
Lyra didn't answer immediately. She stepped toward the treeline, her boots crunching softly on frost-kissed leaves.
"Of those who died when the Shattering tore this region apart," she said at last. "This forest sits atop an old fracture line. Magic never healed here. It… remembers."
The whispers grew louder.
Elysia's breath quickened as shapes began to form within the mist—faint silhouettes, half-seen faces emerging and dissolving like reflections on disturbed water. She recognized none of them, yet their grief felt achingly familiar.
A voice drifted closer than the others.
Ashborn…
She clutched her chest. "They know me."
"Yes," Lyra said softly. "And they're curious."
One of the shapes stepped forward—more defined than the rest. A woman, her form flickering, eyes hollow but intent.
"You carry the fire," the spirit whispered. "The same fire that broke us."
"I didn't do that," Elysia said desperately. "I wasn't even born."
The spirit tilted its head. "Time is thin where magic breaks."
The air grew heavy, pressing down on Elysia's shoulders. Memories that were not her own flooded her senses—cities collapsing, screams echoing through stone halls, light fracturing into lethal shards.
She cried out, dropping to her knees.
Alden moved instantly, placing himself between Elysia and the spirits. "Enough."
His voice carried weight—not magic, but conviction. "She's not your judge."
The spirits recoiled slightly.
Lyra stepped forward, her hands glowing faintly with controlled light. "You're bound to the fracture," she said. "Not to her. Release her."
The whispers wavered, growing chaotic.
"She will choose," the spirits hissed. "All paths lead to ash."
Elysia felt something inside her snap.
The warmth in her chest flared, spilling outward—not violently, but insistently. Light bled through her skin in thin lines, tracing patterns she did not understand. The spirits froze, as if caught mid-breath.
"I won't be your ending," Elysia said, her voice shaking but firm. "And I won't be your beginning either."
For a heartbeat, the world held still.
Then the spirits dissolved, their whispers fading into the forest like smoke caught by wind.
The mist thinned.
Elysia collapsed forward, gasping.
Alden caught her before she hit the ground. "Easy," he murmured. "You're still here."
Lyra watched her intently, something like awe and concern warring in her expression.
"You didn't command them," Lyra said quietly. "You rejected them."
Elysia looked up weakly. "Is that bad?"
Lyra exhaled. "It's… unprecedented."
Alden glanced eastward, tension returning to his posture. "Whatever that was, it wasn't subtle."
Lyra nodded. "No. Anyone sensitive to Lumen will have felt it."
Elysia closed her eyes briefly. "Then we're running again."
"Yes," Alden said grimly. "But now they won't just hunt you."
Lyra finished the thought. "They'll fear you."
Elysia pushed herself upright, exhaustion heavy but resolve settling deeper than before.
"Then let them," she said.
The compass pulsed sharply in her hand, the needle swinging and locking into a new direction.
Toward ash.
Toward answers.
Toward war.
They did not linger.
The forest had changed after the spirits dispersed—subtly, but unmistakably. The air no longer felt merely old; it felt aware. Every snapped twig echoed too loudly. Every shifting shadow seemed to watch them pass with quiet intent. Elysia stayed close to Alden now, her steps cautious, senses stretched thin and aching.
Lyra led them southward along the ravine before angling sharply east. "The fracture lines converge ahead," she said without turning. "If we're lucky, the interference will confuse pursuit."
"If we're unlucky?" Alden asked.
Lyra's mouth twitched. "Then it'll draw them like carrion birds."
Elysia wrapped her cloak tighter around herself. Her body felt wrong—heavy and light all at once. The warmth in her chest had cooled slightly, but a dull ache remained, radiating outward with every breath. She tried to ignore it, focusing instead on placing one foot in front of the other.
By midmorning, the whispers returned.
Not as loud as before. Not demanding.
They murmured at the edges of her hearing—fragments of voices, syllables without words, like echoes trapped in stone. Each time she turned her head, they slipped away.
"Don't listen," Alden said quietly, noticing her tension. "That's how they get in."
