The ridge path wound downward like a scar through the mountains, loose shale shifting underfoot with every careful step. Dusk had deepened into full night, the sky above a bruised canvas threaded with those slow-pulsing crimson veins. No stars shone tonight—at least none that belonged to the old heavens. Only the distant glow from Ashveil pulled them forward, a heartbeat of violet and red that grew stronger with every league.

  Kael moved near the front, just behind the scout. His cloak blended with the shadows, but inside his chest, his star burned cold and restless. The whisper still echoed in his ears—his name drawn out, mocking, layered with voices that weren't quite Veyra's but close enough to twist the knife.

  They know I'm coming.

  The thought came unbidden, hot and bitter. His parents' faces flashed behind his eyes: the night the sky broke, their stars flaring defiant as crimson rained down. He'd hidden then. Powerless. Now the same voices called him by name, like an invitation to finish what started in Luminar’s Edge.

  He clenched his jaw, forcing the Deep Flame down. Blue light flickered faintly at his collar, betraying him for a heartbeat before he reined it in. Not yet. Not until they saw what waited.

  Lark dropped back beside him, voice low. "Easy, kid. You're glowing like a damn beacon."

  Kael didn't answer at first. The wind shifted again, carrying pine and something fouler—old ash, maybe blood baked into stone. "It said my name," he muttered finally. "Like it was waiting."

  Lark's scarred face tightened in the dim light. "Whispers lie. That's their first weapon—crawling in your head, digging up what's buried." He paused, eyes distant. "Heard my sister's voice once, out near the far valleys. Calling for help. Nearly ran straight into a tear chasing it."

  The admission hung between them, raw and unexpected. Lark rarely spoke of before—of the scars that mapped his arms like failed constellations.

  Kael glanced at him. "What did you do?"

  "I didn't run." Lark's grin was thin, humorless. "Burned the whole ridge instead. No more whispers that night."

  Toren lumbered behind them, his heavy steps muffled by intent. "If they start talking about my old man, I'm caving the whole square in. Save us the trouble."

  This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

  Vel flickered a short distance ahead, reappearing with a soft pop of displaced air. "Quiet up there. The air's... wrong. Thick. Like breathing through wet ash."

  The scout raised a fist, halting them at a crumbled overlook. Below, the ruins of Ashveil spread out like broken teeth—toppled spires, vine-choked walls, the old market square yawning open at the center. Once a thriving border town, now a grave.

  And in the heart of it: the cluster.

  What had been a few tears yesterday now throbbed as one massive veil—dozens of violet rips fused into a single pulsing wound in the sky, hovering low over the square like a storm cloud ready to burst. Crimson light bled through, casting the ruins in bloody shadows. Tall shapes moved within—hooded figures, deliberate and synchronized, their forms flickering between solid and ethereal. They circled a central point, arms raised, feeding streams of harvested light into the tears. Each pulse made the veil swell larger, hungrier.

  The whispers rose again, louder now, weaving through the wind like threads.

  Kael... little star... come closer...

  Burn for us... like they did...

  His star flared painfully in response, a cold burn that spread through his veins. Blue light leaked between his fingers as he gripped the rock edge. For a moment, he heard it clearly—his mother's voice, soft and pleading: Run, Kael. Hide your sister.

  The illusion shattered as Lark's hand clamped on his shoulder, hard. "Don't let it in your head, kid. That's how they win."

  Kael shook it off, breathing ragged. The team crouched low, watching. Toren's fists ignited low and orange, ready. Vel's form shimmered nervously.

  One of the crimson shapes paused in its ritual, head turning slowly toward their ridge—as if sensing the flare.

  The whispers shifted, layering over each other, addressing the group now.

  Lark... broken mentor... scars that never heal...

  Toren... alone now... family harvested...

  Vel... flicker away... but you can't outrun the sky...

  Vel gasped, flickering back involuntarily. Toren growled, his aura surging.

  Then the central figure stepped forward—taller than the rest, hood deeper, crimson light pooling like blood at its feet. Its voice boomed, amplified yet intimately close, exactly Veyra's smug cadence but echoed by the chorus.

  "Little star... you brought friends to harvest."

  The veil pulsed violently. More tears ripped open around the square, crimson hands reaching through.

  The scout whispered urgently, "We need to—"

  Too late.

  A bolt of crimson light lanced toward the ridge, fast and hungry.

  Kael's Deep Flame erupted instinctively—blue pillars slamming up in a defensive chain, intercepting the strike in a explosion of steam and shattered stone.

  The ruins awoke fully. Hooded figures turned as one.

  "Run!" Lark shouted, but Kael stood firm, aura blazing cold and fierce.

  The first Arbiter-like shape leaped the distance in a blur, landing amid crumbling rock.

  The fight began.