Chapter 113: Screams from the Depths
Elara didn't know how long she had been in the crevice. Time had dissolved into darkness. The air was damp and heavy, the walls so narrow they seemed to breathe with her, pressing against her chest like a slow, living trap. But the worst part wasn't the cold or the hunger.
It was the voices.
They came every time she shut her eyes—soft at first, like wind in dead branches. Then louder. Clearer. They pulled her into a place she didn't recognize: a grey, dead world filled with fog and skeletal trees that seemed to weep ash. Souls drifted around her, their faces twisted in agony, mouths opening in eternal cries.
> "Save us…" "Don't leave us again…" "Take us with you…"
Their hands clawed at her—grabbing her arms, her legs, her hair—pulling her downward into the fog. She screamed, thrashing, but they clung to her like vines made of grief and guilt.
She recognized them.
Mrs. Jorella, who once ran the bakery. Old Tiba, the kind man who played flute at her 10th birthday. Even the young boy from the orchard—his face pale and bloodless.
> "Why didn't you save us?" "You're like him now…"
Elara froze. That voice came from a girl her own age, eyes burning through the fog. "Like… who?" Elara whispered, but the girl was already gone.
She jolted awake, her hands bleeding from where she'd clawed the stone walls. Dirt packed beneath her fingernails. Her throat ached, voice hoarse from screaming.
> "No! Let go of me!" she shouted, swinging at shadows that weren't there.
"Somebody help!"
Her fingers trembled. She'd tried climbing out—had dreamed of it—but even in sleep, something always yanked her back down. Invisible hands dragging her into the dark.
---
On the second night, something stirred above the crevice.
The Guardian stepped forward, his robes a patchwork of feathers and bone fragments that clinked as he moved. Silent, solemn, he began drawing glowing symbols on the stone with a thin dagger carved from obsidian. The runes shimmered blue, breathing with light.
He called upon the Guardians of the Chosen One. He wanted Elara to awaken her true power before it was too late.
But the souls were already tangled deep within her, whispering madness.
Suddenly—a brilliant flash of blue light split the gloom. Someone dropped into the crevice like a blade of lightning.
Kai.
His cloak shimmered like rippling water beneath the stars, silver hair catching the glow. For a heartbeat, he looked like a prince from a storybook, his usual grin tugging at the corner of his lips.
> "Took you long enough to start the fireworks," Kai muttered to the Guardian, brushing off his sleeves.
But the moment he saw Elara, the smile fell. His throat tightened.
She was curled up in the dirt, mumbling broken syllables, her eyes glassy and wide. Her lips bled from biting down during her screams. She looked barely alive.
> "Elara…" he whispered.
He knelt beside her and gently took her hands, ignoring the sticky blood and tremors. He held them tightly, his voice breaking into a whisper.
> "I'm here now. You're safe."
His hands glowed with warm blue light, wrapping her in a soft aura. He poured everything into it—his power, his calm, his hope. The glow began to shimmer across her body… and then flickered.
Then died.
Nothing changed.
Elara still whispered to the dead.
Kai's jaw tightened. "Why can't I help her? Why now?" he thought, fear gnawing into his calm. He could heal wounds. He had brought people back from the brink of death. But this… this was beyond him.
> "No," he breathed, panic rising—a rare thing for Kai. "I need help."
He gripped the silver chain around his neck, heart pounding, and stood. This wasn't a simple call. He dropped to his knees and carved a sigil into the ground with his dagger. Then, for the first time in years, Kai chanted the Ancient Rite of the Echoing Path—a forbidden summoning only used in direst need.
> "By the bond of silver, by the pact of light… I call thee. Come."
The earth trembled. The runes blazed.
From a tear in the air, a figure stepped through.
The second Guardian.
Draped in flowing white robes, his skin glowed faintly like moonlight on snow. He said nothing. But his presence was enough—the temperature dropped, the voices in the crevice screamed and slithered back.
Together, Kai and the second Guardian raised their arms. Blue and white light spiraled from their palms, intertwining like twin rivers.
Elara screamed, arching in pain as the light struck her. She levitated off the ground, her body twisting. The spirits fought back—hundreds of them—clinging, shrieking, their faces stretched with fury.
> "Tiba!" she cried, voice shaking. "Jorella, no—don't—!"
She screamed again, naming each soul as they were pulled out of her, burned into nothing by the light.
For a moment, the cave blazed with unnatural fire—blue, white, searing.
Then silence.
Elara collapsed into Kai's arms, unconscious but breathing.
Kai gently brushed the blood-matted hair from her forehead. His eyes didn't shine with victory. Only fear.
> "You'll be okay now," he whispered, holding her tightly.
"I promise."
---
Back in the village, life continued in quiet despair.
Albert had changed.
He no longer shared meals with the others. When villagers wept, he walked past them without blinking. He didn't join the watch patrols, nor the morning rituals. Once, when a boy cried for help with his sick mother, Albert didn't even turn.
He had become a shadow in the corner of every room.
Ariella watched it all with growing unease. And now, as she stood beside a freshly filled grave—one of the many—the truth tightened in her chest.
A little girl had died that morning.
The villagers wept. Prayed. Some left flowers. But Albert stood apart, arms crossed, face blank.
No tears. No words.
He looked… empty.
Ariella turned toward him. "Albert," she said carefully. "Do you remember when you first came to the village?"
He didn't respond at first. Then his gaze slid to her, smile slow and deliberate.
> "Of course. Elara's birthday. I was a tourist, remember? Got lost and wandered into the party."
Too smooth.
Too perfect.
The real Albert would've fumbled through that memory, laughing too loud, teasing about how much cake he ate.
This one was precise. Mechanical.
Ariella nodded slowly. "Right…"
But then she saw it. As he rolled up his sleeves, the wind lifting the cuff—black lines, faint but unmistakable. Veins. Twisting like ink beneath his skin, moving.
Her stomach dropped.
Behind her, Albert smiled again. But it didn't reach his eyes.
> "Fool," he whispered under his breath.