The storm still echoed faintly in Eryndor’s ears, though when he opened his eyes, there was no thunder — only the slow crackle of the campfire and the rhythmic breathing of his companions.
The vision had been so vivid, so visceral, that he could still taste the static in the air. Arcturus’s voice, cold and deliberate, lingered like smoke in his thoughts.
He’s unravelling, Eira’s voice murmured in his mind, soft and distant. The Echo is reaching him, too. The balance between you grows thin.
Eryndor sat up slowly, rubbing his temples. “Then what happens when it breaks?” he whispered.
When it breaks… the world remembers everything it was meant to forget.
He didn’t understand, but he felt the weight of her words settle like a stone in his chest.
---
The morning came grey and muted. The
