The darkness was not complete.
Irregular slits between the wood let the light in in thin blades, cutting the inside of the cabin into pale lines that stretched across the floor, the wall… until they reached the bed.
The air was dense.
Still.
But there, time still moved forward — slow enough to be felt.
On the simple bed, the boy's body remained lying there.
Motionless, but not inert.
His black hair, too long for his age, spread across the pillow in disordered strands, absorbing the little light that touched the room.
The breathing came.
And failed.
Irregular.
As if the body itself had not yet decided whether it would continue.
Beside him, a figure remained seated.
The cloak concealed everything.
Face.
Form.
Intention.
Even so, its presence filled the space with a silent authority, enough to sustain the entire room without effort.
The silence was not empty.
It was contained.
And then—
the wood gave.
The door opened.
Another figure appeared in the doorway.
Upright posture.
Minimal movement.
Absolute control.
The voice came firm. Precise. Leaving no room for error.
"An entire year has passed since he entered the Abyss."
The seated figure did not move immediately.
But answered.
The voice dropped low, shaped with precision — each word placed like a verdict.
"When my presence was requested… I was assured that a prophecy had been received."
A short pause.
"They said that, on the eleventh day of the eighth month… at the moment he turned fifteen… he would return."
The air compressed between them.
"However…"
The head tilted just enough.
"upon observing his condition…"
A pause.
Heavier.
"I must conclude that the prophecy delivered to you was incorrect."
The silence remained.
Not as absence — as contained reaction.
Then the seated figure raised its face.
The eyes emerged beneath the cloak.
White.
Incandescent.
They did not reflect light.
They were its source.
They met those of the figure at the door.
Beneath the hood—
golden.
Intense.
They shone through the shadow, steady — as freshly forged blades, still carrying the heat of what shaped them.
Neither of them stepped back.
The response came calculated.
"The reading was corroborated by more than one source."
The voice remained steady.
Precisely measured.
"There was no divergence until the moment of execution."
The seated figure held the gaze a moment longer.
"Even so…"
The tone did not rise.
But it gained weight.
"reality does not bend to confirmations."
A pause.
"It imposes itself."
The silence accepted.
Without resistance.
"I believe he is being consumed."
The sentence came clean.
Direct.
"Slowly."
Then the figure turned to the boy.
Unhurried.
As if that movement had been made before — many times.
And there—
the mark.
On the skin, near the neck, advancing in traces that obeyed no common geometry—
a sun.
But not of light.
Black.
Deep.
As if absence itself had been carved into flesh.
The contours were not static.
They pulsed.
Subtly.
Like something alive.
Or worse—
like something growing.
The air around it warped slightly, as if refusing to sustain it fully.
The figure leaned closer.
Without touching.
Observing.
Recognizing.
"This is not stagnation."
A brief pause.
"It is progression."
The silence answered.
Denser.
More attentive.
"And when it finishes…"
The eyes remained fixed on the mark.
"there will be nothing left that can be called a return."
The light crossing the slits flickered for an instant.
Or perhaps it was only perception failing.
The boy did not move.
But beneath the skin—
something responded — not like an echo…
but as presence.
The voice came firm. Direct. Without hesitation.
"Can anything be done?"
A short pause.
"according to the information brought by Kael and Karna… our time is running out."
The silence did not break.
The seated figure remained still for a moment longer.
When it spoke, the voice dropped dense.
Controlled.
"I can try to impose my will over him."
A pause.
"But it will not come without cost."
The eyes remained on the mark.
"He has been trapped for too long."
The air gave under the words.
"To force him now…"
A longer pause.
"may not bring back the one who left."
The silence deepened.
"Whatever answers…"
Another pause.
"may not be the same as the one you knew."
The figure at the door absorbed it without any visible reaction, posture intact, without retreat.
The silence held for another instant — until it was cut by a low, distant sound.
Gravel gave under weight, in contained steps approaching from outside, more than one, measured enough not to be casual.
The response came immediate.
"They have returned from the Vigil."
He stepped forward, precise and controlled, without diverting his attention.
"Do what is necessary."
A brief pause.
"I will inform them of the risks."
He did not wait for an answer.
Turned.
The door gave again under the controlled movement—
and closed.
The steps outside moved away, joining the others.
Silence returned to the cabin.
The figure beside the bed remained still for one moment more.
Then—
rose.
Removed the hood of the cloak slowly.
