Chapter 9 Fractured trust

The dim light of the campfire flickered weakly. The cold stone of the ruined theater pressed against his back. And across from him—they were there.

Lyra. Callum.

Alive.

Elias' hands trembled slightly. His chest felt tight, as if something heavy was lodged in his ribs.

He had watched them die.

But here they were. Whole. Talking softly. Completely unaware of what had happened before.

He swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth and clenched his fists.

"Move."

The voice in his head was sharp, cutting through his hesitation. And just like that—Elias forced himself to stand.

He moved with purpose, grabbing what little supplies they had, stuffing them into his bag.

"We need to go," he said, his voice steady.

Lyra looked up sharply. "What?"

Callum barely reacted. He was still sluggish, his body weak from the strain of everything they had gone through.

Elias tightened the strap over his shoulder. "We need to move. Now."

Lyra's expression hardened. "No. We don't."

Elias froze. "What?"

She stood, stepping closer, her arms crossed. "Callum's in no condition to travel. And we need rest. You can't just decide things on your own."

Callum let out a quiet, tired breath, still sitting on the ground, his back against the wall. He looked pale, his exhaustion weighing him down like lead.

"We're not ready to go anywhere," Lyra continued. "You don't get to order us around."

Elias' jaw tightened. He turned fully to face her. "You don't understand," he said. "We have to move."

"And you don't understand that we need to stop!" Lyra snapped back. "Callum is barely holding himself together. We need to rest."

Elias shook his head. "We don't have time."

"For what!?"

"We need to find clues," Elias pressed. "We need to keep moving forward before—"

"Before what!?" Lyra interrupted. "You keep acting like you know something we don't, but you never tell us anything! Why the hell should we just follow you?"

Elias snapped.

"Because if you don't, you'll die!" he shouted. "Do you want to end up dead!? Do you want to see Callum vanish in front of you!?"

Lyra's eyes widened slightly. Then, in a single motion—her dagger was out.

And it was pointed directly at Elias.

"You keep saying things like that," Lyra said, her voice low, controlled—but deadly.

Her stance was rigid, her fingers tight around the blade's hilt. "Like you know something. Like you've seen something. But you never explain."

Elias didn't move.

He met her gaze, his chest still rising and falling from the argument.

"You're hiding something," she continued, taking a slow step forward. "We don't know who you really are, and I'm not going to follow some stranger blindly."

Elias exhaled through his nose. "If you want to live, then let's go. We have to move."

Lyra's grip on the dagger tightened.

"Not until you give me answers."

Elias stared at her. His pulse was still racing, his breath still uneven.

Callum let out a long sigh and pushed himself upright, rubbing a hand over his face. And then—Callum pulled them both back down to reality.

"Sit," he muttered, voice heavy with exhaustion.

Elias blinked. "What?"

"Both of you. Sit down," Callum repeated, his tone firmer. He gestured toward the dying campfire, barely holding on to its last embers.

Elias hesitated. Lyra frowned. But after a few tense seconds, they both sat.

Callum exhaled and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His expression was unreadable—tired, drained, but serious.

"I agree with Lyra."

Elias felt something sink in his chest.

Callum looked at him fully, tired but serious. "We can't trust you if you keep making choices like this without telling us why."

Silence stretched between them.

"If we're doing this," he muttered, "if we're sticking together, then we need to know who the hell we're dealing with."

He looked up at Elias. "You go first."

Elias hesitated, feeling both of their gazes on him.

He shifted slightly, fingers curling over his knee.

"I was… a scholar," he said finally. "The youngest historian of my kingdom. I spent my days in the grand libraries, documenting records, studying old texts."

Callum didn't react, but Lyra's eyes narrowed slightly.

Elias continued. "I wrote about the Seven Heroes."

That got their attention.

"You mean the ones from the legends?" Callum asked, tilting his head.

"They aren't legends," Elias said, shaking his head. "They are real. I studied their lives, their battles, their legacies. I was tasked with preserving their stories, ensuring that history never forgot them."

His gaze flickered downward.

"And then…"

He paused, feeling the weight in his chest return.

"...Then the Eclipse happened."

Silence settled between them.

"You remember it happening?" Lyra asked.

Elias exhaled slowly. "No. Not exactly."

He looked at them, his voice quieter now.

"One moment, I was in my study, writing about the last war. The next… I woke up in this world."

Lyra's grip on her dagger loosened slightly. "That doesn't explain why you act like you know what's going to happen next."

Elias hesitated.

Then, Callum let out a soft chuckle, though there was no humor in it.

"You were a historian," he muttered, shaking his head. "Figures."

Elias raised a brow. "What does that mean?"

Callum sighed, stretching his legs out, his eyes flickering toward Lyra for a moment before settling back on Elias.

"We were raised in a warrior clan," he said. "Generations of fighters, trained from birth to be soldiers, hunters, assassins."

Elias frowned slightly. That explained their skill in battle.

"But," Callum continued, voice quieter now, "our family was different."

Elias tilted his head. "Different how?"

Callum's fingers tapped idly against his knee.

"In our clan, only women inherit the Phantom Power," he said.

Elias' brow furrowed. "Phantom Power?"

Lyra tensed slightly at the mention of it, but Callum didn't stop.

"It's an ability unique to our bloodline," he explained. "Enhanced speed, heightened senses, instincts beyond normal human limits."

Elias looked between them, his mind piecing things together.

"Lyra hasn't awakened hers yet," Callum finished.

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then, Lyra let out a short, sharp breath and stood up.

"That's enough," she muttered, turning away.

Elias studied her.

For the first time, she wasn't trying to argue.

She wasn't looking at him like she was seconds away from killing him. She just seemed… tired.

Silence hung over them like a weight, thick and suffocating.

Callum poked at the dying embers of the fire, his expression tense. Lyra stood stiffly, her arms crossed, her jaw clenched.

Then—Elias spoke.

"The thing you saw, Lyra," he said slowly, his voice barely above a whisper. "The figure on the rooftop."

Lyra's breath hitched.

Elias met her gaze. "It's real."

A chill ran through the air.

Callum sat up straighter, suddenly more alert. Lyra narrowed her eyes, but there was something in them—not anger. Not skepticism.

Fear.

"...What is it?" Lyra finally asked. Her voice wasn't mocking or harsh like before. It was careful. Uneasy.

Elias hesitated.

"I don't know," he admitted.

Callum exhaled sharply, rubbing his face. "You're telling us something is watching us, but you don't even know what the hell it is?"

Elias clenched his fists. "I just know it's out there. And it's not a Calamity."

Lyra's lips pressed into a thin line. "Then what?"

Elias didn't answer. Because he had no answer to give.

All he knew was that it was watching. And somehow, it was connected to him.

He shook his head. "We need to move."

Lyra exhaled sharply, looking back toward the shadows of the ruined city. "...Yeah," she muttered. "We do."

Callum let out a breath and got to his feet. "This just keeps getting worse, doesn't it?"

Elias didn't respond.

Because deep down—he already knew the answer.

It wasn't getting worse. It had always been this bad. They were just finally starting to see it.