Emmet stared at the remnants of the chamber, still trying to make sense of everything. "Those things that brought me here—the tentacle-like constructs... they transported me."

  Eanne considered his words, her expression thoughtful. "Ah, you mean that?" She tilted her head slightly, as if recalling something long buried. "That means there is another form of seal here."

  Emmet exhaled sharply, nodding. "We can use that."

  "Okay," she said. "But how?"

  Emmet expected an answer—but Eanne frowned, frustrated. "I'm not sure. I seem to have lost my memory on how to do it."

  For the first time, they had no answer. Emmet's mind raced—they needed to get out, and fast. "If we can't figure it out, I'll just dig my way up."

  Eanne blinked, then narrowed her eyes slightly. "Dig? You don't have any tools."

  Emmet grinned, the first trace of excitement pulling at his features. "I don't need them. I have my earth totem—I can enlarge it upward and make a tunnel to the surface." Then, after a moment, he added, "Or, we ride the stone upward while I punch my way out."

  Eanne laughed softly, shaking her head. "Alright. Do that." She stepped forward—then touched him. And—disappeared.

  Emmet froze, shock washing over him. "Eanne?!"

  Silence.

  Then—her voice, gentle, yet strangely distant. "I'm inside you."

  His breath hitched. "What?"

  "I'm in your inner world." She sounded almost casual, as if it were the most natural thing in existence. "Remember when we linked? That space we shared? I'm inside that space now."

  Emmet exhaled, trying to process what had just happened. "You just... disappeared?"

  "Not disappeared—just resting. Find us a way out and tell me when you're done." She paused, her voice laced with exhaustion. "I need to sleep."

  And just like that—she was gone. Emmet sighed, shaking his head. Nothing about today made sense. But he would get them out. And when she woke again, he would have answers.

  The walls groaned under the weight of his strikes. Emmet clenched his fists, feeling the earth totem hum weakly, its resonance stretched thin by exhaustion. He wasn't supposed to be relying on brute force—but here he was, tearing through his confines like a battering ram.

  "I never thought forcing my way out using this technique could work. Well, this time... it's might over brain."

  A chunk of debris crumbled downward, but he had already anticipated it. His body remained still, but the energy from his totem surged outward, shifting the dust and shattered fragments away from him in calculated waves. He wasn't reckless—every movement was measured, each pulse of force directed with surgical precision. "No wasted movement. No miscalculation."

  He exhaled sharply, forcing himself not to inhale the dust clouding the air. The protective field wasn't perfect, but he had angled it just right—ensuring that the debris would never reach him, redirecting every stray pebble away from his path.

  Another strike. The cracks widened.

  Then—the final break.

  Cold air rushed against his skin as the path cleared before him. Hollow Town stood waiting, its people gathered, unaware of what he had just endured—or what he was about to do next. He staggered slightly, exhaustion crawling beneath his skin, but his voice remained firm. "We begin now."

  Morning light spilled across the town square as Emmet emerged from the earth, his body battered but unyielding. Dust clung to his clothes, remnants of his escape, yet he wasted no time brushing it away. The people noticed—whispers rippled through the crowd, some calling his name, their voices tinged with relief and awe. Their savior had returned.

  But Emmet ignored them. The Malicebloom was coming. Time wasn't a luxury.

  "Eanne, can you hear me?" He wasn't sure how he was doing it—this silent call into his mind—but the link was there, like a tether he hadn't meant to grasp.

  A sleepy response flickered through him. "We're out? So soon? What? Oh—yeah, alright, I'll do it now."

  Eanne's presence stirred, her essence faint, but her mind was already at work. Counting... "Let's see... ten crystal shards, twenty, thirty... a hundred or more. Ah. This should be enough."

  Emmet listened in silence, his focus sharp, unmoving. The town's people saw his unwavering stance, the intensity in his expression, and mistook it for some kind of ritual—some ancient magic being conjured before their eyes. They didn't disturb him. Instead, they whispered between themselves, spreading word that their savior had arrived safely. Emmet didn't acknowledge them.

