They ran through the night.
No orders. No allies. No safety.
Just two Harvesters—one branded, the other corrupted—fleeing from the very Order that had raised them.
Riven had taken them off the roads, cutting through ravines and silent forests, keeping low and unseen. Even the soul-beacons of nearby towns were avoided. The Order had eyes everywhere.
They didn't stop until dawn, where the light barely touched the thick mists of the southern swamps.
Maelis sat by the water, her knees pulled close, her eyes hollow. Her skin was pale and clammy, and though the sigil no longer glowed, it hadn't faded.
It was burned into her soul.
Riven stood watch nearby, his back to a dying tree, blade sheathed but ready. The aftertaste of Void Consumption still clung to his tongue like ashes. It never left him clean.
"You used it again," Ma
Maelis stared at him. "You're serious."
"I wouldn't say his name if I wasn't."
"The Order erased all records of him. Said he was mad. Touched by the Void."
"Then he might understand what's happening to us."
Riven turned, checking the edge of the swamp trail. The mist was rising, curling like fingers across the water's surface. Something distant howled—low and inhuman.
"We leave at nightfall," he said. "Ashfall's a long way from here, and the Order will be watching the roads."
Maelis stood, still shaky. "Why wait? What's at nightfall?"
He looked at her. "That's when the dead quiet down. The voices get weaker. Easier to walk through the ruins."
She hesitated. "You've been there before."
Riven's silence said enough.
Maelis didn't push.
Instead, she asked, "What if he doesn't help us?"
Riven stared into the trees, voice like stone.
"Then I'll make him."
They descended the ridge in silence.
Ashfall was a dead place—but not empty. The very ground felt aware, like the city itself was listening. Watching. Waiting.
Maelis kept close to Riven. Her eyes flicked to every shadow, every shattered doorway. The sigil on her chest burned in rhythmic pulses now—like it was breathing.
They passed a collapsed statue, its head cracked open, revealing a hollow center. Inside, faint whispers echoed, barely audible.
"…feed…return…remember…"
Riven muttered a ward under his breath and kept walking.
When they reached the black spire, it towered above them, jagged and smooth like obsidian glass. No door. No entrance. Just stone.
Then Maelis stepped forward—and the wall split down the middle with a hiss, revealing a dark corridor carved into the spire's heart.
"I didn't touch it," she whispered.
"You didn't need to."
They stepped inside.
The air was cold and dry, but not stale. The corridor twisted downward like a spiral throat. Symbols glowed along the walls—runes not of the Order, but something older. Forgotten.
After a long descent, the path ended in a wide chamber lit by violet fire.
And there—at the center—was him.
The Watcher.
He stood barefoot in the ashes, cloaked in dark robes stitched with soul-thread. His hair was silver-white, long and tangled, his eyes hidden behind a blindfold etched with runes.
He turned toward them—though he could not see.
And smiled.
"Ah," he said, voice like dust and velvet. "The traitor of the Order... and the girl with the mark."
Maelis froze. Riven stepped between them.
"You know why we're here."
"I know what you are," the Watcher said, tilting his head toward Maelis. "And what you will become... if he keeps trying to save you."
Maelis flinched. "What does that mean?"
"It means," the Watcher said, walking forward slowly, "you've already begun to unravel. The Abyss has seen you. Claimed you. And it only takes what it plans to use."
She swallowed. "Then help me stop it."
He paused in front of her. The smile dropped.
"There is no stopping it."
The sigil on her skin flared again—and the fire in the chamber responded, rising around her like a crown.
"But…" The Watcher turned to Riven, grinning once more. "There is a way to twist it. Redirect it. Shape it into something useful."
Riven's voice was low. "How?"
The Watcher reached into the ashes and drew out a bone-white knife inscribed with a single rune: Divide.
"You must sever her soul in two."
Maelis stepped back, horrified. "Sever my soul?"
The Watcher's blindfolded gaze turned toward her, unreadable. "It's the only way to create a barrier between you and the Abyss. The brand marked your entire soul, but if we divide it—anchor the untainted part—you'll still have something to hold onto. Something that belongs to you."
Riven's eyes narrowed. "And the other half?"
The Watcher smiled.
"Given to the Void."
Maelis clutched her arms. "So I just lose half of myself?"
"You lose the half that's already lost," the Watcher said. "Or… let it take everything."
