They left the Quiet Field without speaking.
Not out of fear—but because the world around them rejected sound.Every word seemed to fall flat, as though the air swallowed it whole.
Aarinen kept the shard in his hand.
It pulsed against his skin, faster now, more insistent—as if the memory they had witnessed had awakened something deep beneath the ground.
Saevel watched him carefully.Torren walked with forced nonchalance, though his eyes darted to every shifting shadow.Rafi shuffled a precise distance behind them, reciting under his breath a list of all the things that could kill them.Lirael moved like a blade, her attention sharp, her silence deliberate.
As they crossed the plain, the wind returned—soft, testing their presence again. Birds began to sing at the edge of the horizon. Even the sky seemed to lighten, as though relieved they had left the scarred place behind.
Only Aarinen did not lighten.
The guardian's voice remained inside him.
Together… you could have undone the Weaver.
The words pressed into him like a blade.Not because of the prophecy—but because he had not been there to protect her.
His sister.
Eryna.
A name he had never spoken before today.
A name that now burned inside him like an oath.
Saevel walked beside him, studying his face.
"Say something," she said quietly.
Aarinen didn't.
Saevel's tone softened. "Aarinen."
He swallowed. "I keep wondering… who she was."
"She was your sister," Saevel said. "That is enough."
He turned to her. "But what kind of sister? Did she laugh easily? Did she fear storms? Did she cry at night? Did she—"
His voice broke.
Saevel stopped him with a hand on his arm.
"We will find her."
Aarinen lowered his head.
"Yes," he whispered."But what will be left of her?"
Lirael, overhearing, spoke gently."Threads are resilient. They bend. They fray. They dim. But they remember what they were tied to."
Aarinen closed his eyes.
He hoped she was right.
The Next Pull
The shard tugged them westward, toward a line of jagged hills cut against the horizon like broken teeth. As they approached, the land grew harsher—stones scattered across the ground, the faint scent of ash clinging to the air.
Torren sniffed the wind."Something burned here recently."
Lirael shook her head."This scent is older. The memory of fire."
Rafi whimpered. "Even the air has trauma. Wonderful. Perfect."
Saevel glanced at Aarinen."Is this the right way?"
He felt the shard pulse.
"Yes."
The hills rose higher with every step. Shadows clung to their slopes. The sun dipped lower—not yet the Quiet Hour, but close enough that the air grew still.
Torren unsheathed his blade."Feels like an ambush."
Saevel rolled her eyes. "Everything feels like an ambush to you."
"Because it usually is," Torren muttered.
Aarinen stopped.
The shard pulsed violently.
Saevel stepped forward. "What is it?"
Aarinen knealt, pressing the shard against the stones.
A shock traveled through him—a jolt of recognition,a memory not his own.
A scream.
Cut short.Crushed into silence.
A woman's voice.
Not Eryna.Not the guardian.
Someone else.
Someone older.
Lirael inhaled sharply. "A second fracture."
Torren stepped back. "How many guardians did she have?"
"Not a guardian," Lirael whispered."A witness."
Aarinen whispered, "Someone saw her being taken."
Rafi paled. "And they were erased for it."
The shard glowed.A faint circle of light expanded beneath it.
And then—
The world fractured again.
The Witness
They stood in a narrow corridor of stone.A cave.Damp.Cold.
The air tasted of minerals and fear.
A woman appeared at the far end—not alive, not dead,a memory pinned in place by trauma.
Her hair was braided tightly.Her clothes simple.Her hands rough from work.Her eyes—
Her eyes were full of terror.
She pressed herself against the stone, whispering frantically:
"Hide her. Hide her. They're coming."
Torren whispered, "A villager?"
Saevel felt her breath catch."No. A nursemaid."
Aarinen stepped forward.
"Who were you protecting?"
The woman couldn't hear him.
She was trapped in a moment long past.
A sound echoed from deeper in the cave—soft, rhythmic, chilling.
Steps.Not heavy.Not light.
Measured.
Aarinen recognized them instantly.
"Cloaked figures," he whispered.
The woman hears them in her memory, and begins to weep.
"Please… I beg you… she's just a child…"
Her body convulsed as the memory tightened.
A flash—of a tiny shape behind her,a child hidden in the dark.
Aarinen's breath stopped.
Eryna.
The woman whispered:
"Aarinen will come. He always finds her. He always—"
Aarinen's heart cracked.