  "Eanne. Tell me what to do."

  Emmet stood still, his breath steady despite the weight pressing against his chest. The town square had fallen into silence—eyes watching him, waiting, unaware of what was about to happen. He could feel Eanne within him, her essence flickering faintly, like a candle struggling against the wind.

  "Relax. I'm doing it now," Eanne said, her voice hushed but certain. "Let me warn you—since I can't use sealing on my own, I have to channel it through you. And... there might be some negative effects."

  "Do it." Emmet didn't hesitate.

  Eanne faltered. "I mean, I'm really not sure if it's going to work... but—"

  "Will I die if you use it?" Emmet cut in, his voice flat, controlled.

  "No. Definitely not." A pause. "But as I checked your body from the inside, it's clear—you aren't built for sealing. Your divinity doesn't allow it. So, I'm working around it. I need lifeforce. Yours."

  Emmet let the words settle, a cold dread prickling his skin. He surveyed the town, the people clinging to hope they didn't fully understand. He had started saving them. He had fought, endured, sacrificed. If this was the only way forward—then there was no choice.

  "Alright, Eanne. Do what you must."

  Eanne's presence shifted. Then—the ritual began.

  Her voice wove through the air, her words ancient and unreadable, twisting into the very essence of Hollow Town. The ground trembled beneath Emmet's feet, his pulse slowing as energy surged outward from his body. A shimmering force expanded like rippling waves, stretching across the city. A distinct chill, like an unearthly current, traced his veins as the power began to siphon.

  Then—the sealing took hold.

  One by one, the townspeople were encased in crystal. The reaction was so fast, so overwhelming, that few had time to react. Their faces froze in mid-expression—some caught in surprise, others in quiet relief. The process was seamless, unstoppable. The city itself hummed, responding to the ritual, bending to the force of divinity.

  Emmet's body felt heavy. His strength—the thing that had always been there, unwavering—was slipping, draining with every surge of power. He knew it. Felt it. But the town was safe. And that was all that mattered.

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  The last shimmer of crystal faded as the town's people, now encased, began sinking into the earth. The sealing worked. It was working.

  "It's working," Emmet murmured, watching as Hollow Town itself adjusted to the ritual, the ground shifting to take in its people.

  But something was off.

  "Eanne?"

  Silence.

  For a moment, he thought she hadn't heard him. Then—he felt it. A delayed reaction. His body had held up, resisting the pull for as long as it could. But now, the force—the price—was catching up. His pulse slowed, the weight pressed heavier, the world tilting slightly out of place.

  "Eanne?"

  Again, no response. He staggered, the exhaustion creeping through him like thick fog. The sealing had drained him more than expected—no, more than anything he had ever endured before. His mind was trying to process it, to stay alert, to keep his footing. He clenched his jaw, fighting a rising wave of nausea, the world swaying like a ship in a storm.

  But when the weakness finally struck, it collapsed him entirely. His knees buckled. The ground rose to meet him.

  Then, everything went dark.

  The first thing Emmet registered was the cold. It wasn't the biting frost of a winter night, but an empty, insidious chill that seeped into his bones, leaving a hollow ache. It felt as if his very core had been scooped out, his limbs no longer flesh and blood but brittle, unfinished clay.

  His eyes fluttered open, slow and reluctant. The world around him was still. Too still.

  He shifted slightly, his muscles protesting with dull, aching resistance. His strength—it was gone. Truly gone. The kind of exhaustion that didn't simply fade after a deep breath or a moment of clarity. For the first time in his life, he felt powerless.

  The town was silent. The sealing had worked. He was alone.

  He sat up carefully, fingers pressing against the ground as he steadied himself. Even that simple movement felt wrong—his body heavier than it should be, his balance faltering. His earth totem, the one thing that had always reinforced him, felt like dead weight.

  "Eanne?"

  Nothing. A faint pulse of awareness flickered in his mind, but it wasn't her. It was the aftershock of the sealing—the remnants of power drained from his body, leaving nothing but a whisper of what once was.

  He swallowed. His throat was dry. His thoughts sluggish.

