The group moved without speaking. No formation. No strategy. Just instinct, disjointed and raw — stay close, stay moving, don't look back. The ruins closed around them — broken arches leaning like weary giants, relic shards scattered across the ground like the bones of forgotten gods. Above, the light grew dimmer — not with the coming of night, but as if the ruin itself were slowly exhaling, drawing the world deeper into itself.
Vess stumbled on a half-buried stone, gasping, and Ynara caught her by the wrist without thinking. They shared a glance —a quick, unspoken promise: If you fall, I fall. Neither said it aloud. Words were brittle things here. The path forked ahead — two narrow tunnels splitting into deeper gloom.
Kairon halted, having stayed at the back to ensure they weren't being followed—not that it mattered. They gathered before him, breathing hard. Stone dust drifted down around them in lazy spirals, as if the ruins themselves were shedding skin.
Kairon called out to the group, chest heaving. "We stay together," he said. "We choose one path. No splitting, please." Then a brief pause, "I'm sorry for everything, but I can't bear to lose anyone else. Powers or not."
His voice barely above a whisper, but it cut through the heavy air. Kairon took a step towards the group, feeling the weight of his companions' gazes upon him.
"I'm really sorry guys," he said, his voice steady but laced with vulnerability. "I've been haunted by what happened during our last fight. I made a choice that cost us… someone we cared about. I shouldn't have been so reckless."
The group fell silent, and Kairon could feel their scrutiny. Memories flooded his mind: the moment he led them into an unknown battle without a plan, the flash of light, the screams — Cael's death. He clenched his fists, fighting back the guilt. "I thought I could save us all, but I only made things worse."
Ynara stepped closer, her expression softening. "You're not alone in this, Kairon. We all make choices in the heat of battle. It's what we do afterward that defines us."
He looked into her eyes, searching for understanding. "But what if my choices lead to more loss? What if I can't protect you all?"
"We were never your responsibility, even though it's looked like that half the time." Ashei's voice chimed, low but clear.
All he could do was stare into the empty and he was in that state of pensiveness when a glimmer of light caught his eye. A relic, half-buried in the rubble not far from where they were, pulsed with energy. Instinctively, he reached for it. As his fingers brushed the cool surface, a flood of memories washed over him—images of laughter, camaraderie, and the warmth of friendship.
"Remember who we are," a voice echoed in his mind, a blend of his own and Cael's. "You are not defined by your mistakes, Kairon."
Tears brimmed in his eyes, and he pulled his hand back, breathless. Ynara had paused and gathering her thoughts, continued.
"Elise… she wouldn't want me to wallow in guilt. I need to honor her memory by fighting. We should too."
"I've been so angry since Cael that I failed to realize—" Vess started, sobbing as her voice gave in to the pain she had bottled up. "None of this is anyone's fault. It could have been anyone of us."
The group nodded in solidarity, and Kairon felt a newfound resolve surge within him. He wasn't alone; they were in this together. Though, guilt still weighed on him despite his resolve. He tried to brush it off.
Vael shifted uneasily, casting a glance down the left path that had somehow appeared before them. The stone walls there seemed smoother — newer somehow. Less broken. More inviting. The right path yawned open like a wound — jagged, crooked, and littered with collapsed relics. Vael's skin crawled just looking at it. His fingers brushed the nearest wall again — the same instinct as before. A soft, almost inaudible hum traveled up his arm — a vibration too deep for sound. And again, in his blood:
Vaely.
Whispered like a memory he never lived.
He jerked his hand back, heart hammering. Kairon saw the twitch but said nothing. One crisis at a time. Standing up, the rest mimicked his action and as they stood before the divided path that lay at the entrance of their small hiding place, Kairon knew then that they were never really hiding. And if the ruins around them were awake, then, they should have attacked. Except they didn't and that unsettled him. He had forgotten how long he stood until a voice brought him back.
"We go left," Ashei said, voice calm, absolute.
Everyone turned to look at her. It was the first time she'd spoken since Cael died. Her eyes gleamed faintly in the ruin light — not madness, not grief, but something colder. A survivor's certainty. Kairon held her gaze for a long beat. Then nodded.
"Left," he agreed.
They pressed forward. The passage narrowed, forcing them to walk two by two. Kairon took the lead this time, Nyra a reluctant second. Vess clung close to Ynara. Vael drifted near the middle. Tarek stayed rear guard, muttering under his breath. Ashei moved with an eerie smoothness — like she knew these ruins better than she should. The deeper they went, the heavier the air grew. Breathing felt like inhaling smoke — thick, cloying, filling the lungs with something heavier than air. The stone beneath their feet grew slicker — not with moisture, but something else. A thin sheen of shimmering dust that glittered when their boot soles disturbed it. Old blood. Old ash.
The first whisper came halfway down the corridor that opened to them. A child's voice, thin and lilting:
"Come back. You forgot me."
Vess flinched so hard she stumbled against Ynara.
"Did you hear—" she started, voice shrill, but bit it off when no one answered.
Only Ynara's hand tightening on her wrist told her she wasn't imagining things. Another couple of steps. Another whisper. A different voice this time — low, broken:
"It was your fault."
This time, Kairon stopped dead. His face drained of what little color remained. Nyra bumped into him and retorted back sharply.
"What?"
Kairon opened his mouth, closed it. Shook his head.
"Nothing."
But his hands were trembling. They pressed on. Each step became harder — not from exhaustion, but from the growing sense that the air itself resisted them. Like walking through molasses. Or into the mouth of something vast and breathing. Another whisper — this time directly into Kairon's ear:
"Leader... Pretender..."
He spun, weapon half-raised. Nothing. Only dust swirling in lazy, mocking spirals.
"We have to keep moving," Ashei said, voice tight.
But the group was unraveling. Tarek muttered louder now — nonsensical things, old prayers twisted into threats. Vess clung to Ynara like a drowning woman to driftwood. Vael tapped the wall again and again, desperate for something solid, something real. Even Nyra — furious, stubborn Nyra — kept glancing back over her shoulder as if expecting Cael's broken body to come crawling after them.
Only Ashei moved unfazed, her steps steady, her breath calm. As if none of this touched her. As if she had already walked these halls before — in another life, another ruin, another war.
At last, the corridor widened into a chambered platform. The walls here were lined with half-buried relics — shattered wigs, ancient hairpieces, twisted and blackened by centuries of decay. Some still twitched faintly when the group passed. Kairon fought down the bile rising in his throat. These weren't relics of pride or memory anymore. They were grave markers. Tombstones for those who had worn them — and been consumed.
"What happened here?" Tarek finally spoke in coherent words.
"Honestly, I don't think I want to know." Nyra shrugged as she passed Kairon to the farther side, away from the relics. The others did the same. After surveying the chamber, Kairon let out a sigh of relief and exhaustion.
"We rest here," he said, voice raw. "Just long enough to catch our breath."
He needed to clear his head and prepare for whatever came next. And he was not the only one.
"And guys," he smiled in a bid to build up their spirits as their eyes fell on him. "Stay alert."
No one argued. Not anymore.