The Guardian’s Echo

Dust and Echoes: Soren

I was breathing hard, my lungs stinging from the dust that had been kicked up by the shockwave. There was blood dripping into my eyes, but I didn’t care. My only priority was Penny.

I sat on the rotted wood, pulling her into my arms. My sword rested on the ground next to us. She cupped my cheek and my heart rolled in my chest. I leaned into her hand for a fraction of a second — a rare moment of pure vulnerability —before my tactical mind snapped back into place.

“What was that?” she asked.

I struggled to find the words to properly answer her question. “A Temporal Remnant,” I finally started to explain. “I’ve never seen one act like that before though. They’re usually made to act like an alarm. Your ancestors — Rosariel herself, maybe — would’ve set it to protect the house against anyone that’s not part of the Ashendor line, but that one… it didn’t behave right. I’m not sure it was left by the Ashendors at all.”

“I don’t… I don’t understand,” she said after a moment.

“The shadows… I think those are what the satyrs warned us about. I think they have something to do with the weavers. They set a Chronos Trap to feed off your memories. If you had stepped into the Remnant’s arms, I don’t know what would’ve happened. It’s possible you would’ve been erased from this timeline all together.”

Penny was trembling, her magic spent. We couldn’t stay in the Great Hall, it was too exposed. But I wasn’t sure there was a safe place to stay anymore.

“It was hungry,” she whispered, breaking the silence that had settled over us. “They don’t just want an anchor, they want to hollow it out.”

“Come on,” I said softly as I rose to my feet. I took her hand and lifted her to hers too.

I supported most of her weight as we moved through the manor. The house was quiet now. There was no ghost vines, no visions of the past, no sparkling tapestries. Just cold, grey ruins. The creaks of the wood were just that. Wood. It was as if whatever that light was when Penny turned the key had settled the “unbound” aspects of the house. We found a small sitting room that didn’t seem to be as dilapidated as the rest of the house. I finally let myself sit, but I wasn’t relaxed by any means.

Penny knelt in front of me as she dug in her knapsack before pulling out a small bottle of antiseptic and a pad of gauze. “Here,” she said quietly. “Let me clean it.”

“It’s fine, Penny,” I told her. “It’ll heal itself by nightfall.”

She didn’t argue. She just looked at me. “I know. I just don’t want it to hurt.” Her fingers hovered near my temple, hesitant, like she was waiting for permission.

I exhaled. “Alright,” I finally conceded.

She cleaned the cut gently, her touch careful in a way that made my chest tighten. It stung for a moment, then dulled. “You should let people take care of you sometimes,” she said softly. Her gaze was fixed on my forehead, but she was close enough that I could feel her breath on my cheekbone.

I smiled faintly. “I am.”

When she was done, we settled in for a few hours of much needed rest. The house let out a different sound — a deep, resonant chime from a clock somewhere deep in the manor. I waited until Penny fell asleep on the chaise, then I moved to the window. Outside of the gates, I could see the shadows moving. My eyes sharpened, watching to see if they moved like they were supposed to or if they flickered.

The Weavers hadn’t vanished, they are just expelled to the perimeter. We were trapped. We might’ve been safe inside the house, but there was something outside of the estate, waiting for us to try and leave.

I moved over to the chaise where Penny slept and laid out my bedroll beside it. I wasn’t sure if I was going to be able to sleep, but I laid down anyways. “The satyrs were right,” I whispered to the quiet room. “The stars are out of step, and I think we just broke the glass even further.”

Penny hummed softly in her sleep. Movement above me caught my eye, and I looked up to see her hand dangling over the edge of the cushion.

I hesitated for a moment, then slid my palm against hers. I let our fingers intertwine as I moved her hand back into the cushion, but I didn’t let go.

Her breath was soft and warm against my knuckles while I watched the moonlight dance across the ceiling.