  Food.

  He forced himself onto unsteady feet and stumbled toward the nearest abandoned structure. The bar. There was always food there. His fingers brushed against the doorframe as he entered, his breath shallow. He didn't bother lighting anything—his vision adjusted in the dimness, the faint outlines of untouched tables and shelves greeting him like ghosts of a town now buried beneath the ground.

  He reached the counter and found a stale loaf, some dried meat. He ate. Not for pleasure, not for taste—just for survival. For something to remind his body it was still functional, still alive. But no amount of chewing returned what was lost.

  He exhaled slowly, resting his arms against the counter. His heart beat steady, slower than usual. He thought about the Malicebloom, about the time slipping away, a cold knot forming in his gut. The silence was unnerving, but the true horror lay in the ticking clock he felt within. "Panic and I die. Stay calm... and maybe I figure something out." He closed his eyes briefly, willing himself to think. No strength. No magic. No Eanne. Just him, in the silence.

  For now, he had nothing. But nothing wasn't the same as defeat. Not yet.

  Emmet couldn't move. Not properly. Not the way he was used to. Every motion was slow, dragging. His body no longer responded with effortless force—his limbs felt foreign, unfamiliar, as if they belonged to someone else entirely.

  A simple act—lifting his arm—became a battle against gravity. His fingers curled weakly, but there was no power behind them. No bite of energy waiting to surge through his muscles. His breathing was shallow, his chest tight with something he couldn't quite name. This wasn't exhaustion. It was something worse. Absence. It was as if the very currents of his being had dried up, leaving behind nothing but dust.

  Strength had always been there. Always. Even in his worst moments, his body had carried him forward. But now? Now it was gone.

  He tried to stand. His legs buckled.

  "Move."

  Nothing.

  A frustrated breath escaped him. His mind wanted to fight, but there was nothing left to fuel it. His divinity—his power—had drained into the sealing, leaving him hollow. His earth totem sat within him, dormant. Useless.

  "What am I without it?"

  The silence around him stretched, unbroken. No people. No Eanne. No strength. Just him. Weak. Helpless. His fingers curled against the wooden floor, gripping at something that wasn't there.

  This wasn't despair. Not yet. But it was close. Because for the first time, Emmet had no control. He was a puppet with severed strings, a king without his crown.

  Emmet stared at his own trembling hand. Weak. Useless. Pathetic.

  A raw, breathless laugh bubbled up before he could stop it, a bitter, grating sound that clawed at his throat. "So this is it, huh?" he rasped, his voice a ghost of its former power. "This is what I am without strength? Without divinity? Just... this?" The words hung in the silent air, mocking him. It was a joke, a cruel, cosmic jest—the once unyielding force reduced to a trembling hand on a dusty floor.

  His fingers twitched against the cold wooden planks beneath him, and he stared at them like they were foreign objects. They had once crushed stone, torn through enemies, wielded power like it was second nature. Now? Now they could barely move.

  "Oh, how I've been so dependent on my strength," he muttered, his breath hitching with another dry laugh.

  Had he ever truly been skilled? Had he ever earned his victories? Or had he simply been gifted—blessed with overwhelming power and tossed into the world like an unstoppable force? He had always thought he was capable. But now, stripped of strength, stripped of everything—what was left?

  "So I really was just lucky, huh?"

  He exhaled sharply, resting his head against the counter, his grin fading but never fully disappearing. "Without them, I truly am just nothing."

  The silence stretched, thick and unmoving. His heart beat slowly, tiredly. But his mind, for the first time, was open. As the cold, sharp clarity began to cut through the haze of weakness, he knew nothing wasn't the same as defeat. Not yet. He might be a fool crawling on the floor, stripped of his might, but the Malicebloom wouldn't wait for him to recover. He needed to find a new way. And for the first time, without the clamor of his own power, his mind felt strangely, terrifyingly open to possibilities he had never before considered.

  He tried to fight it.

  The weight in his limbs, the slow pull dragging him downward—it wasn't exhaustion. It was something deeper. Something that refused to let him stay upright any longer.

