Chapter 8 - The Echo Trial (3)

The wind was quieter now. Not gone, but quieter. It howled across the cliffs like a dying breath, retreating in the face of something far worse. We stumbled through the frozen forest, half running, half falling. The ground dipped and rose beneath our feet, coated in ice and slush and blood. Trees loomed like silent watchers, their frostbitten limbs trembling under the weight of the storm. The Wraithborne's roar still echoed behind us—closer, then distant, then close again. We didn't know if it was following us or if we were just running in circles.

The group had splintered. In the chaos, some broke off. I didn't even see them leave—only realized later that there were fewer of us. Only eight now. The others had vanished, swallowed by the snow. Or worse. We didn't speak about them. Not yet.

When we finally stopped, it wasn't because we felt safe. It was because our legs couldn't carry us anymore. We collapsed behind a ridge of snow, panting, gasping, coughing up frost. For a long time, no one said anything. Just the sound of wind, breathing, and the faint crackle of cooling blood.

Then someone turned.

"You killed them."

The voice was sharp. Accusatory. I didn't know his name—one of Iver's group, older, wiry, his eyes bloodshot. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"I—" I tried to speak, but the words stuck. My throat felt raw, like I'd swallowed shards of glass.

"You dragged it straight to them. They didn't stand a chance."

A girl stepped forward, face pale, lips trembling. "You're the reason they're dead."

"It wasn't like that," I muttered, but it didn't matter. The words were swallowed by the snow, by their hatred. I could feel their stares burning into me. Rachel's eyes met mine, uncertain. Sio hovered nearby, silent.

"He tried to help," Rachel said, finally. "What he did was reckless, yeah. But he didn't mean for anyone to die."

"Intent doesn't mean anything when people are dead." The wiry boy's voice was ice. "If he hadn't interfered—"

"I thought I could divert it's attention elsewhere," I said, more to myself than anyone else. "I was trying to—"

"To be a hero?" someone scoffed. "You're a killer. Nothing else."

Something cracked in my chest. A slow, dull break. I clenched my fists and looked down at the snow. I saw the blood again—the body crumpled beneath the beast. My doing. I'd brought it to them. I had gambled and lost, and others paid the price.

"Enough," Iver said. His voice cut through the rising tension. "Everyone, drop it. We need to keep moving. We can sort this out later."

And just like that, the group turned. Not out of forgiveness, but because they had no choice. Survival didn't allow time for blame. Not yet. We trudged forward, but the space around me grew colder. No one walked beside me. Not anymore. Except Rachel and Sio, who stayed close, if quietly. The others distanced themselves. Avoided my eyes. One of them brushed my shoulder as he passed, muttering just loud enough: "Nice job."

I gritted my teeth.

Iver called out from ahead. He'd found something—a cave. Half-buried beneath a slope of rock and snow, wide enough for a few to pass through at once. The entrance was ringed with strange runes, etched deep into the stone. They pulsed faintly, as though reacting to our presence.

"Looks like shelter," Iver said. "Let's move."

Rachel hesitated. "Ilena and Jun…?"

"They're not here," someone muttered. "Probably dead."

Rachel's jaw clenched. "You don't know that."

"With a creature like that out there?" another snapped. "No one survives that."

Iver looked pained. "I wish… I wish we could do something. But we can't. Not now."

We entered the cave.

The air shifted the moment we passed inside. Colder. Stiller. The runes seemed to hum beneath the silence. I stuck near the back, my hand brushing Aelric's fur as the cat pressed close to my leg. My skin prickled. Something wasn't right.

[They don't see it,] the Fourteenth whispered. [But I do. Something's ahead. Something that should not be.]

I stopped, glancing around. "We shouldn't be here," I said aloud. "We should find another cave."

"Something feels wrong about this. Sio nodded. But would they listen to me or a child?

The others turned, eyes narrowing.

"Oh, now he's giving advice?" one sneered.

"Trying to get us all killed again?" another added.

"Maybe we should kick him out."

"Shut up," Iver barked. "Everyone, enough. If he says something feels off, I'll take it under consideration."

That was the only thing that stopped them.

Then came the sound.

A low howl. Not human. Not beast. A chorus of something ancient and angry, echoing from outside the cave entrance. Then a second sound—a roar that made the stone tremble. Everyone froze. Someone screamed. Panic surged.

"Let's keep moving, now!" Iver shouted.

We ran.

The tunnel twisted downward, the walls narrowing before opening into a vast chamber. A door stood before us, strange and silent, made of obsidian and marked with crimson lines. As we approached, it opened. No one touched it.

The words burned above it: [The Asleep]

The structure and feel of the door were eerily familiar. Its silent opening, the crimson glow in the darkness—almost identical to the gateway that had begun the Echo Trial. Except this one felt older. Hungrier.

We passed through.

The chamber inside was massive, silent. The air was thick with dust, the floor layered in ash. Faint light flickered from unseen sources, casting long shadows. We fanned out slowly, eyes wide, hearts pounding. The room was eerie, calling it a room would be too much. It seemed more like a tomb.

"Maybe this is okay," someone whispered. "Could be safe."

I wanted to laugh. Safe? In a place like this?

