Chapter Eighteen: Echoes in the Dark

The weight of Mira's words still clung to the air like a storm waiting to break.

Alex sat in silence, his thoughts a tangled mess of half-formed questions and unwanted truths.

Something had changed within him.

Something dangerous.

And the worst part?

He had no memory of it.

Mira and Roderic remained tense, their gazes watching him as if he might suddenly lose control again.

It made his stomach twist.

They were his friends. His only allies.

And yet, for the first time…

He could feel the distance growing between them.

They were afraid of him.

Not openly. Not with words.

But in the way Mira's grip tightened on her dagger whenever he moved too quickly.

In the way Roderic kept his remaining hand near his sword, even though he was supposed to be resting.

It was subtle, but it was there.

And Alex hated it.

He swallowed hard, his fingers tightening into a fist. "You're afraid of me."

Mira's gaze flickered, but she didn't deny it.

Roderic exhaled through his nose. "We saw something we can't explain, Alex. That's all."

"That's not all," Alex muttered, his voice rough.

He felt it. The way the room had shifted around him since he woke. The way the air was heavier, as if his very presence had begun to carry weight it never had before.

Like the world itself had started to change around him.

He closed his eyes. "I don't remember any of it."

Mira crossed her arms, studying him carefully. "Not even a little?"

"Nothing."

She sighed. "Then we have a bigger problem than we thought."

Alex looked at her. "Why?"

She hesitated. Then—

"Because we don't know if it'll happen again."

The wind howled outside the safehouse, rattling the wooden shutters as the three of them sat in uncertain silence.

Roderic broke it first.

"We need to figure out what happens next."

Alex frowned. "What do you mean?"

Mira gave him a look. "You think people won't come looking for us? For you?"

Alex swallowed.

Riverend was gone.

The Blackfangs had been wiped out.

But that wasn't the end.

Not even close.

Whoever had sent those assassins—they were still out there.

And they knew he was alive.

"We need information," Roderic muttered. "We need to know who sent those assassins after us, and more importantly—why."

Mira nodded. "And for that, we need to leave this place."

Alex hesitated. "We're not ready to move yet."

"We don't have a choice."

Mira's voice was firm, her eyes sharp. "Alex… whoever they were, they didn't come to kill you. They came to take you."

The thought sent a chill down his spine.

She was right.

Those assassins weren't mercenaries hired for revenge.

They had tried to capture him alive.

And that meant someone wanted him for something.

Something worse than death.

His throat felt dry. "How do we even find out who they were?"

Mira smirked, rolling her shoulders. "I know people."

Alex raised an eyebrow. "That's not reassuring."

She shrugged. "It's not supposed to be."

Roderic sighed. "We rest tonight. Tomorrow, we start moving. Agreed?"

Alex nodded slowly.

Because deep down, he knew—

They couldn't hide forever.

Miles away, deep within the walls of a forgotten fortress, a different conversation was taking place.

The chamber was dimly lit by pale blue crystals, casting an eerie glow over the massive stone table at the center of the room.

Atop the table, a bloodstained scroll lay unfurled, its contents short but clear.

"The mission failed. The target has awakened."

A heavy silence followed the report.

Then—

A slow exhale.

A man sat at the head of the table, his features obscured beneath the shadow of his hood. A sigil was carved into his left hand, glowing faintly with ancient markings.

"The assassins were all killed?" His voice was deep, measured.

A woman standing nearby nodded. "All of them."

The hooded man's fingers drummed against the stone. "And what of the target?"

The woman hesitated. "Still alive. He exhibited abilities beyond what we predicted."

Another figure in the room—a bald man clad in robes of crimson and black—let out a quiet chuckle.

"I told you," he murmured. "The boy is special."

The hooded man glanced toward him, his expression unreadable. "You sound pleased, Orwyn."

The robed man, Orwyn, smirked. "Of course I am. I was the one who told you he was worth pursuing, wasn't I?"

The woman frowned. "We lost good men on that mission."

Orwyn waved a hand dismissively. "Expendable."

The woman's jaw tightened.

The hooded man sighed. "Enough."

His fingers traced the sigil on his hand as he leaned forward. "It doesn't matter that the assassins failed."

The woman glanced at him. "Then what does matter?"

The hooded man smiled, slow and cold.

"They forced his power to awaken."

Silence filled the chamber.

Orwyn tilted his head, intrigued. "You mean—?"

The hooded man nodded. "The boy has already begun his path. Whether he knows it or not, he belongs to us now."

The woman looked unsettled. "And if he resists?"

The hooded man exhaled, standing slowly. "Then we make him understand."

A pause.

Then—

"We move to the next phase."

Orwyn's smirk widened.

The woman's hands clenched into fists.

And somewhere, far away, Alex shivered—feeling a weight settle over his soul, though he did not know why.