The silence came first.
It rolled through the ruins like mist, thick and heavy, muffling even the crackle of flame. The once radiant city of Zerune — jewel of the western spires — had become a monument of smoke and shattered names. The air itself was gray, dry with soot and the taste of dying rhythm.
Nakala stirred among the rubble, her fingers sinking into the ash that had once been marble. Every bone in her body sang with dull ache; every heartbeat carried the memory of something vast and burning that refused to die inside her.
Her first breath came out as steam — violet-edged, faintly glowing.
Still alive.
The thought was not hers.
> "Esh'ra…" Nakala's voice rasped, half human, half echo.
Do not speak, the goddess murmured inside her. Listen.
And Nakala did.
At first, she heard nothing but the faint rustle of cooling stone. Then, beneath that — deeper, hidden in the stillness — a rhythm pulsed. Slow, uneven, broken. Like the heartbeat of a dying world. Each thud carried a faint melody of despair — thousands of lives, flickering and fading, their Histinak leaking into the empty air.
The Bound Names were gone. Zerune's great symphony had been silenced.
And yet… she could feel it still.
Each ember in the air hummed faintly, whispering her name. Nakala. Nakala. Nakala.
It frightened her more than death.
She pushed herself upright, coughing black dust. The world swayed around her, the sky bruised and trembling. Pieces of the old temple lay scattered like bones — pillars carved with sigils now cracked and hollow. A few runes still flickered weakly, forming the outline of a woman's shape half-buried in debris.
> "Serah…"
Nakala crawled toward the faint light, her heart sinking as she brushed soot from the figure's face. Serah's eyes were closed, her skin pale beneath streaks of ash, her lips faintly moving without sound. Her hand was burned black along the wrist — the mark of overdrawn Histinak.
Nakala pressed two fingers to Serah's neck.
A pulse. Weak, but there.
Relief hit her hard enough to steal her breath. "You stubborn little flame…"
She dragged Serah out from the rubble and laid her against a shattered pillar. The silence around them grew heavier — unnatural. The world felt muted, as if every sound was being swallowed before it reached the air.
Do you feel it? Esh'ra whispered. They are here.
"Who?" Nakala hissed.
The ones who hunger for rhythm.
Her head snapped up.
Something moved beyond the smoke — slow, fluid, shapeless. A smear of shadow that didn't follow light. Nakala froze, squinting. It wasn't alive in any familiar sense. It seemed to stretch and shrink with every breath she took, as if her breathing dictated its form.
Then came the whisper — low, distant, but everywhere.
> "…she… sings…"
Nakala's skin prickled. She could feel the sound, cold and wet like something sliding through her bones. The shadow tilted, listening.
Then it spoke again, in reversed rhythm — every syllable echoing backward.
> "em aN ruoy si tahW?"
The voice wasn't asking. It was feeding.
Nakala drew her sword. "Stay away."
Do not speak to it, Esh'ra warned. It consumes the rhythm of words.
The shadow pulsed, as if pleased by her fear. From within its form, faint shapes flickered — faces, voices, maybe memories. Each one spoke without sound. Each one screamed in silence.
Nakala stepped back, keeping herself between the thing and Serah's body.
Her heartbeat quickened. The creature rippled with each thud, feeding on the pulse itself.
And then… it smiled.
Or rather, the shadows folded into a curve that resembled one.
Nakala's temper snapped. The divine rhythm inside her flared awake — violet fire spilling from her fingertips, spreading across her arms in living patterns. The air vibrated with the raw tone of her Histinak, the goddess's power trying to shape itself into flame.
No! Esh'ra's voice thundered. You are not ready!
But Nakala's fear had already burned into fury.
She swung her sword, the blade cutting a line of violet across the gray. The sound that followed was like a bell struck underwater — muffled but resonant. The fire cut through the shadow, splitting it open — and for a moment, she saw what lay beneath.
Eyes. Hundreds. Thousands. Each one turning toward her, unblinking.
The creature dissolved into smoke, retreating with a hiss that bent the air. The silence that followed was deeper, more oppressive than before.
Nakala fell to one knee, panting, her blade humming softly in her hand.
She looked to Serah — still unconscious, but alive.
Then to the horizon, where more shapes moved in the distant haze.
They're multiplying, Esh'ra murmured. The N'gai do not die. They divide.
"Then we'll burn them all," Nakala said hoarsely, staring at the ash-stained sky.
Burning is what they want, Esh'ra whispered. Flame makes rhythm. Rhythm makes feast.
The goddess's laughter echoed like wind through broken stone.
And for the first time, Nakala felt the faintest touch of despair.