The silence after the battle felt wrong.
Not peaceful.
Not calm.
Wrong.
Salemadon stood still on the glowing platform, his Threads slowly retracting into his armor. The sky above looked whole again, but the hum remained — faint, steady, like breath being held.
Althara felt it first.
"Something's watching us," she said quietly.
Brughan tightened his grip on the broken shard he carried like a weapon. "I was hoping you wouldn't say that."
The air shifted.
Not wind.
Not sound.
Pressure.
Salemadon lifted his head. His eyes narrowed. "The fracture didn't close," he said. "It learned."
The sky answered.
A deep ripple spread across the clouds, as if something massive had turned over behind them. Light bent inward, folding on itself. Threads appeared again — not white, not black — but grey, unstable, twitching like injured nerves.
Althara stepped back. "Those aren't ours."
"No," Salemadon replied. "They're reactions."
The ground trembled.
Then the first impact came.
A force slammed into the invisible edge of the platform, throwing Brughan backward. He rolled, barely stopping himself from falling into the open void below.
"I definitely don't like this part!" he shouted.
Salemadon thrust his hands forward, Pahtem surging. Threads burst outward, forming a shield just as another unseen blow struck. The impact rang through his bones.
Something was hitting them.
But nothing was there.
THE ENEMY WITHOUT A BODY
The pressure increased.
Althara gasped as the air bent around her, pinning her in place. Salemadon turned instantly, extending Threads to pull her free.
The moment he touched her, a shockwave exploded outward.
The shield shattered.
Salemadon was thrown across the platform, skidding to a stop near the edge. His armor flickered, struggling to stabilize.
Brughan scrambled toward him. "Salemadon!"
Salemadon pushed himself up, breathing hard. His vision blurred for half a second — then sharpened.
He could see it now.
Not a shape.
Not a creature.
A distortion.
The space itself was folding inward, forming a moving absence — like the outline of something too large to exist properly.
"It doesn't have a body," Salemadon said. "It's using the fracture itself."
Althara swallowed. "How do we fight something that isn't there?"
A voice answered before Salemadon could.
"You don't fight it."
Mahira stepped out of a shimmer in the air, landing lightly beside them. Her presence immediately steadied the Threads around the platform.
"You anchor it."
Brughan blinked. "She just appears like that now?"
Mahira didn't look at him. Her eyes were locked on the distortion. "It's testing your limits. It wants to see how much pressure you can hold before you break."
Salemadon clenched his fists. "Then let it test."
ANCHORING THE FRACTURE
Mahira raised one hand. Threads — different from Salemadon's — spread outward, not glowing, but absorbing light.
"Do not overpower it," she said. "Match it."
Salemadon nodded, understanding without knowing how. He stepped forward, placing his foot down slowly, deliberately.
Pahtem responded.
His Threads extended, weaving into Mahira's — not merging, but locking like gears. The platform brightened as the Threads formed a massive circular pattern beneath them.
The distortion reacted instantly.
The pressure surged.
Althara cried out as the air around her tightened again. Brughan dug his heels into the platform, muscles straining.
Salemadon felt it all.
The weight.
The pull.
The demand.
His knees bent.
Mahira's voice cut through the strain. "Do not resist. Stand."
Salemadon straightened.
Something inside him shifted.
Instead of pushing back, he held.
The pressure slammed into him again — and stopped.
The distortion wavered.
For the first time, it hesitated.
"It's working," Althara breathed.
Salemadon spoke through clenched teeth. "It's angry."
THE SKY STRIKES
The distortion pulsed.
Then the sky cracked open.
A spear of compressed force dropped straight toward Salemadon — fast, silent, absolute.
Mahira reacted instantly, throwing a Thread barrier upward. The spear punched through it like paper.
Salemadon had no time to think.
He moved.
He stepped forward, raised both hands, and caught it.
The impact drove him to one knee.
The force screamed through his arms, into his chest, down his spine. His vision flared white.
Pahtem surged, uncontrolled.
"Salemadon!" Althara screamed.
He roared — not in pain, but defiance — and redirected the force downward.
The platform erupted with light.
The spear shattered, exploding into harmless fragments that dissolved midair.
The distortion recoiled.
Brughan stared. "He… he caught the sky."
Mahira's expression didn't change — but something in her eyes did.
Recognition.
RETREAT
The pressure dropped suddenly.
The grey Threads snapped and dissolved. The distortion folded inward, collapsing into nothingness.
Silence returned — this time real.
Salemadon collapsed to one knee, breathing hard. Althara rushed to his side, helping steady him.
"You're bleeding," she said softly.
He looked down. A thin line of light — not blood — leaked from a crack in his armor, fading quickly.
"I'm fine," he said. "But it won't stop."
Mahira stepped closer. "No. It won't."
Brughan exhaled shakily. "Next time, can we fight something that at least looks punchable?"
Mahira almost smiled.
Almost.
"That was only a response," she said. "Not an attack."
Salemadon looked up at her. "Response to what?"
Mahira met his gaze. "To you existing."
WHAT COMES NEXT
The sky slowly sealed itself, though faint ripples remained, like scars that refused to fade.
Mahira turned away. "The fractures will escalate now. Each one stronger. Each one smarter."
Salemadon pushed himself to his feet. "Then I'll be stronger too."
She nodded once. "That is the correct answer."
Althara stepped forward. "Will you stay?"
Mahira paused. "Not always."
She looked back at Salemadon. "But I will return when the sky answers again."
And then she was gone — not vanished, not teleported — simply no longer there, as if the world had decided she wasn't needed in that moment.
The platform dimmed.
Brughan sat down hard. "I miss five minutes ago when my biggest problem was falling rocks."
Salemadon stared at the sky.
It stared back.
The fracture did not retreat. It listened. And then it responded.
The sky had tested him. It had failed. And now it was learning how to win.