Shun moved through the wreckage like a man walking through a dream. The silver glow that once haloed him had dulled to a faint shimmer, clinging to his shoulders and the edges of his wings like fading embers.
He bent to lift one soldier after another, his hands steady, his voice low, murmuring words no one else could hear. Blood, ash, and cracked stone stretched across the Summit like a scar. The sun climbed higher, but its light felt thin, brittle, as if it could shatter under the weight of what had happened.
Xin watched from a distance, leaning against a jagged outcrop. At first, Shun's movements seemed calm, even graceful, a hero tending to the broken. Then Xin saw it. The slight stiffness in Shun's steps. The way his eyes flicked to every dark corner, every patch of shadow cast by the shattered spires. He smiled at the wounded, but the smile never reached his eyes. It was a mask, thin as the sunlight.
Toren stood atop a pile of Hollow husks, his broad chest heaving, fur matted with black ichor. He raised a hand in greeting, but even his usual stern voice was subdued, a low rumble that barely carried. They had all seen what Shun had done. They had all felt it—the pulse of raw ether, the blinding flash when Shun's Silver Jian had struck the Omega. The air still shimmered with the memory of it, sharp and electric.
Xin's gaze returned to Shun. The hero's smile held, but behind it, something raw flickered. His shoulders tightened every time the wind shifted, carrying the faint scent of burnt ether. His wings twitched at nothing, feathers rustling like dry leaves. Shadows bent across the stones, and Shun's eyes followed each one like a hawk tracking prey.
He's tired, Xin thought. He must be tired. But the unease on Shun's face wasn't fatigue. It was wariness. A quiet dread that seemed to coil tighter with every step.
The hours dragged on. The wounded were stabilized, carried to the makeshift camp at the Summit's edge. The field fell still, save for the occasional groan of settling stone. Xin found Shun standing alone near a crumbled pillar, staring at the horizon where the sky bled into the haze. His wings were folded tight, the Silver Jian sheathed but close at hand.
"Walk with me," Xin said, stepping up beside him.
Shun hesitated, his fingers brushing the Jian's hilt. Then he nodded, and they moved away from the others, down a slope where the air smelled of iron and scorched earth. The ground crunched under their boots, littered with shards of stone and Hollow remains.
Xin waited until they were out of earshot. "What's wrong?" he asked, his voice low but firm.
Shun blinked, his pale silver eyes catching the light. "Nothing."
Xin studied him, noting the faint tremor in his wings, the way his jaw clenched. "Don't lie."
"I'm not—"
"Shun." Xin's voice hardened, cutting through the excuse. "You've been on edge since the fight ended. You keep looking over your shoulder. Tell me."
Shun looked away, his gaze dropping to the ground. His jaw tightened further, and for a moment, silence stretched between them, heavy as the air before a storm. Xin wondered if he'd pushed too hard, if his bluntness had been a mistake. But he didn't pull back. He couldn't.
Finally, Shun exhaled, a sharp, shaky breath. "I'm being 'haunted'."
Xin frowned, the word jarring. "What?"
Shun's wings folded tighter, the scales brushing against his back. He kept his eyes on the ground, as if it held answers. "Ever since we came back from the Second Act, I've had this mark on my visor. At first, it was faint. I thought it was nothing, a trick of ether or a scar from the fights. But I know what it means now."
"Haunted?" Xin asked, his voice quieter now, cautious.
Shun nodded once, a sharp jerk of his head. "Marked. Watched. Hunted. Whatever you want to call it. I tried to ignore it. I didn't want to believe it. But during the fight… I saw it. I felt it."
He looked up, and his eyes were pale silver in the sunlight, stripped of their usual glow. Fear glinted in them, raw and unguarded. "The Omega we fought today… it didn't die."
Xin's stomach dropped, a cold weight settling in his gut. "You're sure?"
"I'm sure." Shun's voice was low, tight, like a bowstring drawn too far. "When the light hit it, when it scattered… I saw a screen. Grey. Flickering. Red writing. It burned into my vision. Haunted. It's still there when I close my eyes."
Xin's mouth went dry. He tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat. "You're saying the thing—"
"—is still out there." Shun's wings trembled once, a shiver that rippled through his frame. "It's not gone. It's watching. Waiting."
The wind moved through the broken stones around them, carrying a faint hiss, like the Hollow's last scream echoing through the cracks. The hair on Xin's neck rose, and he fought the urge to glance over his shoulder.
Shun's hand tightened on the Jian's hilt, his knuckles pale. "It didn't die," he said again, softer, almost a whisper. "It's haunting me."
Xin swallowed hard, the image of the Hollow's black tendrils and the grey screen searing into his mind. The Summit looked different now, the sunlight thinner, the shadows longer, sharper. He realized he was gripping the Dharma Wheel at his side, his knuckles white against the worn metal.
"What do we do?" he asked, his voice steady despite the churn in his chest.
Shun didn't answer. His eyes tracked a shadow sliding across the rocks, a shadow that should not have been there. His fingers flexed on the Jian's hilt, a reflex born of instinct.
"We can't stay here," Xin said, breaking the silence. "If it's still out there, we need to move."
Shun's gaze flicked to him, sharp and searching. "It wants me, Xin. That's what the mark means. It's locked onto me."
"Then we fight it," Xin said, his voice rising. "We've faced worse. You've faced worse. We'll find it, and we'll end it."
Shun's laugh was bitter, a sound Xin had never heard from him before. "End it? You saw what it did. You saw how it moved. It's not like the others. It's… wrong. Like it's not even here, not fully."
Xin stepped closer, his boots crunching on the debris. "Then we learn what it is. We track it. We don't wait for it to come to us."
Shun's eyes softened, but the fear remained. "You don't understand. It's already here. I feel it. Every shadow, every gust of wind—it's there. Watching."
Xin's jaw tightened. He wanted to argue, to say something to pull Shun back from the edge, but the words felt hollow. He'd seen the Omega too, felt its presence, like a weight pressing on the world. The memory of its black tendrils, its hollow scream, lingered like a bruise.
"Then we don't let it win," Xin said finally. "We don't let it take you. We'll figure this out. Together."
Shun's gaze dropped again, his fingers loosening on the Jian's hilt. "Right...Together," he echoed, but his voice was faint, uncertain.
The wind picked up, carrying the scent of ash and iron. Xin glanced at the horizon, where the sky seemed to darken, though no clouds marred its expanse. The Summit felt alive, its stones whispering secrets he couldn't decipher.
"We need to tell Toren," Xin said. "He'll want to know. He'll want to help."
Shun nodded, but his eyes were distant, fixed on something Xin couldn't see.