Chapter 8: The Breaking Point

The fog hung thick over the clearing, consuming the weak morning light like a starving beast. The group moved forward, boots sinking into the earth, their breath coming out in small gasps. The trees surrounding them seemed to lean in, their branches reaching towards the grey skies, as if the trees themselves were holding their breath, waiting.

Cael's attention flicked to Myka more times than he could count. She walked ahead of them, uncharacteristically silent, her cloak flowing behind her like a retreating shadow. The delicate red ribbon tied about her wrist caught the dim light, fluttering like a spark on the verge of death. He felt the shard in his pocket pulse, faint and arrhythmic – a heartbeat out of sync.

"She's been quiet," Elise whispered from behind him, glancing toward the encroaching fog. "Not like her."

Cael nodded but didn't turn away from Myka. There was something wrong – something he couldn't quite place. The way her feet didn't disturb the mist, how the frost never coalesced near her boots, as though the air itself recoiled from her.

Suddenly, Myka stopped. Her head tilted slightly upward, her lips forming a whisper too hard to make out. The shard in her hand glowed faintly – black veins etched through dull red light. Cael's skin prickled as a chill crawled up his spine.

"She's talking to it," Jarrik whispered, in a tense voice.

Sela moved closer, her hand clenched on her dagger. "That's no shard," she said. "That's something else."

The forest seemed to darken, the fog growing thicker, devouring sound and shape. The squad's unease grew, a silent thread weaving through each of them. Cael's fists clenched, the burden of all their regrets weighing down, more than ever.

Myka turned, a small, secretive smile playing on her lips – but in her eyes, Cael saw nothing human anymore. Just a flicker of something dark and hungry, peering out from within.

"We must keep going," she breathed, her voice cutting like a blade through frost. "Before the Wretched find us."

But Cael understood – this was no longer just a warning.

Something inside Myka had already started to shift.

They walked in silence.

Even Jarrik had stopped his usual grumbling, and Sela hadn't loosened her grip on her sword since Myka spoke. The fog was thicker now. More dense. Sound didn't resonate the way it should – it fell flat, as if the forest itself had stopped listening.

Cael kept glancing at Myka's back. Something was wrong with the way she moved – too smooth. Her arms didn't swing. Her head never turned. It was as if she didn't need to see where she was going.

Then came the whisper.

Not from Myka.

From the air itself.

A hundred voices in a single breath, curling around Cael's ears. He froze. The others did too.

"Myka," Elise said quietly, "what's in your hand?"

Myka stopped.

She didn't turn this time. Her voice was flat, a dream.

"It's just a shard." It keeps me safe. It tells me the truth."

"What truth?" Cael asked.

"That we're all broken," she whispered. "And the Wretched. the Wretched are just the pieces that remember."

Sela stepped forward, her voice crisp. "Drop it."

Myka didn't move.

Then her arm jerked up—like a puppet on strings. The "shard" pulsed in her hand with an unhealthy glow. Black veins snaked up her wrist, disappearing under her sleeve. Fog thickened around her like the breath of something sleeping.

Or waking.

"Myka!" cried Cael.

She turned.

Her face was still hers—but the smile was wrong. Too wide. Too still. Her eyes burned faint red, not from within but reflected—like something was standing behind them, looking out.

Then she screamed.

It wasn't human.

It broke the silence like glass shattering underwater. The air ripped open. The fog surged.

From her back, something peeled itself out. It was like watching a soul ripped loose—screaming, flickering, forming.

A Wretched.

Tall and too-thin, wrapped in darkened folds of cloth and memory, with a sunken chest that pulsed with Myka's heartbeat.

A Ruinwight. Born of her regret.

The monster turned its skull-like head towards them, its mouth stitched closed but quivering with rage. Cael stumbled back, the power of emotion shattering his Soulbrand like a broken dam.

"That's not Myka anymore!" Sela screamed — and her voice cracked like something breaking inside her.

Then the screaming really began.

Others rose from the mist—lured by the arrival of the new Wretched. Spiteborn. Hollowkin. Echoes of the forest's buried pain. All were attracted to the fire that was Myka's broken soul.

Cael tried to reach Sela—but the squad was already breaking apart.

Jarrik struck too soon and was dragged into the fog.

Elise's shield broke under the claws of a Mocker—her eyes welling with visions she alone could see.

Sela screamed his name, slashing at darkness—but was pulled out of sight, her sword clashing off the stones.

Cael whirled about—Sela's hand reaching for him—but then the fog closed over them both.

He fell.

Alone.