The storm had broken. But its ghosts clung to the air like smoke.
Elara sat in the clearing, her knees drawn tight to her chest, staring at the scorched earth where the monolith had once stood. Only a pit remained now --- a deep wound in the ground that seemed to breathe darkness with every whisper of the wind. The black stone had crumbled the instant that woman ---- no, that thing had vanished. Disintegrated like a bad dream she couldn't quite wake from.
Her hands wouldn't stop shaking.
She could still feel it ---the storm --- thrumming beneath her skin. Hungry. Alive. And not entirely hers anymore. Something ancient had wormed its way inside during the battle, and now the line between Elara Vel'Thari and whatever that thing was had blurred in ways she didn't understand.
A waterskin appeared in front of her.
"Drink," Kael said, kneeling beside her, voice gentle like he was afraid she might shatter if he spoke too loudly.
Elara took it without a word, her fingers brushing his for the briefest moment. She drank. The water was lukewarm and tasted of leather, but it grounded her somehow, reminding her she was still flesh and bone. Still herself. For now.
Around them, the others moved slowly, worn thin.
Liora sat nearby, clumsily rewrapping the bloodied cloth around her arm, her face tight with pain she refused to acknowledge. Thorne knelt a little further off, methodically cleaning his daggers one after the other, the repetitive motion mechanical. His shoulders were stiff, his gaze hollow.
No one said anything. Not yet.
The trees that bordered the clearing swayed in the wind, their leaves whispering among themselves ---- not warnings this time, but mourning. The kind that settles after something sacred has been broken.
Finally, Thorne spoke, his voice rough and low.
"We shouldn't stay here."
No one argued.
Elara rose on shaky legs, feeling every ounce of exhaustion like a weight strapped to her bones. It hurt ----gods, it hurt ----- but she pushed through it. She had to. They all did.
"Where to?" Liora asked, slinging her bow over her shoulder despite the tightness in her movements.
Elara closed her eyes.
The storm inside her ---- it tugged northward. Faint but insistent. Like a thread stitched through her soul, pulling her toward something waiting beyond the mist-cloaked horizon.
"The mountains," she said quietly.
Kael simply nodded. He didn't need to ask why.
Thorne tightened the straps on his belt. Liora glanced at the darkening sky and hesitated, but eventually, she fell into step beside them.
Together, they moved.
The forest slowly thinned as they walked, the tall trees giving way to wide stretches of rocky, broken plains. The wind grew colder, sharp enough to cut through their cloaks, and the mist thickened around their ankles, making every step treacherous. More than once, Kael caught Elara's arm when she stumbled over unseen stones.
Night fell fast.
They found shelter in the ruins of an old watchtower, barely more than a crumbling ring of stone clinging to the edge of a ravine. But it was enough ---enough to keep the worst of the wind at bay, enough to make them feel almost safe.
They lit a fire. Small, careful. The wood smoked more than it burned, but it was warmth, and they huddled around it like moths drawn to the only light in the world.
Elara pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders, the familiar smell of old leather and rain a small comfort. She stared into the flames but saw only her face again ---the woman who had spoken in a voice that wasn't a voice, who had worn beauty and rot like twin masks.
"What was she?" Kael asked finally, breaking the thick silence.
All eyes turned to Elara.
She hesitated, the words sticking to the back of her throat.
"A herald," she said, voice barely above a whisper. "A servant of the Hollow One."
Liora's face paled. "The god of death?"
Thorne shook his head, his gaze hard. "Not death," he said. "Death is... natural. This thing----this god----it's something worse. Oblivion. Erasure."
The fire cracked loudly, making Elara flinch.
"I felt it," she murmured, staring into the embers. "It wanted me to let go. It promised peace. Power. An end to the pain."
She swallowed hard, the memory still sharp enough to bleed.
Kael reached out and brushed his fingers lightly against hers ---- a silent reassurance. A tether.
"You didn't let go," he said.
"No," she agreed. "But it's still there. Inside me. Like a door left open."
No one spoke for a long time.