  His fingers curled weakly against the wooden counter, gripping at nothing. His mind told him to stay awake. To push through. To keep thinking.

  But his body had already decided otherwise.

  His vision blurred, the edges of the room fading into nothing. The silence around him stretched, thick and unmoving, pressing against his skull. Even his breath felt heavier, slower—like his lungs were struggling against the force locking him in place.

  "Rest."

  The thought surfaced, but it wasn't his own. It was instinct. Survival. A demand carved into the walls of his failing body.

  He tried to resist.

  Then—his knees buckled.

  The fall wasn't violent. It wasn't sudden. It was inevitable. His body swayed, his balance lost, and the last thing he felt was the cold press of the floor against his skin.

  He didn't even remember closing his eyes.

  Emmet stirred. His mind sluggishly clawed its way back to consciousness, dragging his body with it. He expected relief. Sleep should have restored something—anything. A flicker of strength, the smallest shred of normalcy.

  But the moment his eyes opened, reality struck with the force of a collapsed mountain.

  Nothing had changed.

  His limbs still felt impossibly heavy, like they had turned to stone overnight. His chest remained tight, his breath shallow, each inhale a reminder of how wrong his body felt. He flexed his fingers. Tried to. The movement was sluggish, weak, barely there.

  "No. No, no, no." His voice came out hoarse, strained.

  He pushed himself up slowly, muscles burning under the weight of his own failing strength. Sleep had done nothing. The ache in his limbs hadn't faded. The exhaustion still wrapped around him like a suffocating cloak.

  He gritted his teeth, forcing himself upright, but the dizziness hit immediately. The world tilted. His balance wavered. He barely had time to register the nausea before his legs buckled. His knees hit the wooden floor with a dull thud.

  And then? He laughed. A sharp, breathless chuckle, bitter and dry.

  "So that's it?" He exhaled, shaking his head. "I thought sleeping it off would fix me. Turns out I was just fooling myself."

  Of course it wouldn't be that simple. Of course this weakness wasn't something a few hours of rest could erase.

  "How pathetic."

  He pushed his palms against the floor, steadying himself, his breathing uneven. The weight pressing against him wasn't just fatigue anymore—it was the harsh truth of his own limitations.

  For the first time, Emmet felt it. Strength wasn't coming back. Not yet. And without it? He had no choice but to face the one thing he had never truly considered: What am I without power?

  The creaking woke him. Not gently. Not like a whisper of movement—no, this was groaning, deep and unsettling.

  Emmet's eyes snapped open. His body resisted, heavy and sluggish, but his mind caught up fast. Something was wrong.

  The bar wasn't the safest place. He had known that, in some distant, logical part of his mind when he first stumbled inside. Too many bigger structures loomed over it—half-standing buildings that had endured time but never truly belonged to it.

  Now? They were failing.

  A deep, sickening crack split through the air. The wooden walls shuddered. Dust trickled from the rafters above. Then more. Then chunks of stone.

  Emmet gritted his teeth. His body was failing, but he had to move.

  He pushed himself up, his limbs protesting, the weight of exhaustion pressing down with relentless force. His vision blurred, his breath shallow.

  "Not now," he rasped, staggering forward.

  A deafening snap echoed from above. He barely had time to process it before the ceiling gave way. His instincts screamed at him, but his body didn't respond like it should. The old him—the stronger, faster, capable him—would have dodged effortlessly, avoided the collapse with precise, controlled movement.

  But now? Now he was barely surviving.

  His foot dragged, slow, unstable, just enough to not be crushed. Debris slammed to the floor behind him, sending dust and splinters into the air. He stumbled forward, gasping, catching himself against the counter for balance. The bar groaned, the structural failure worsening.

  Another collapse was coming.

  If he didn't get out now, he wouldn't get out at all. He was a drowning man, and the very ground beneath him was sinking.

  Chaosbound: Elarith Chronicles (feel free to check it out if you're looking for something new!).

  1-2 chapters per week, so you'll definitely get your regular dose of Emmet's journey.