Chapter Eleven: Echoes of the Becoming

Time died in the Brajin Temple.

Its halls had once been sacred—now they were forgotten, buried beneath moss and memory. Faded carvings lined the stone like the worn prayers of the damned, and the silence was so thick it crushed every breath beneath its weight.

Hatku sat beside the broken altar, sword unsheathed, muscles tense with exhaustion. Each heartbeat echoed like war drums in his skull. The fight in the swamp had nearly bled him dry. His fingers ached from gripping the blade. His legs trembled. His mind—restless.

Across from him, Tashina leaned against the cracked pillar, hood over her head, arms drawn tightly around her body. She hadn't spoken in over an hour.

He stared at her, worry crawling up his spine. Her skin looked paler. Her movements slower. But every time he asked, she gave the same answer:

"I'm just tired."

She never once rolled up her sleeves.

Rain tapped faintly outside. Or perhaps it was the whisper of leaves brushing against broken glass. There was no telling anymore. The temple itself felt… alive. Watching.

Hatku's body begged for rest. He bit the inside of his cheek to stay alert. But his vision blurred. Limbs grew heavy. He blinked, slower, deeper.

"I'll stay up," he mumbled.

Tashina didn't answer.

His eyes closed.

It started with a sound—wet and guttural—dripping.

Tashina stirred violently, jolted upright as agony surged through her veins like fire. Her back arched. Her fingers dug into the stone floor.

A low growl echoed inside her skull. No words. Just primal hunger.

"More... feed... consume…"

Her breath caught in her throat. Her vision fractured—colors split and danced unnaturally. The temple warped. Symbols on the walls twisted. She heard whispers where there was only silence.

She yanked her sleeve up—and froze.

From elbow to fingertips, her skin had turned pitch black. The color looked burned in—shimmering, unnatural, pulsing with something alien. Veins forked through her arm like cracks in dry earth. She touched it and winced. Her flesh felt wrong. Cold. But burning inside.

Then her hand twitched—and erupted in flame.

Green fire. Furious. Alive.

But she hadn't summoned it.

It danced without her will, licking her fingers and racing up her wrist. It pulsed, matching the beat of the growling in her skull.

Her heart pounded. Was she losing control?

"No…" she whispered. "No, no—I just need sleep. That's all…"

She laid back down beside her brother, silently, wrapping her arms across her chest. Her eyes closed.

But she wasn't asleep.

She was waiting.

Hatku's rest was broken by cold.

A single drop hit his cheek.

Then another.

And another.

He flinched, half-awake, wiping his face with one hand. The liquid was warm. Thicker than rain. Sticky. He frowned and brought his fingers to his nose.

Not water.

Not rain.

Saliva.

Still half in sleep, he turned to his right.

The fire had died. The moonlight now filtered in only slightly through the shattered dome, casting ghost-like beams over the stone floor. Every shape looked stretched—inhuman.

He touched his sword.

The metal felt distant. Like it belonged to someone else.

His body screamed at him to move, to act.

He looked to his left.

Tashina was gone.

The cold slam of dread hit his chest like a warhammer.

He stood slowly, mouth dry.

"Tash…?" he called softly.

No answer.

His voice cracked.

"…Tashi…"

Then came the sound again.

Breathing.

Not calm. Not steady.

But low. Animalistic. Wet.

"…Tashina…"

He looked up.

And he saw it—her.

Or something that used to be her.

Perched in the rafters, crouched unnaturally, her limbs trembling with tension. Eyes barely visible in the dark. Flame curled slowly from her fingertips.

And saliva—dripped from her lips.