"I'm not listening," she replied. "They're… leaking."
Lyra glanced back sharply. "Describe it."
Elysia hesitated, then spoke slowly. "It's like they're remembering me. Or trying to."
Lyra's pace slowed. "That suggests the Lumen in you is synchronizing with residual memory."
"That sounds bad."
Lyra didn't deny it. "It means you're becoming a focal point."
Alden swore under his breath.
The terrain shifted as the forest thinned, giving way to scorched earth. Blackened tree stumps jutted from the ground like broken teeth, and ash lay thick enough to muffle their footsteps. The smell hit Elysia next—burnt stone, old smoke, something metallic beneath it all.
"This place…" Alden murmured. "I remember it."
Lyra looked at him. "From the war?"
He nodded once. "Eastern siege line. Years ago. This was a city."
Elysia stopped walking.
She stared at the ruins barely visible beneath the ash—collapsed walls, half-buried streets, the skeletal remains of a watchtower leaning like a dying man.
"You said Greyfen wasn't safe," she said quietly. "Was this?"
"No," Alden replied. "This was worse."
The whispers grew louder here, more insistent.
Elysia felt pressure building behind her eyes. The ache in her chest sharpened, and she staggered slightly. Alden caught her again, concern etched deep across his face.
"Lyra," he said. "She's burning up."
Lyra pressed two fingers to Elysia's temple, her touch cool and grounding. "Your body is resisting stabilization," she said. "You need rest."
"We can't stop," Alden argued.
"I didn't say we'd stop," Lyra replied. "I said she needs anchoring."
She reached into her satchel and withdrew a thin crystal band etched with familiar symbols. "This will help channel the excess."
Elysia recoiled. "No more bindings."
"This isn't a cage," Lyra said firmly. "It's a brace."
Reluctantly, Elysia allowed Lyra to slip the band around her wrist. The moment it settled into place, the pressure eased slightly, the whispers dimming to a manageable murmur.
Elysia sagged in relief. "Thank you."
Lyra studied her intently. "This won't last forever."
"I figured."
They moved deeper into the ruins.
It was Alden who noticed the tracks first.
"Riders," he said softly, crouching. "Heavy armor. Eastern make."
Elysia's stomach dropped. "Already?"
Lyra knelt beside him, examining the disturbed ash. "Not hours ago," she said. "Minutes."
The compass in Elysia's hand pulsed violently, the needle spinning before snapping east—then wavering, as if torn between directions.
"They're close," Elysia whispered.
The whispers surged.
This time, they weren't passive.
A figure emerged from the ash ahead—solid, armored, bearing the twisted crown sigil of the Eastern Kingdom. Then another. And another.
Ser Kael stepped forward, his dark eyes alight with triumph.
"You felt it too, didn't you?" he said smoothly. "The land calling to her."
Alden drew his sword.
Lyra's hand glowed faintly.
Elysia felt the fire rise again—stronger than before, answering fear and fury alike.
"I told you," Kael continued, spreading his hands. "You cannot run from what you are."
Elysia met his gaze, her voice steady despite the storm raging inside her.
"Watch me."
The ash around them began to lift, spiraling upward as light bled from Elysia's skin once more.
And this time—
She did not scream.
The ash rose like a living thing.
At first it drifted lazily, stirred by no wind Elysia could feel. Then it tightened into spirals, coiling around her feet and climbing higher, drawn toward the light bleeding through her skin. The ruins groaned softly, stones shifting as though disturbed from a long sleep.
Ser Kael's smile faltered.
"This is new," he admitted, eyes narrowing.
Alden moved without waiting for orders. He lunged toward the nearest rider, blade flashing as steel rang against steel. Lyra raised both hands, sigils blazing into existence as she spoke words too old for Elysia to understand. The air cracked with restrained power.
But Elysia stood still.
The fire inside her no longer felt wild. It burned hot and bright, yes—but now it answered her will. The Shade's words echoed faintly in her mind, not as command but as warning.
Unity will demand sacrifice.
She took a shaky breath and raised her hands.
