The storm didn't roar. It hummed.
A low vibration rolled through Velith like a breath drawn by something enormous beneath the streets. The ground rippled. Lamps burst. Every window sang a single discordant note before shattering into silver dust.
The shard's power was dying. And it wasn't going quietly.
Raal staggered down the street, half-blind from the glare. His threads flared in every direction, trying to stitch barriers between himself and the collapsing world. The Mirra currents twisted, flowing backward, dragging debris up into spiraling patterns that looked almost deliberate.
"Move!" Lirra shouted, grabbing his arm. Her voice was nearly drowned out by the humming. "It's going to break again!"
Raal gritted his teeth, trying to keep the threads steady. "I can hold it—"
He didn't. The next pulse threw him through a wall of black glass, the impact knocking the air from his lungs. When he looked up, the sky above Velith wasn't blue anymore — it was streaked with white cracks, like the city itself had split open to reveal another layer beneath.
---
I — The Collapse
The Ninefold ran through what remained of the industrial sector. The air was thick with dust and glowing particles — remnants of the shard's energy. Each pulse sent a tremor through the ground that felt almost like a heartbeat.
"Civilians?" Lirra shouted over the noise.
Mael didn't slow down. "Most of them evacuated when the Guild called the lockdown." His voice was calm — too calm. "We're not rescuers. Keep your distance from the center. The shard's pulse is feeding off any living Mirra nearby."
Raal stumbled beside him, face pale. "Then why aren't you fading?"
"Because I know how to listen," Mael said.
Behind them, a tower folded inward like melting wax. The explosion wasn't fire — it was silence. A wave of nothingness washed down the street, erasing sound and color. When it passed, the air snapped back, leaving buildings twisted and bent but strangely intact.
---
II — The Silent Zone
They reached the outer district just as the final pulse hit. The ground trembled once, then stopped.
Velith exhaled.
The air turned gray. Every sound echoed wrong — delayed, distorted, like the city was thinking before answering.
Lirra leaned against a broken tram rail, panting. "Is it over?"
Mael stared toward the horizon, where faint blue lines shimmered like veins across the skyline. "The shard's gone. What's left is residue — a scar in the city's rhythm."
Raal coughed blood into his sleeve. "We did all this for a scar?"
Mael didn't look at him. "Scars are proof you survived."
Raal laughed once, bitter. "Then Velith's going to live forever."
The silence stretched until even laughter sounded wrong. Somewhere far off, metal collapsed — slow, echoing, almost thoughtful.
---
III — The Aftermath
By dawn, the worst was over. The Guild's airships hovered above the ruined sectors, dropping containment nets and scanning for residual Mirra activity. From their vantage point, the destruction looked surgical — a single wound carved straight through the heart of the city.
Most civilians had escaped. The streets were empty, save for shadows and drifting dust.
The Ninefold regrouped near the tram lines.
Raal's arm was wrapped in bandages. Kest was missing again, probably hiding or dead. The twins were silent, their eyes hollow from what they'd seen.
Mael stood apart, coat whipping in the wind. His gaze followed the columns of smoke rising from the lower wards.
Lirra walked up beside him. "You did it. The shard's gone."
He didn't answer immediately. "Gone," he said finally. "That's one word for it."
"What other word would you use?"
Mael watched as the light caught on the warped rooftops, bending around invisible edges. "Changed."
She frowned. "Changed how?"
"The shard didn't die," Mael said. "It moved. It left traces. And the city…" He gestured to the skyline. "It's remembering."
Lirra stared at him for a long time. "You talk like it's alive."
Mael finally looked at her. "Everything that listens long enough starts to live."
He turned away, pulling a small notebook from his coat. The pages were filled with faint sketches — sigils burned into walls during the last pulse. He began tracing one carefully with his trembling hand.
"What are you doing?" Lirra asked.
Mael didn't look up. "Writing down what it said before it forgot."
---
IV — The Debt That Remains
When the others finally slept, Mael stood alone at the edge of the fractured street. The sky above Velith was still cracked, faint light bleeding through.
He looked down at his trembling hand. The tremor had worsened — each pulse of pain matching the slow heartbeat of the city itself.
"Synchronization complete," he muttered under his breath. "Whether I wanted it or not."
He pocketed his notebook, turned from the silent ruins, and walked back toward the others.
Behind him, the last fragments of the shard's dust drifted upward — carried by a wind that shouldn't exist — and dissolved into the clouds.
Velith was quiet again. Too quiet.
---