Chapter 8: Threads of Sacrifice

After the Archway

The fissure had fallen silent, its jagged cracks reduced to glowing scars that stretched across the barren ground. Though the archway stood mended at the fissure's center, its light remained dim and uneven. It was no longer broken, but it wasn't whole—not yet.

Marielle slumped onto the uneven ground, her limbs trembling from exhaustion. The ache in her chest remained where the shard had pulsed moments ago. Now, the shard was gone—its energy was consumed to repair the archway. And in its absence, she felt hollow, as if the Borderland had taken something from her in return.

"Marielle?" Lior's voice cut through the stillness. He crouched beside her, his gaze scanning her face. "Are you hurt?"

She shook her head weakly, though the truth clung to her bones. Physically, she was fine. But something deep inside felt fractured—just like the Borderland itself. "I'm… fine," she murmured, though the words rang empty.

Kiba padded closer, its golden tails dimmer than before. "The cracks stopped spreading," it said, though its tone carried no relief. "But it's not over. The balance is still fragile."

Marielle lifted her gaze toward the archway. "It told me," she whispered, her voice raw. "The cracks are just a symptom… not the cause."

The Weight of the Revelation

Lior exhaled sharply, his posture tense. "The cracks are a consequence," he admitted. "I've known that for a while."

Marielle's head snapped up, anger cutting through her exhaustion. "You've known?" she demanded, her voice rising. "And you didn't say anything?"

"What good would it have done?" Lior shot back, his voice cold. "Knowing the cause doesn't change the outcome. The Borderland is still dying."

"But it does matter!" she argued, pushing herself unsteadily to her feet. "If we understand the cause, we can figure out how to stop it!"

Lior turned away, his jaw tightening. "The cracks won't stop unless the Borderland is unburdened," he said quietly. "And that's not something we can fix just by talking about it."

Kiba's eyes darkened, its tails flicking with agitation. "Unburdened?" it repeated. "You mean destroyed, don't you?"

Lior remained silent. But that silence spoke volumes.

 The Gatekeeper's Appearance

Before the tension could snap, the air near the archway shimmered. A figure materialized within the faint glow, flickering like a dying ember. It was humanoid but indistinct, its edges blurred as though it couldn't fully exist in this world.

Marielle stiffened, instinctively stepping back. "What… is that?"

Lior's expression was unreadable. "The Gatekeeper," he murmured. "Or what's left of it."

A voice rippled through the space, layered with countless whispers. "You have mended the gate," it said, a sorrowful weight behind its words. "But the Borderland is still unbalanced. Its burden is too great."

Marielle swallowed hard. "Then how do we stop the cracks?" she asked. "How do we fix this?"

The Gatekeeper's gaze fell upon her—or what passed for a gaze. "The Borderland cannot sustain its weight," it said. "Forgotten dreams must be released."

The Moral Dilemma

The words sent a chill down Marielle's spine.

Kiba's tails flared in alarm. "You mean destroyed," it growled. "You want us to erase them."

The Gatekeeper's form wavered. "Dreams that can no longer be restored serve only to drain the Borderland's light. Their purpose has been lost."

Marielle's chest ached. "But they're pieces of people," she whispered. "Of their lives. Doesn't that matter?"

"If they remain, the Borderland will collapse," the Gatekeeper said simply. "And with it, all dreams—both forgotten and remembered—will be lost."

Lior's voice was steady but filled with quiet sorrow. "You can't save them all, Marielle."

Tears welled in her eyes. "There has to be another way. We can't just… erase them. It's wrong."

Kiba's voice was softer now, the sharpness dulled. "And if we don't, this place falls apart. And everything is gone."

The Gatekeeper extended a flickering hand. A small, dimly glowing fragment floated above its palm. "This is a dream that cannot be restored," it said. "Its light fades, its memory forgotten. It drains the Borderland's strength."

Marielle stared at the fragile glow, her breath uneven. "But… what if someone remembers it?" she asked desperately. "What if it's not truly lost?"

"No one will remember," Lior murmured. His tone was quiet, but there was something deep and painful beneath it. "Some dreams are too far gone."

A Glimpse of Lior's Past

Marielle turned to him, desperation in her voice. "And you're okay with that? With just letting them go?"

He held her gaze for a long moment before looking away. His shoulders stiffened, and for the first time, she saw something crack beneath his hardened exterior.

"I'm not okay with it," he admitted quietly. "But I've been here long enough to know that holding on to something broken doesn't make it whole again. It just hurts more."

Marielle's anger faltered, replaced by something else. "Then why are you still here?" she asked, her voice softer now. "You've been in the Borderland longer than anyone. Why haven't you left?"

Lior hesitated. "Because I can't," he said finally. "The Borderland took something from me. Something I didn't even realize I was giving up."

Marielle swallowed. "What did it take?"

Lior shook his head. "Pieces of me," he said. "Memories, dreams… I don't even know what I've lost anymore. But I know I can't leave until the Borderland is whole again."

A Fragile Hope

The Gatekeeper's form flickered and faded, leaving behind silence.

Marielle turned back toward the archway, her thoughts tangled in knots. The Borderland wasn't saved. Not yet. And now, she was faced with an impossible choice.

She exhaled slowly. "We'll find another way," she said at last. "There has to be a way to save this place without destroying what's left."

Kiba let out a small, tired snort. "You'd better figure it out fast."

Lior glanced at her, his expression unreadable. "Hope you're ready for what's coming."

Marielle met his gaze, her resolve settling into something firm. "I have to be."

Above them, the cracks in the sky pulsed faintly. No longer spreading—but still waiting.