Brielle knelt beside Will, her hands trembling despite her focus. The clearing was stained with blood, and the air still pulsed faintly with residual power from the fight. Bane stood a few paces away, arms stiff at his sides, eyes wide. They had seen many things in their time as scouts, but what had just happened—what that cloaked man had done—defied everything they thought they knew about strength.
"He's bleeding out," Brielle said quickly, snapping Bane out of his trance. She tore fabric from her tunic, already stained from the scramble through the forest, and pressed it against Will's thigh. Her movements grew sharper as she found her rhythm, digging into her small satchel for herbs, thread, and a needle.
"You know how to…?"
"I know enough," she replied, trying to keep her voice steady. "He won't last the trip to Umbra's End. We need somewhere closer. Somewhere safe."
Bane nodded, crouched, and scooped Will into his arms with surprising gentleness. "There's a small town east of here—Fallowedge. Half a day's sprint if we cut through the shallow ravine."
Without another word, they moved. Bane took the lead, Will slumped against his shoulder, while Brielle covered their rear. No jokes. No banter. Just the quiet crunch of underbrush and the low, rasping breaths of their fallen friend.
---
Fallowedge was a forgotten town clinging to the forest's edge, nestled among mossy stones and flickering lanternlight. The local herbalist gave them a spare room, no questions asked once she saw Will's condition.
Brielle stayed close as the hours dragged. She redressed Will's wounds, cleaned the blood from his skin, and changed the bandages more times than she could count. By evening, his breathing had steadied—shallow, but no longer ragged.
Night fell, wrapping the town in a quiet hush.
Bane found Brielle seated on the floor beside Will's cot, her shoulders hunched, arms resting on her knees. He knelt beside her without speaking, letting the silence hold for a while.
"He could've died," she whispered eventually, her voice tight. "We were a few seconds too slow."
"But he didn't," Bane replied. "You saved him. You held it together."
She scoffed faintly. "Barely."
Her fingers trembled again, and Bane gently caught her hand, thumb brushing across her knuckles. "You're still shaking."
"I'm scared."
"Me too."
Their eyes met in the dim candlelight. It was a fragile moment, born of fear, exhaustion, and something unspoken that had lingered between them for a while now. Bane leaned in, slowly—giving her space to pull away. She didn't.
Their kiss was soft at first. Hesitant. Then deeper. Her fingers curled into his shirt as he pulled her close, grounding her in the here and now. The warmth of his skin, the steady beat of his heart—it was the only real thing in a world that had gone sideways.
Clothes were discarded with urgency and care, each touch deliberate, every movement a way to prove that they were alive—that they still had control of something. Their bodies moved together like a dance half-forgotten, half-learned in instinct. Quiet gasps, whispered names, and the slow build of heat until they lay tangled together in the aftermath, breathless and still.
For the first time in hours, Brielle's mind went quiet.
---
Dawn bled pale light through the shutters. Bane sat on the edge of the bed, slipping on his boots.
"You're leaving?" Brielle asked, sitting up and pulling the blanket around her.
He nodded. "I need to find that hooded man. The way he fought was insane… I think he might know Garrik."
"Garrik? That's impossible. we were told he came alone. Besides who could he possibly—"
"we can't keep making assumptions and relying on them." Bane's jaw tightened. "we need to be sure."
"I'm coming with you."
"No."
"Bane—"
He turned to her, more serious than she'd ever seen him. "Will's alive because of you. Stay with him. Please."
She hesitated, lips parting, but the look in his eyes silenced her. He wasn't just trying to protect her—he was afraid.
"Don't die out there," she said softly.
He kissed her forehead, then slipped out the door without another word.
---
Meanwhile...
Darkness curled around Kael like smoke underwater. He drifted through the black, feet finding no ground, breath catching in his throat.
Then—light.
A sudden shift. Kael found himself standing in a vast stone hall. At its center stood a throne of jagged obsidian, chains running from its arms to a monstrous figure shackled against the wall behind it. The Harbinger.
It was impossibly tall, skin pale and cracked like dried bone, eyes endless pits of green flame. Its ribs were like blades, chest heaving with every laugh that echoed through the hall.
And before the throne… his mother.
Kneeling. Shackled. Gaunt.
"Mother…?"
Kael's voice cracked as he rushed forward. She looked up—eyes sunken, face pale as frost. Blood ran from her nose.
"Kael," she whispered, barely audible. Her hand lifted weakly toward him.
"No! Stay with me!" He was almost to her. "Please—"
She collapsed. Her body hit the floor with a sickening thud, motionless.
Kael screamed.
The Harbinger laughed.
A sound like metal splitting flesh. It rattled Kael's bones.
"You posses what is mine," the Harbinger hissed, voice like a thousand dead tongues. "The seal weakens. The bloodline remembers. Return it."
"there's no way the fractalis is going to end up in your hands!... I'll make sure of it!" Kael shouted, his grief folding into rage.
"stubborn are we. Your father stole it and its price will be paid in soul and flame."
The walls began to melt. Shadows screamed. The Harbinger's chains cracked, the throne splitting open like a wound.
Kael fell to his knees, clutching his head. "Get out of my mind!"
The world buckled. Shattered.
He was convulsing now, body thrashing in the bed, sweat pouring down his face. His eyes fluttered beneath closed lids, hands clawing at the sheets.
Lyria shot upright from her chair. "Kael?!"
Then—all the lights in the room went out.
A breathless silence.
Until—gasp.
Kael's eyes snapped open, wild and shining, as if he had just surfaced from drowning.