"Clarity doesn't strike; it settles, like dust deciding where to land."
Dawn didn't feel like dawn.
The light that broke across the hills came in thin, washed-out strands, as if the sun itself didn't fully trust the sky after the fracture carved its mark through it. The air tasted metallic, the earth unsettled, and every breeze carried the faint tremor of a world waking in the wrong way.
Aarav didn't sleep. None of them did.
They left the Temple of Hollow Stone before first light, following a narrow trail cut into the ridge. Mist curled low around their ankles, swirling in patterns that didn't match the wind.
Amar walked in front, carrying the hollow man across his back like a duty carved into his spine. Meera kept the boy close, whispering stories into his ear—soft, steady, grounding. Arin led the group down a sloping path, staff tapping a rhythm into the stone that kept the world from feeling completely un moored.
Aarav walked in the center.
Because that was the only place Arin allowed him to be now.
The memory of the fracture pulsing across the sky still lingered behind his eyes. The whisper of his name—thin, cold, inevitable—hovered somewhere behind his ribs, refusing to dissolve.
The Vale of Origin lay two days east.
And whatever hunted him… was headed there too.
Arin broke the silence first. "The land between here and the Vale is… altered. If you see something unusual, do not approach it."
Amar sighed. "Define unusual. Because I'm starting to think we need a new definition every hour."
Arin didn't look back. "If it moves without moving. If it breathes without form. If it speaks without sound."
Meera whispered, "So… everything we've dealt with since the story started."
Arin exhaled. "Correct. But worse."
The trail narrowed into a natural bridge—two cliffs with a deep ravine between them. Wind rushed up from below, carrying broken leaves and the faint smell of ash.
Aarav paused at the midpoint. "Something's wrong."
Arin didn't turn. "What do you feel?"
Aarav swallowed. "Pressure. Like… something waiting under us."
Amar tested the ground with his boot. "Feels solid."
"Not the ground," Aarav whispered. "The air."
Even the boy stiffened. "I feel it too."
The wind stopped.
The mist stilled.
Every sound in the world paused—
except the faint hum beneath Aarav's ribs.
Arin's eyes sharpened. "Aarav. Don't move."
Aarav froze.
A ripple passed through the air—barely visible, like a heat shimmer. It rose from the ravine, drifting across the rock, bending light as it moved.
Meera pulled the boy close. "Arin—what is that?"
"A seeker," Arin said.
Aarav's pulse spiked. "Is it his?"
"No," Arin said quietly. "But it was created in the same age."
The seeker drifted toward them—
featureless,
transparent,
a bubble of warped space that pulsed with faint resonance.
Arin whispered sharply, "Everyone stay still."
Amar muttered, "You didn't mention floating death orbs in the briefing."
Arin's eyes stayed locked on the seeker. "It isn't hostile unless provoked."
The seeker hovered directly in front of Aarav.
Meera's breath hitched.
Amar tightened his grip on the hollow man.
The boy hid behind Meera's leg.
Arin's voice dropped to a razor-thin whisper. "Aarav. Do not let your resonance answer it."
Aarav felt the hum in his chest swell—instinctive, reactive, drawn toward the seeker like a magnet.
"I… I can't shut it off," Aarav said, breath shaking.
"Then control it," Arin hissed. "The Vale will demand far more than this."
The seeker pulsed—
once,
twice,
three times.
Then—
It changed.
A faint shape flickered inside the warped sphere—
not solid,
not clear,
but unmistakable.
Aarav.
A reflection of him—
the version he had seen in the mirrors,
the one with cracked eyes and a fractured crown.
Aarav staggered. "Not again—"
The seeker surged forward.
Arin slammed his staff into the stone.
A shock wave rippled outward.
The seeker recoiled, light scattering.
"Move!" Arin shouted.
They sprinted across the bridge.
The seeker snapped into pursuit—gliding, accelerating, distorting the air around it as it chased.
Amar leapt the last few feet and turned, knife raised. "Arin—tell me how to kill it!"
"You can't!" Arin yelled. "Not with steel!"
The seeker lunged again—
Aarav spun, instinct guiding him more than thought. The hum inside him flared like a strike of lightning—bright, sharp, undeniable.
And the seeker froze.
Suspended mid-air.
Held.
Aarav's breath hitched. He wasn't _pushing_ it back.
He was syncing with it.
Matching its resonance.
Calming it.
Settling it.
The seeker trembled—
light flickering,
shape twisting—
then slowly drifted backward, losing cohesion.
It dissolved into thin, harmless mist.
Silence crashed over the trail.
Meera stared. "You… stopped it."
Amar looked half impressed, half horrified. "You controlled it."
Aarav stared at his hands. "I don't know how I did that."
Arin stepped close, studying him with a troubled expression.
"You didn't control it," Arin said softly.
"You recognized it."
Aarav frowned. "What does that mean?"
Arin exhaled, the weight of centuries behind it. "Seekers respond only to things they were built to find."
Aarav's throat tightened. "And what were they built to find?"
Arin held his gaze.
"Anchors.
And threats to anchors."
Aarav's breath faltered. "Threats… like the King?"
Arin nodded slowly. "Or whatever the King fears."
Aarav's pulse stuttered. "Why would it respond to me like that unless—"
Arin placed a hand on his shoulder, voice steady but grave.
"Unless the temple was right," Arin finished.
"Unless the world is beginning to see you as an anchor fully awakened."
Aarav felt the weight settle deeper.
Heavy.
Unshakeable.
Fated.
The fracture across the horizon throbbed again—bright, cracking, widening.
Meera whispered, "We need to get to the Vale."
Arin nodded. "Before the fractures converge."
Amar adjusted the hollow man. "Then let's move."
Aarav took one last look at the fading shimmer where the seeker had dissolved.
A test.
A warning.
A sign.
He turned toward the rising sun.
Toward the Vale of Origin.
And the world seemed to exhale—
not in relief,
but in anticipation.
"He didn't fully understand, but understanding had started without him."