The stair lay in ruins. Stone cracked where the watcher's tendrils had struck, ash drifting in the air like snow. Yet for the first time, the darkness was not absolute—it was fractured, the silence carrying the memory of light.
Kaelen leaned against a broken step, chest still heaving. His fire was no more than a glow around his hands, his body aching with exhaustion. Lyra sat beside him, her sword resting across her knees, its molten edge cooling to a faint ember.
The candle-bearer curled near them, cradling their small flame. It flickered weakly, yet steadier than before. Their voice trembled, but it carried awe.
"You… you destroyed it. A watcher. I didn't think it was possible."
Kaelen tilted his head back, staring into the endless dark above. His voice was low, raw. "Neither did I."
Lyra glanced at him, her expression unreadable. "But it wasn't just strength. It was…" She paused, fingers brushing the hilt of her blade. "It was us. Together."
The words lingered between them. Kaelen felt them settle deep inside, heavier than any battle wound.
For a while, none of them spoke. The stair was eerily quiet—too quiet. The watchers' last words still echoed in Kaelen's skull. One falls. Infinity remains.
He clenched his fists. Victory felt hollow when it revealed how vast their enemy truly was.
The candle-bearer broke the silence. "Do you think… if one watcher can fall… maybe all of them can?"
Kaelen didn't answer immediately. His fire pulsed faintly, not with certainty, but with defiance. "Maybe. But if they think unity is weakness… then it's our weapon."
Lyra's gaze softened, her usual steel giving way to something gentler. "Then we hold to it. No matter what."
A tremor ran through the stair. Not violent, not like before—more like a whisper beneath stone. A reminder that the void was not gone. That the watchers were listening. Waiting.
The candle-bearer's flame flickered in the tremor, but steadied again. They whispered almost to themselves:
"Even the smallest light can find its way through the dark."
Kaelen rose, his body screaming with fatigue but his resolve hardening. He offered a hand to Lyra, who accepted it without hesitation.
Together, the three of them turned their faces upward. Above them stretched the infinite stair, vanishing into shadow. But now, woven within that endless dark, was the memory of a scream—the proof that even the void could bleed.
And so they climbed again.