The face emerged from the shadow little by little, revealing deep-toned skin and firm features, sustained by an ancient presence.
Long, silver, wavy hair slipped free from the fabric, resting on the shoulders and falling down the back in soft, almost ethereal strands.
She made a simple gesture with her hand—
and the filaments emerged.
Green.
Thin.
Alive.
They began to move through the air around her, like lines being woven by an invisible force, responding to the slightest movements of her fingers.
They descended.
Slow.
Wrapping around the body without fully touching it.
The voice came low, firm, carrying an authority that did not need to impose itself.
"This will cause you pain, Éreon."
She then extended both hands over his body.
The filaments responded immediately, descending in living, precise lines, as if obeying an ancient command they already knew.
"Phasmatos."
Her eyes changed.
The white intensified until it became absolute, and then thin, luminous lines began to move within the irises, arranging themselves like a web in formation.
At the center, a small circle appeared — narrow, sharp — like the eye of a needle.
The filaments touched.
And pierced.
They ran through his body in silence, not only along the surface, but beyond it, invading layers that did not belong to flesh, seeking something deeper — something hidden.
She did not retreat.
There was no hesitation in her movements.
"Where are you hiding… Éreon?"
The world did not answer.
But something, deep—
echoed.
Scattered fragments… trying to align by force
"…wrong…"
"…trust…"
"…time…"
"…reading…"
Her breathing faltered for an instant, barely perceptible — but her eyes remained fixed, sustaining the connection as it deepened.
And then—
"I found him."
Her body tensed abruptly.
Blood ran from her nose, hot, immediate.
The answer came from the other side.
Fast.
Violent.
Pain came before understanding — sharp, precise, as if something had responded to the intrusion.
"He perceived me…"
And looked back.
The voice dropped lower, without losing control.
The shadows moved.
Not in space—
inside her.
Rising through the senses like something that already knew the way.
They spread, invading, climbing through the filaments like a living contamination.
She did not retreat.
But the body reacted.
Tension.
Resistance.
And then—
"So you do not intend to yield… without a fight."
There was no surprise in the voice.
Only recognition.
But the body answered.
Not with hesitation—
with decision.
She broke the gesture.
The filaments snapped at once, dissipating into the air like threads cut before completing the weave.
The step came immediate.
She moved back.
Turned.
And left the room without haste… but without wasting time.
The narrow corridor of the cabin received her in silence.
The presences were already there.
Three figures standing near the entrance.
Still.
Alert.
She did not explain.
There was no time for that.
Her hand rose in a short, precise gesture—
and the command came low, laden with intent:
"Ventus."
The air answered.
Immediately.
An invisible pressure crossed the space and struck the three at once, pushing them out of the cabin without unnecessary force, but with enough force to allow no resistance.
The door burst open with the impact.
Light flooded the interior—
and she moved forward.
Without pause.
Without looking back.
She leapt outside.
And then she saw.
The shadows were not arriving.
They were already there.
The light failed first.
Then the sound.
And then the air… became too heavy to breathe.
They spread.
Consuming everything that still answered to the world.
Climbing the structures, seeping through the cracks, advancing across the ground like something alive — something that did not need form to exist.
The air gave.
Space responded.
"Brianna—"
The voice came from behind, carrying contained irritation, too fast to be formal.
"what exactly did you do in there?"
She did not answer immediately.
Only cast a glance.
Quick.
Enough.
Morning light cut through the trees and struck him from the side, revealing tanned skin, short white hair, and light brown eyes, now fixed on her, demanding an answer.
She did not grant it.
"Silence, Karna."
The voice did not rise.
But it cut.
"Prepare yourself."
Her eyes moved.
Stopped on the next.
The light did not reach him the same way — it seemed to be absorbed by skin of a tone between iron and ancient bronze.
Long black hair was partially tied, but some strands moved without any wind.
Golden eyes remained fixed on her, incandescent, too steady for that moment.
"Telvaris."
It was not a call.
It was confirmation.
Her eyes moved on.
The other's head tilted slightly beneath the blindfold, thick brown hair shifting with the minimal movement.
Even so, there was no hesitation — the body already adjusted, as if he had perceived it before any sound.
"Kael."
A pause.
"Be ready… for what comes."
The ground answered.
Before any of them moved.
The shadows advanced.
One step — and the ground responded.
Another — and the light gave way.
Now…
there was nothing left holding.