Thorne finally broke the silence, his voice grim.
"If it's inside you... it'll call again. It'll wear you down until you either master it---or it masters you."
Elara met his gaze. She already knew. The real battle had only just begun.
Outside, the wind screamed across the ruins like a living thing.
They slept in shifts, none of them truly resting.
.
.
.
Elara dreamt.
She stood at the edge of an endless black sea, the water still and thick as oil. The sky above her sagged under the weight of shattered stars, each one bleeding ash instead of light.
Something moved beneath the surface.
A skeletal hand rose from the depths ---- thin, twisted, dripping rot. It beckoned.
"Let go," a voice whispered, a thousand voices layered into one. "Fall."
She stumbled backward, but the ground gave way beneath her feet, turning to sucking, hungry sand. She turned to flee ----but there was nothing behind her but void, endless and yawning.
"No," she rasped, heart hammering against her ribs.
The hand reached for her again, closer now, fingers like broken twigs.
She called the storm. Reached deep into herself where the hunger coiled.
Lightning exploded from her skin, searing through the dream, ripping the darkness apart.
The hand screamed ---- a high, keening wail --- and vanished.
.
.
When Elara jerked awake, the fire had burned down to soft embers, throwing long shadows against the crumbling stone. Kael sat nearby, sharpening his sword with slow, deliberate movements. His eyes flicked to hers immediately --- alert, protective.
For a moment, they just looked at each other.
Kael set the sword aside wordlessly and draped a second blanket around her shoulders. His fingers lingered for half a heartbeat, steadying, grounding.
You're not alone, the gesture said.
And for the first time since the clearing, some of the ice around Elara's heart began to melt.
.
.
.
The next day was harder.
The mist grew thicker the closer they drew to the mountains, curling around their legs like living things. The cold gnawed at their bones, and the silence pressed down on them until even breathing felt too loud.
By midday, they stumbled across a road --- if it could still be called that. Broken stones, overgrown with moss and vines, stretched in a jagged line toward the looming peaks.
Half-buried statues lined the way. Faces worn smooth by time, bodies cracked and broken.
Elara slowed, running a hand lightly across one ---a knight, maybe once proud, now forgotten and crumbling.
"Who built all this?" Liora whispered, awe threading through her voice.
"Those who came before even Velkaria," Thorne answered grimly. "Before our ancestors laid the first stones."
"Old magic," Kael said under his breath.
Elara nodded. She could feel it thrumming beneath her feet, a faint pulse, like the heartbeat of a dying god.
The road ended at a chasm.
A river, dark and swift, cut across their path, the only crossing a narrow bridge of cracked stone.
Beyond it, the mist boiled thicker, hiding whatever waited on the other side.
Elara hesitated. The storm inside her recoiled, unease prickling across her skin.
"This place..." she murmured, "something's waiting for us."
Kael drew his sword. Liora fitted an arrow to her bow. Thorne's daggers flashed silver as he pulled them free.
They crossed together.
Halfway across, the mist closed in like a fist.
The world disappeared.
Even the sound of their footsteps seemed swallowed whole.
.
And then--
.
A figure materialized ahead.
.
A man, cloaked in shadow, standing at the bridge's end.
Elara froze, her pulse a frantic drumbeat in her ears.
"You walk the Path of Echoes," the man said, his voice carrying easily through the mist. It wasn't warm or cruel ----just ancient. Heavy.
"Who are you?" Elara demanded, voice stronger than she felt.
"A guardian," he said. "A judge."
He lifted one arm, and the mist parted to reveal three archways carved into the stone beyond the bridge.
Each one shimmered with a different light --- one gold, one crimson, one deep violet.
"Choose," the guardian said simply. "But know that choice has weight."
Elara's breath caught.
"What happens if we choose wrong?" she asked, already dreading the answer.
The guardian smiled --- slow and secretive beneath his hood.
"You will become part of the mist."
The wind whispered around them. The archways pulsed like beating hearts.
And somewhere deep inside, the storm stirred restlessly, waiting.