The ash surged outward in a wave.
Riders shouted as their horses reared, eyes rolling white. One man was thrown backward, slamming into a half-buried wall with bone-cracking force. Another dropped to his knees, clawing at his helm as if it had suddenly become unbearably heavy.
Kael staggered but did not fall. Dark light flared around him, anchoring him in place.
"You don't understand what you're doing," he shouted over the roar. "You're tearing at the fracture itself!"
"Then stop standing in it!" Elysia cried back.
Her voice carried farther than it should have—echoing through the ruins, stirring the whispers into a rising chorus. Faces formed briefly in the ash, mouths open in silent screams.
Lyra's eyes widened. "Elysia—pull back!"
But it was too late.
The ground split.
Not violently—inevitably.
A fissure cracked open beneath the ruins, glowing faintly with fractured light. From it poured a sound like distant bells ringing out of tune. The whispers turned into wails.
Elysia screamed as pain lanced through her chest, sharper than anything she had felt before. She dropped to her knees, clutching her heart as the world tilted.
Alden broke from combat and sprinted toward her. "Elysia!"
Kael seized the moment. He slammed his gauntleted hand into the ground, forcing dark magic into the fracture. The fissure flared violently, light and shadow colliding.
"No!" Lyra shouted. "You'll destabilize it!"
Kael laughed, strained and wild. "That's the point!"
The fracture detonated.
Light and ash exploded outward in a blinding surge that flattened everything in its path. Alden was thrown clear, skidding across stone. Lyra vanished behind a curtain of light.
Elysia felt herself lifted—ripped from the ground by forces far beyond her control. The world dissolved into color and sound, pain and heat overwhelming her senses.
And then—
Silence.
She drifted in darkness, weightless, the fire inside her reduced to a faint, flickering ember.
Voices echoed distantly.
Not the whispers this time—but one voice, deep and layered.
You reached too far.
The Shade emerged from the darkness, its form more solid than before.
"I didn't mean to," Elysia whispered weakly.
"Intent does not undo consequence," the Shade replied. "You touched the wound."
"Did I kill them?"
The Shade paused. "Some."
Her breath hitched, grief flooding her chest. "I didn't want that."
"Nor did the world," the Shade said gently. "Yet here we are."
Images flickered—Alden unconscious but breathing. Lyra kneeling amid ruins, blood streaking her brow. Eastern soldiers scattered, some broken, some fleeing.
"You survived," the Shade continued. "But the fracture has widened. Others will feel it."
Elysia's vision blurred. "I'm hurting everything I touch."
The Shade stepped closer. "No. You are revealing what was already broken."
A pull tugged at her—firm, insistent.
"Wake," the Shade said. "Your choice is not finished."
She gasped and returned to her body with a jolt.
Alden was kneeling over her, relief flashing across his face. "She's awake."
Lyra exhaled shakily. "Thank the stars."
Elysia tried to sit up but cried out as pain flared through her chest. Lyra pressed her back down gently.
"Don't," Lyra said. "You nearly tore yourself apart."
"What about them?" Elysia asked urgently.
Alden looked away. "Kael escaped. Lost most of his men."
Guilt twisted deep inside her. "I didn't want—"
"I know," Alden said softly. "But wanting isn't enough anymore."
The ruins lay shattered around them, the ash finally settling back to the ground. The whispers were gone—replaced by a heavy, unnatural quiet.
Lyra helped Elysia sit up slowly. "This changes things," she said grimly. "You've been seen. Not just by kings."
Elysia stared at the fissure, now sealed but glowing faintly beneath the stone. "The Shade said I widened the wound."
Lyra nodded. "And that means the City of Dawn just became even more important."
Alden sheathed his sword. "Then we move."
Elysia pushed herself to her feet, pain and resolve warring within her. She looked once more at the ruins—at the cost already etched into her path.
"I won't lose myself," she said quietly. "No matter what this power wants."
The compass pulsed in her hand, steady and insistent.
The road ahead stretched long and unforgiving.
And behind them, the ash whispered no more.