The chamber was silent for a long time.
Then Riven spoke, voice quiet. "There has to be another way."
"There isn't," the Watcher said flatly. "Not if you want her alive. Not if you want her human."
Maelis met Riven's gaze. Her voice shook, but her eyes held firm. "If it means keeping control… if it means stopping whatever's inside me from breaking free…"
She looked at the Watcher. "Then do it."
Riven grabbed her arm. "Maelis—"
"Would you rather see me turn?" she said, not blinking. "Because I feel it, Riven. Every hour. Every time I close my eyes. It's like something inside me is smiling, waiting for me to slip."
He let her go.
The Watcher held out the blade. "She'll need an anchor. Someone to tether the remaining soul half to this world."
Riven reached out—and took it without hesitation.
The Watcher nodded. "Then it begins."
The ritual circle was drawn in ash and bone. Sigils older than language. Flames flickered to unnatural rhythms, casting warped shadows on the walls.
Maelis stood in the center. Barefoot. Exposed. The brand on her skin now glowing bright enough to light the chamber alone.
Riven stood outside the circle, blade in hand, focus unwavering.
The Watcher raised both hands, chanting in a tongue not spoken in centuries.
The flame surged.
The sigil flared.
Maelis screamed—not from pain, but from pressure—as if her very soul was being stretched apart.
The blade in Riven's hand pulsed—hot, then ice cold—as the energy from Maelis's brand connected to it. He saw her soul then—not with his eyes, but something deeper.
Two halves. One wild and fractured. One barely holding on.
The blade began to hum.
"Now!" the Watcher shouted. "Cut the bond!"
Riven stepped forward.
His heart thudded once.
And he cut.
A brilliant burst of black and silver erupted from Maelis's chest—blinding, for a heartbeat.
Then—silence.
Maelis collapsed to her knees, gasping. The sigil still burned on her skin—but now, it looked dim. Distant.
Riven rushed to her side.
"Maelis?"
She looked up at him, dazed—but alive. Her voice was hoarse.
"I feel… lighter. But… there's something else."
The Watcher exhaled, lowering his hands.
"Yes. The severed half. It's not gone. It's somewhere else now."
Maelis blinked. "Where?"
The Watcher looked toward the chamber's dark entrance.
"You'll have to find it. Before it finds you.
The fire died slowly.
The Watcher stepped back into the shadows, his part in the ritual finished. Riven helped Maelis to her feet, steadying her as her knees buckled. She was pale, sweat-soaked, but her eyes were focused. Clearer than before.
"I can't feel it clawing at me anymore," she whispered. "The hunger, the whispers—it's… muffled."
"That's what we bought," Riven said. "Time."
The Watcher watched them from the edge of the circle. "But not peace."
Maelis turned toward him, chest still rising and falling with ragged breath. "You said the severed soul wasn't gone."
"It's alive," the Watcher said simply. "Cut adrift. Like a bloodied shard in the current of the world. It will be drawn to you. Because you are what it remembers. What it hates."
"Will it attack her?" Riven asked.
The Watcher's grin returned. "No. Not yet."
He pointed toward Maelis's chest.
"You're the cage. And it's waiting for you to open the door."
Maelis's hands curled into fists. "Then we find it. Before it becomes something worse."
Riven nodded, expression unreadable. "We track the pull. Every broken dream. Every ripple of the Abyss. Until we find it."
"And when you do?" the Watcher asked, stepping back into the gloom.
Riven met his hidden gaze.
"Then I finish what we started."
The chamber dimmed. The Watcher vanished without another word—only a faint echo remained in the ashes: "Not all things broken wish to be made whole."
As they climbed back up through the spire, the dawn light bled crimson over Ashfall. A storm was rolling in—slow, black, unnatural.
Maelis wrapped her cloak tight, staring down at the ruined city one last time.
"Do you think the Order will come here?"
"They'll feel the ritual. They'll send hunters. Maybe worse."
Riven placed a hand on her shoulder. "We'll move fast. No more hiding."
She looked up at him. "You don't have to stay with me."
"I do."
Maelis didn't argue.
Together, they disappeared into the fog, heading north—toward lands where the veil between life and death was thin. Where whispers turned to voices. Where her soul half—twisted, untethered, and changing—waited.
Watching.
Wanting.