They did not linger in the cavern.
Veyrin insisted on moving the moment Aerin could stand without collapsing, which was to say—barely. The old man said little as they climbed through narrow passages that twisted upward and outward, away from the basin and the low valleys beyond. The tunnels felt old, older than the ruins above, carved not by tools but by deliberate pressure, as if the mountain itself had once been persuaded to make room.
Aerin lagged behind despite Kael's steadying presence. Each step sent a dull ache through his bones, not sharp enough to stop him, but constant enough to remind him that something fundamental had shifted. He felt lighter in one sense, as though a constant background noise had finally gone silent. In another, he felt unbearably dense—like gravity paid him special attention now.
They emerged onto a high ridge as dusk settled across the world.
The sky looked wrong.
Clouds drifted in fractured layers, moving at different speeds, some casting shadows that did not align with the fading sun. Far to the east, lightning flickered without thunder, illuminating a horizon bent just slightly out of shape.
Lyra noticed him staring. "You see it too," she said.
"Yes," Aerin replied. "The sky doesn't know what to do with itself."
Veyrin stopped walking.
"That," he said gravely, "is because it lost something."
They made camp among wind-carved stones. No fire—Veyrin forbade it. Instead, they huddled close as night settled unevenly, stars emerging in unfamiliar patterns. The new star burned brighter now, steady and patient, as if it had always been there and was only now being acknowledged.
Sleep did not come easily.
When it finally did, it was shallow and sharp-edged.
Aerin dreamed of doors.
Not physical ones—conceptual thresholds. Choices left unopened. Decisions deferred. He stood before each door and felt the pull to close it forever, to seal away possibility. Every time he reached out, his hand passed through empty space.
He woke with a gasp.
Lyra was already awake, sitting cross-legged and watching the sky. "You too?" she asked without turning.
"What?"
"The dreams," she said. "Everyone near you is having them."
Kael stirred nearby, muttering in his sleep. Veyrin remained awake, eyes open, staff resting across his lap.
"I'm doing this to you," Aerin said quietly.
Lyra shook her head. "No. You're revealing it."
Before Aerin could respond, Veyrin spoke. "The Echo no longer speaks through you—but it resonates around you. Absence is not emptiness. It has shape. Weight."
He drew a line in the dust with his staff.
"Where power once flowed freely," Veyrin continued, "it now hesitates. The world notices hesitation."
At dawn, they descended toward a scattered settlement nestled between stone terraces and shallow rivers. Smoke rose from cookfires. Bells rang—unevenly, anxiously.
People were gathering.
Not to welcome.
To watch.
Aerin felt it immediately—the way conversations faltered as he approached, the way animals grew restless, pulling at leads or refusing to move. A woman carrying water stumbled as he passed, her bucket splitting as if the wood had forgotten how to hold together.
"I should stay back," Aerin murmured.
Veyrin shook his head. "No. This is part of it."
A man stepped forward from the crowd. His clothes marked him as a local magistrate, though his hands trembled despite his attempt at authority.
"You," the man said, pointing at Aerin. "Things have been… wrong since last night. Wells drying, tools breaking, children complaining of ringing ears. You wouldn't happen to know why."
Aerin opened his mouth—and faltered.
The Echo offered no guidance. No surge of certainty. Just silence.
"I don't," he said honestly. "But I think I'm the reason."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
Some fearful. Some angry.
One woman laughed sharply. "So you admit it."
Another voice rose. "Then leave."
A child began to cry.
Kael shifted protectively, but Veyrin raised a hand.
"This disruption will pass," the old man said, voice carrying farther than it should have. "Balance always seeks itself. You will not be harmed if—"
A sudden crack split the air.
A stone tower near the river groaned, then collapsed inward on itself—not violently, but as if the concept of standing had been gently withdrawn. Dust billowed. Screams followed.
Aerin didn't think.
He ran.
Ignoring the pain screaming through his legs, he reached the tower's edge where people clawed at fallen stone. He shoved his hands against the rubble.
"Stop," he whispered.
The pressure surged.
The stones froze.
Not in time—something subtler. The collapse halted, debris locking into a precarious but stable arrangement. The cries stilled.
Aerin staggered back, gasping. Blood trickled from his nose again.
The crowd stared.
Fear shifted.
Into awe.
Into something more dangerous.
Veyrin's expression darkened. "That," he said quietly, "is how myths begin."
The magistrate dropped to one knee.
"Please," he said hoarsely. "Stay. Just for a while."
Aerin looked at the frozen tower. At the people staring at him like a solution.
And felt something inside him recoil.
"No," he said.
The word carried farther than he intended.
"I can't stay," Aerin continued. "Every moment I do, things will bend around me. Break. Depend."
Silence followed.
Then a man in the back spat on the ground. "Coward," he muttered.
Aerin accepted it.
They left the settlement before noon.
By the time the hills swallowed the village from view, Aerin could barely walk. Lyra supported him without complaint, her jaw set.
"You saved lives," she said.
"And taught them the wrong lesson," Aerin replied. "That I'm necessary."
Veyrin nodded slowly. "You are learning faster than most."
As they climbed higher, the air thinned—and changed. Aerin felt the pressure ease slightly, the world breathing easier with distance.
Far behind them, unseen but inevitable, stories began to spread.
Of a man who stopped a tower from falling.
Of a place where magic failed.
Of a star that had no right to exist.
And somewhere beyond the bent horizon, forces older than the Covenant adjusted their attention.
Absence had entered the world.
And it was learning how to walk.