SHFFF
The shovel bit into the earth—a dry, hollow scrape that echoed in the quiet. Soil crumbled at the edges of the blade, dark and damp, releasing the smell of buried things.
I can still hear his voice.
His scream. His rage.
He's not dead yet.
Well... at least not for me.
Another scoop. The wood groaned under my grip, splinters pressing into my palms. Sweat dripped from my jaw, each drop ticking against the dirt like a slow, uneven clock.
I looked at his corpse.
His skin had already turned—waxy, grey, pulled too tight over his cheekbones. Flies gathered at the corners of his mouth, their buzzing a low, persistent drone that vibrated in my skull.
"I wish... I could've judged you, Carlos."
My voice came out raw. Thin. It didn't sound like mine.
I grabbed him under the arms. His body was stiff—cold in a way that had nothing to do with temperature. Blood, still wet, seeped through his clothes and ran down my chest.
Each drop hit the ground with a soft, wet slap.
I threw him into the pit. The thud of his body landing was dull, final—a sound that seemed to sink into the earth rather than echo off it.
I grabbed the broken shovel and covered him.
Dirt hit dirt. Stone hit stone. The rhythm was hypnotic.
For a while, I sat in silence.
The grass beneath me was damp. Cold soaked through my clothes, clinging to my skin.
Crouched, I began to think:
I never got the time to think.
Never got the time to process what everything happened to me...
Footsteps approached from behind. Soft at first. Then closer.
And them...
Crunches of dry grass. The rustle of fabric. The creak of leather.
Dan.
His voice came out strange—hollow, stripped of the usual warmth. "Hey... Lad."
I looked up. His eyes weren't his anymore. They were Carlos's. Dead. Like something behind them had already left.
Layla stood beside him. She didn't speak. Didn't meet my gaze. Just knelt down and placed flowers on the fresh grave—wildflowers, purple and white, their stems still damp with morning dew.
The petals trembled in the breeze.
She's avoiding me, I thought.
Well, everyone would, you idiot. After what you've done.
"He wasn't the brightest among us but..." Dan's voice cracked. He cleared his throat—a harsh, wet sound. "He sure did save my ass a lot of times."
"Mine too."
The words left my lips like a whisper. I wasn't sure anyone heard them.
Layla sat down beside me. The grass rustled beneath her weight. "Carlos was... a strange man." A pause. She pulled her knees to her chest. "The least I knew of him is that he... was once a soldier."
"A general."
Silence.
Birds chirped—small, ordinary sounds that felt wrong against the weight in my chest. The breeze rolled through the field, warm and slow, almost like a hug.
Almost.
Then footsteps.
Fast. Unsteady. A rhythm that didn't match the calm.
I turned.
Astrid.
She was drenched in blood—her robe stained black in some places. Soot streaked her face. Mud caked her boots. Her hands trembled, fingers curled around something that glowed.
Purple.
An awakening fragment.
She walked like she had won a war that should have cost her life—slow, deliberate, every step a victory over collapse.
Her breathing was loud. Ragged. Each inhale scraped.
"Here."
She extended her arm toward me. The fragment hummed—a low, vibrating note that buzzed in my teeth.
"As... an apology—" Her knees buckled.
The fragment slipped from her fingers and hit the grass with a soft thump.
She fainted.
I moved before I thought. My hands found her shoulders. I lowered her to the ground, my knees pressing into the dirt.
A faint green glow flickered from my palm.
VWMMMM
The light spread across her body, slow and searching. Wounds stitched themselves together.
I closed my eyes. I didn't want to see her like this.
She went this far—just for my apology?
No—what if this is another act.
I just... don't buy it.
The glow vanished.
"Is she alright?" Dan leaned.
"All patched up."
"Drag her to bed."
He nodded.
"Hey... Layla."
She turned. Not all the way—just enough.
"You're... good, right?"
"I'm fine." The words were smooth. Too smooth. Like glass over deep water.
The exact opposite, then.
"Okay."
I knelt down and started gathering sticks. Dry ones. The kind that snapped cleanly
and smelled of dust and old sunlight.
---
"So. We have three of them."
I reached into my pocket. The fragments clinked together
"Three of what?" Dan asked.
"Fragments..." Layla dragged her words.
"Oh yes. Right. Right." Dan scratched his head. The sound of fingernails against hair was almost loud in the silence that followed.
"Now—out of you and Layla." I pointed at Dan. My voice dropped. Flat. Serious.
"Give me one reason you think you're worthy to awaken."
"Honestly...? I—I don't want it—look what it did to Carlos..." Dan paused
"To you..."
Silence settled between us.
The soft hush of wind through grass.
"Then I guess I'll do it." Layla extended her hand. Palm up. Fingers steady.
We looked at each other.
Something hung between us—unspoken, unresolved. The air felt thicker. Tighter. Like the space before thunder.
---
"Here you go."
I laid the three fragments on the ground between us. They pulsed together like a shared heartbeat.
"I couldn't give them to you in hand since... if I grabbed all three of them, I would automatically awaken. For the third time."
Layla reached down.
Her fingers brushed the first fragment. A soft chime rang out high and clear.
The second. Another chime. Deeper this time.
The third.
A warm breeze tore through the sky—sudden, violent, carrying the scent of ozone and rain.
The fragments spun.
Faster and faster.
They collided. The sound was shattering reality cracking open, sharp and crystalline, like glass breaking underwater.
A spear.
Amethyst. Almost transparent. It hovered above Layla's palm, weightless, humming a low, steady note like a tuning fork held against the soul.
A weapon that required a disciplined wielder.
Well.
That's all my father told me about it...