The Present
The fog had returned.
Not suddenly, but creeping – like a sickness that first settles into the bones before it touches the skin.
It grew from the ground, crawled over her back, slid under her skin, until every movement felt like a command against something greater.
Lynora (mentally absent) walked. Not with purpose. Not consciously. Her legs moved because standing still would have been worse.
She didn't know how many days had passed. Maybe three. Maybe seven. On Black Mark, time counted differently – as if each day decided anew how long it wanted to last.
Behind her: nothing.
Ahead of her: also nothing.
No wind. No sound. Only the feeling that even death had forgotten her.
Echo was gone.
The crystal had dissolved.
No ashes. No body. No blood.
Only silence. And a guilt so heavy her shoulders sank, as if someone had poured weight into her bones.
Lynora (stumbling) staggered on. Her clothes were torn, her face crusted with dirt, her hands raw from falling. She stumbled over a jagged stone. Fell to her knees.
The ground beneath her was damp – but not from water. It felt like skin, warm and breathing, as if she were standing on something alive.
Lynora (trembling) gasped for air. But even the air was heavy. Dense. Wrong.
Her lips moved, but no sound came out.
Instead, she heard other voices.
Kyro (whispering): "Why did you leave me behind?"
Rex: "I fought for you."
Zayne: "You chose yourself."
Lynora (startled) turned her head. No one there. No shadow. No body. Only emptiness.
But she recognized the voices. Kyro. Rex. Rioji. Zayne.
All blended. Like whispers underwater.
"Stop… I… I couldn't… I just wanted—"
Her voice failed.
She covered her ears. Pressed her fingers so tightly to her skull that her nails tore open the skin.
But the voices didn't stop.
Voices (overlapping, echoing):
"Traitor."
"Coward."
"You sacrificed her."
Lynora (screaming) collapsed. Loud. Wild. Desperate.
But the world did not answer.
Somewhere in the distance, a tree of crystal shattered with a sound like splintering glass.
Lynora (dragging herself) stumbled forward, hands bloody, her face streaked with grime.
She had stopped crying.
Because tears only came when there was still hope left.
The landscape was empty.
Everything looked like burned veins – deformed rocks, twisted roots, corpses of things that no longer had names.
Between cracks in the earth, things moved that didn't breathe but still lived.
And then –
came the nausea.
She vomited. No food. Only bile.
Lynora (whimpering) collapsed to the ground, on hands and knees. Trembling. Barely able to see.
The fog had laid itself like a blanket over her eyes.
A sound.
A scraping. Not an animal. Not a human. Not wind.
A breath. Wet. Gurgling.
Then a step. Heavy.
Another.
Metallic dragging. Something was dragging itself across the ground.
Lynora (frozen) turned.
And saw it.
A creature that should not have existed.
A body of open flesh, like a flower that had bloomed from the inside out.
Inside: bones, voices, remains. A maw that opened in three directions.
From its back, human arms protruded – wrongly attached. The skin was red and glossy, as if freshly stolen.
The monster didn't roar.
It stared.
Then moved.
Lynora (on instinct) backed away.
Limped. Slipped. Her legs barely obeyed her anymore.
She raised her weapon, trembling – but it no longer vibrated. No light. No sound.
The resonance didn't respond.
Only silence.
"Please… not now… not like this…"
The creature leapt.
It threw her to the ground.
Its claws tore into her shoulder.
Lynora (screaming) turned to the side.
A strike hit her leg – bones shattered.
She tried to get up. Fell.
Tried to crawl. Was grabbed.
It dragged her by the hair through the dirt.
Every second a burning cut.
Every breath a plea for a quick end.
She thought:
So this is how it ends.
Without dignity. Without meaning.
Then it happened.
A bang.
No explosion. No light. Just pressure.
The ground shook.
The monster was flung back.
Shredded.
Its upper body twisted.
Then: silence.
Lynora (gasping) lay on her back.
Breathing.
Blood dripped from her forehead.
Something approached.
Slowly.
Heavy.
Not aggressive.
But present.
A shadow – not from lack of light, but from intention.
Like something that had decided not to have color.
The silhouette was tall.
Broad.
Stood still before her.
She tried to lift her head. Failed.
Then the figure spoke.
Not loudly.
Not threatening.
Just… calm.
??? (calm): "I found you."
Lynora (fading) closed her eyes.
Black.
Then –
Nothing.