Manraj did not breathe.
Zoya's hands shook where they gripped his shoulders.
Azhar kneeled on the other side, every shadow around him pulled thin and trembling—as if even the darkness didn't want to touch whatever was inside Manraj now.
The glow in Manraj's chest brightened.
Not white.
Not amber.
Not shadow.
A new color.
Soft.
Echoing.
Ancient.
It pulsed once—
and the entire vault flinched, stone groaning as if in pain.
Zoya leaned closer.
"Manraj… please—"
The light pulsed again.
Azhar grabbed her arm, dragging her back sharply.
"Zoya.
Don't touch him."
She struggled. "He's not BREATHING—"
Azhar's voice cracked, first time tonight.
"I know—but listen."
The light from Manraj's chest was… changing.
It spread in thin lines across his ribs, up his neck, blooming like veins of soft silver-white.
But it wasn't burning him.
It wasn't freezing him.
It was… writing itself into him.
Zoya realized it first.
"These are symbols," she whispered.
The glowing lines formed patterns—intricate, looping, ancient.
Not fire sigils.
Not silence runes.
Not shadow markings.
Older.
Azhar stared, eyes wide.
"That's… Old Tongue. The original. The one the gods used before the split."
Zoya's throat tightened.
"What does it say?"
Azhar swallowed.
"I don't know. Only… one word repeats."
"Which?"
His voice lowered to a whisper:
"Return."
A deep vibration rolled through the chamber—like someone knocking from inside the stone walls.
Zoya felt the air grow colder around her ears.
"Azhar… something else is waking with him."
Azhar didn't deny it.
The vault lights flickered back on—one ring at a time, in perfect sequence.
Not dim.
Not wild.
Controlled.
Like someone had turned the vault back on.
The pedestal reassembled itself in slow motion—stone folding, curving, clicking into perfect shape again.
Zoya stared.
"That's impossible… vaults don't rebuild."
Azhar stepped backward, shadows curling protectively around him.
"They do," he said quietly, "when the Core Bearer wakes inside."
Zoya froze.
"Core Bearer…?"
Before she could ask anything else—
Manraj inhaled.
A sharp, desperate gasp.
The air around him exploded outward like a shockwave.
Zoya was thrown back.
Azhar skidded across the stone, boots scraping.
Runes along the wall flashed bright white, triggered by the pulse that burst from Manraj's chest.
Manraj stayed kneeling.
Head bowed.
Chest heaving.
Eyes closed.
But Zoya felt it immediately—
The person kneeling wasn't fully Manraj right now.
Something awake inside him was older.
Much older.
She crawled toward him anyway.
"Manraj?" she whispered.
His fingers twitched.
Then his head lifted—
and Zoya froze.
His eyes had changed again.
Still dual-ringed—amber around white—
but the white inside wasn't Silence anymore.
It wasn't blank.
It was… aware.
Like an intelligence peering out from behind his pupils, using them as windows.
Manraj blinked slowly.
Once.
Twice.
And when he spoke—
his voice was layered.
Manraj's voice beneath.
And another voice woven through it like an echo from a century ago.
"…Zoya."
Her breath stopped.
He knew her.
That was good.
But then—
He looked at Azhar.
Azhar's shadows froze mid-air.
Manraj tilted his head slightly, studying him with an unfamiliar calm.
"…Azhar. Still choosing the hard path, I see."
Azhar stiffened.
"That's not Manraj speaking," he said quietly. "That's something inside him speaking through him."
Manraj's mouth curved—
a small, tired smile that was not his.
"Both," the voice said.
Zoya's eyes stung.
"Who… are you?"
Manraj's hand lifted—
not in threat, but to rest lightly over the glowing symbols on his chest.
Light seeped through his fingers.
The voice answered:
"I am the name he carried before fire claimed him."
Zoya's breath shook.
"And that name is…?"
The vault answered for him.
The runes around the walls flared, rearranging faster than human eyes could follow.
They stopped in perfect alignment—
every symbol forming the same shape:
A single word.
Manraj whispered it, his voice both his and not:
"Eryth."
Zoya's pulse slammed in her ears.
Azhar staggered back, eyes widening as if he'd just seen a ghost.
"Eryth," he repeated. "The First Silence."
Manraj—Eryth—looked up at them, his dual eyes glowing softly.
"No," he said gently.
"Not the First Silence."
He placed his palm flat against the stone floor.
The runes answered instantly.
"I was the one Silence chose to carry it."
Zoya inhaled sharply.
"You're telling me—"
Azhar finished it:
"Manraj wasn't just touched by Silence."
He stared.
"He was made its bearer… before fire stole him."
The white and amber in Manraj's eyes flickered.
He whispered, voice trembling between two selves:
"Now both are awake."
The vault groaned again—
a warning.
Zoya grabbed Manraj's shoulders.
"Can you control it?"
He shut his eyes.
The glow dimmed.
His breathing steadied.
The double voice receded.
And when he opened his eyes again—
they were mostly his.
Still ringed with light.
Still changed forever.
But his.
He whispered:
"…I'm here."
Zoya collapsed forward, forehead pressing to his shoulder.
"Good," she breathed out. "Because if you weren't, I swear to god—"
Azhar cut in sharply:
"We need to leave."
Zoya looked up.
The vault lights were shifting again—
not in welcome.
In warning.
A deep rumble vibrated beneath the floor.
Manraj swayed.
"What now?"
Azhar's shadows surged defensively.
"The vault isn't reacting to you anymore," he said.
Zoya swallowed.
"…Then what is it reacting to?"
Azhar's face hardened.
"To what your awakening just signaled."
Stone cracked overhead.
Dust rained down.
A distant roar echoed upward from the deeper tunnels.
Manraj's blood ran cold.
"Something is coming?"
Azhar nodded grimly.
"Everything is coming."
Zoya grabbed Manraj's hand.
"We run."
And as the vault began to shatter—
a voice whispered through the stones:
"Eryth has returned."
And a second voice, darker, older:
"Then the Hunt begins."