These people are fools, I thought. Walking into a dead, silent tomb. Talking about staying here, as if the name carved above the door didn't mean something worse.

What does "The Asleep" even mean?

Iver stopped ahead. One of the other boys bumped into him, irritated.

"What are you doing, keep mov—" He didn't finish.

Iver just stared forward, unmoving. Then slowly… he looked up.

Dark fur. Red and black. Soft, almost like velvet. It hung from the ceiling in thick tufts. But it wasn't just fur—it moved. Breathed. Inhaled. Exhaled. And it didn't stop. It stretched so far upward we couldn't see the end.

Rachel's breath caught. Someone at the back whispered, "What is that…"

"Go back," Iver whispered. "Shhh. Don't… make… a sound."

One man didn't listen.

He turned and took a step toward the tunnel. He saw something. A skeleton, dried and brittle, curled near the wall.

He screamed.

And everything fell apart.

A great exhale rumbled from above. The chamber vibrated. A low thud followed, like a mountain shifting in its sleep. Then another.

And then it moved.

From the shadows came limbs—long, furred, and ripped with muscle. Its face was wrong. Animal-like, but faceless, save for a set of twitching slits where eyes should have been. Its jaw stretched down, unhinged, revealing rows of broken, jagged teeth layered deep into its maw. Each tooth looked like it could shear through iron. Saliva dripped like thick oil, sizzling on the stone below. Its snout was elongated, breathing in massive lungfuls of air that rattled the bones in our chests.

Its arms were massive, disproportionately long, dragging against the ground, layered with sinew and covered in coarse, dark fur. Claws jutted out from its fingers—each one the length of a short sword, blackened at the tip, as if stained by something ancient. It didn't walk—it lumbered, and the earth bent beneath its weight. A tail swayed behind it, barbed and ridged, ending in a spear-like hook that twitched with a predatory rhythm.

Its entire form was the embodiment of monstrosity. Not chaos, but purpose. It looked like something bred not just to hunt—but to annihilate.

he beast paused.

Blood dripped from its jaws, thick and steaming in the cold air. Desik's mangled remains twitched once before going still, his sword clattering uselessly to the ground. The creature didn't rush forward. It didn't roar or charge. It just… watched.

Then it stared at us.

A strange ripple moved across its skull—flesh shifting, twitching like something inside was pressing outward. A bulge began to form in the center of its forehead, just above the jagged maw that had torn our friends apart.

And then it split.

An eye opened.

Not just any eye—this one glowed with an unnatural, shimmering blue, vast and deep like the ocean at night. Its iris rippled with silver veins, and when it turned toward us, I felt it pierce through the air itself. It didn't look at us. It looked through us.

Like it saw everything we were. Every thought. Every fear. Every failure.

None of us moved. We couldn't. It wasn't just terror—it was as if the eye itself had anchored us in place, paralyzed by something greater than fear. Our breath caught. Our minds screamed, but our bodies refused to obey. The cold in the room grew deeper, almost spiritual, as if something ancient had awakened in the dust and ash.

This was it.

Every second counted her, no time to rest or take moments break. Wasting a single moment could be the last second you live for.

We were going to die here. Crushed. Torn. Forgotten. Just more bones on the floor of this cursed tomb.

Rachel looked at me, her face pale, eyes wide. The light flickering overhead reflected in the tears forming along her lashes. Her mouth moved, soundless. I didn't need to hear the words—I already knew what she was saying.

Please…

Her terror mirrored mine. Raw. Overwhelming. It wrapped around my chest like chains, threatening to pull me under.

But then—something changed.

A whisper, faint and calm, slid into the chaos.

[Don't falter here.]

The Fourteenth's voice echoed in my mind, cold but steady.

[You can still survive]

[That thing you see… it is not awake. Not fully. The Asleep are chained by silence. Remember that.]

[There might be another exit somewhere. But the problem lies with its speed.]

The creature shifted again—its head tilting, eye narrowing. It took a step forward, and the ground beneath our feet quaked. The air shook with each breath it exhaled, like the thunder of a forgotten world returning to life.

And yet—through the terror, through the storm—I felt something stir.

A warmth.

No—not warmth. A pull.

Something deep in my chest, curling around my spine, gripping my veins from the inside. The back of my neck burned, and I reached for it instinctively, fingers brushing against something slick and pulsing.

The vein.

It had darkened—blacker than shadow—and it throbbed with a rhythm not my own. It wasn't pain. It wasn't fear. It was awakening.

The Fourteenth spoke again, closer this time, almost like he was standing right behind me.

[In circumstances like near death, the Void always finds a way.]

[You should be able to feel it now—your Void Core. Growing.]

My breath caught.

Because I could.

It was there—deep beneath the surface of my skin, like a second heartbeat. Alive. It was memory.

And it was waking up inside me.

The beast bared its teeth again, saliva hissing against the cold stone. Its claws dug into the floor, ready to strike. The others behind me cried out, pulling at the locked door, screaming for help that would never come.

But I wasn't frozen anymore.

My muscles tensed. My heartbeat slowed.

I wasn't afraid.

Not like before.

Because something inside me…

was changing