Silence followed the retreat of the shadow—but it wasn't peace.
It was the kind of quiet that pressed against the ears, thick and suffocating, like the world itself was holding its breath. The battlefield lay in ruins: shattered stone, scorched earth, veins of fading light crawling like dying embers across the ground.
My wings dimmed, the four forces folding inward as the fragments retreated slightly, exhausted… but alert.
They were learning.
That realization unsettled me more than the battle.
Lysara leaned heavily against me. Her breathing was steadier now, though pain still etched her face. "That presence," she said quietly, "was not a primordial. Not fully."
I frowned. "Then what was it?"
She hesitated. "A Remnant Hunger. Something left behind when creation discarded what it couldn't control."
That didn't help my nerves.
Around us, the fallen deity stirred, dragging itself from the cracked earth. Its once-raging aura had dimmed, eyes fixed not on me—but on the ground beneath our feet.
"It retreated," the fallen god muttered, almost reverent. "That thing never retreats."
"Because of the Watcher?" I asked.
"No," it said slowly. "Because of you."
Before I could respond, the sky shifted again.
Not violently. Not dramatically.
Subtly.
The cracks in the heavens smoothed over like wounds reluctantly closing. Light faded. Pressure lifted.
And then the Watcher spoke—not as a booming presence, but as a voice inside my skull.
"Eryndor, bearer of the fracture."
My spine went rigid.
Lysara stiffened. "It's speaking directly to you."
I didn't answer out loud.
What do you want? I thought.
A pause.
Then—
"Understanding."
I almost laughed. "That's new."
"You are no longer a simple anomaly," the Watcher continued. "Your resistance altered projected outcomes. Several futures have collapsed."
That sounded… bad.
"How many?" I asked quietly.
Another pause—longer this time.
"Too many."
The fragments stirred uneasily.
"The presence beneath this field was drawn to you," the Watcher said. "As were the fragments. As was the fallen one. You are becoming a convergence point."
"So what?" I snapped. "You'll try to erase me again?"
The Watcher did not deny it.
Instead, it said something far worse.
"Not yet."
Cold spread through my chest.
"Observation period extended," it continued. "Intervention delayed. Should instability exceed tolerable limits… correction will resume."
Lysara clenched her fists. "You can't just monitor him like an experiment!"
"I can," the Watcher replied calmly. "And I will."
The presence faded.
The sky returned to normal.
But the feeling of being watched did not.
The fallen deity laughed softly, bitter. "You've caught its interest. That's a dangerous kind of mercy."
"What happens now?" I asked.
It looked at me with something like respect. "Now? Now the world reacts."
As if summoned by its words, a horn sounded in the distance—deep, resonant, ancient. From the far edges of the battlefield, figures began to appear: Academy enforcers, divine sentinels, and beings I couldn't name.
They were coming for answers.
Lysara squeezed my hand. "They won't understand what you are."
"I'm starting to think no one does," I replied.
The fragments pulsed once.
A single, unified thought echoed through me:
They are afraid.
I lifted my gaze toward the approaching forces, wings half-formed behind me, heart steady despite the chaos.
Let them come.
Because whatever I was becoming…
It was already too late to stop it.
And deep beneath the battlefield, far below stone and memory, something ancient shifted again—slower this time, patient.
Waiting for the moment I finally broke.