She believed in him.She trusted him.She thought he would protect them.
But he had never come.
Because his memory had been stolen.
He whispered, voice trembling,"I'm here now."
The woman couldn't hear him.
The cave shook.
The cloaked figures entered—shadows with edges sharper than steel.
Their voices were a distant hum, like words spoken underwater.
One pointed at the child's hiding place.
Another lifted a hand.
The woman screamed:
"NO—!"
Sound vanished.
Light vanished.
Her body dissolved into particles of silence.
Not dust.Not ash.
Nothing.
Completely erased.
The child's faint silhouette flickered once—like a candle guttering in a storm—before being swallowed by the same void.
And the world snapped back.
The Second Wound
They stood in the same place—but the cave was gone.The woman was gone.Everything was gone.
Only the cold stones remained.
Saevel wiped a tear with the back of her hand."She died protecting your sister."
Aarinen pressed a hand against the rock wall, breath trembling.
"She said… I always found her."
Lirael approached softly."She remembered something the Loom did not erase."
Torren looked away. "This is too much."
Aarinen whispered, "I failed her."
"No," Saevel said fiercely."Someone prevented you. There's a difference."
Aarinen faced her.
Her eyes held anger.Not at him.At fate.
He nodded slowly.
The shard pulsed again.
Rafi flinched. "Third fracture?"
Lirael answered:
"No. Something else."
Aarinen held the shard up.
Its light dimmed—then brightened once—then steadied.
The pulse no longer pointed west.
It pointed downward.
Torren frowned. "Down? As in underground?"
"Yes," Aarinen said quietly.
Saevel tapped the heel of her boot against the earth."This feels like solid stone."
Lirael whispered a word.
The ground trembled.
A seam of faint silver light formed in the rock, tracing a line like a buried scar.
Torren stepped back. "No. Absolutely not. We are not opening ancient doors we cannot close."
"We are," Saevel said.
Aarinen placed the shard against the seam.
The light flared.
Stone cracked.Dust swirled.A cold draft surged upward.
And a hidden passage opened beneath them.
A stairway, descending into darkness.
Rafi nearly fainted. "Why… why is it always stairs…"
Aarinen stood at the edge.
"We go down."
Torren groaned. "Of course we do."
Saevel stepped beside Aarinen.
"I'll go first."
Aarinen shook his head."No. I will."
She hesitated.
Then nodded.
Aarinen began to descend.
The air grew colder with each step.The stone walls narrowed.The silence deepened.
And then—
A faint sound drifted upward.
Not an echo.Not a memory.
A whisper.
Soft.Delicate.Familiar.
A child's voice.
"Aari… where are you…?"
Aarinen's heart stopped.
Saevel froze mid-step.Torren cursed and nearly fell.Rafi grabbed Lirael's sleeve and sobbed in terror.Lirael went pale.
Aarinen whispered her name.
"Eryna…?"
The voice replied, clearer this time—
"You're late."
Saevel whispered, "That's not a memory."
Lirael whispered, "That is not an echo."
Torren backed up the stairs. "Nope. I'm done. Fate can explode without me."
Rafi screamed wordlessly.
Aarinen took another step downward.
The voice came again.
Closer.
"You shouldn't have come."
Aarinen whispered gently,
"Eryna… I'm here."
The darkness shifted.
Something moved within it.
Not a child.Not a ghost.
Something wrong.
Distorted.
A silhouette that flickered between small and tall, frail and twisted—as though the world could not decide what shape it should wear.
Saevel hissed, "Aarinen, step back!"
Torren drew his blade.Rafi collapsed again.Lirael muttered a warding incantation.
Aarinen didn't retreat.
He stared into the shifting darkness.
The shape whispered in a soft, broken cadence:
"You should have protected me."
Aarinen felt his heart splinter.
"I'm trying," he whispered.
The silhouette tilted its head.
"Too late."
A wind like cold breath swept through the stairwell.
The shard in Aarinen's hand vibrated violently.
Lirael grabbed his arm.
"That is not your sister."
Aarinen whispered, "Then what is it?"
Lirael answered with dread in her voice.
"A fragment."
Saevel's grip tightened on her dagger. "A fragment of what?"
The darkness solidified—limbs forming,face flickering,voice sharpening into a cruel mimicry of a child's sorrow.
Lirael whispered:
"Of the Weaver's lie."
The figure lunged.
And the stairwell plunged into chaos.