The path narrowed into a ravine carved deep into the bones of the earth, its walls rising on either side like the ribs of a long-dead beast.
Mist clung to the ground, thicker now, carrying the scent of stone, iron, and something darker something that tasted of endings.
She adjusted the weight of the broken sword on her back, feeling its faint pulse echoing against her spine.
Beside her, he walked in silence, his presence a steady tether against the creeping dread that threaded through the air.
Without warning, he held out an arm, stopping her.
"What is it?" she whispered.
He tilted his head slightly, listening.
And then she heard it too.
The scrape of footsteps.
The ragged pull of breath.
Shapes formed in the mist ahead figures draped in tattered cloaks, their faces hidden, their movements disjointed and unnatural.
They were not Hungering.
They were not shades.
They were something else.
Something worse.
"They are echoes of the ones you left behind," he said quietly.
She stared, heart pounding.
"People I failed?"
"People who could not move on after you were gone."
The figures stepped closer, and now she could see their faces
Not hollow.
Not monstrous.
Human.
Familiar.
A woman with silver-threaded hair and sorrow etched into every line of her face.
A young boy clutching a broken toy, eyes wide with abandonment.
A man with a soldier's bearing and a scar down his cheek, his mouth set in a line of grief he could not name.
Each one looked at her with recognition.
And accusation.
She stumbled back, the weight of their stares nearly buckling her knees.
"They think I abandoned them," she said, voice shaking.
He stood firm beside her, his cloak brushing her arm.
"They feel what was left behind," he said. "But feeling is not the same as truth."
The woman stepped forward, raising a trembling hand toward her.
"Why?" the woman rasped, voice cracked and raw.
"Why did you leave us?"
The boy clutched his broken toy tighter, tears streaming silently down his face.
The soldier watched without speaking, the betrayal bleeding from every inch of him.
She shook her head, blinking against the sting of tears.
"I didn't mean to," she whispered.
The woman took another step.
The boy reached out a small, shaking hand.
The soldier tightened his grip on an invisible weapon.
"They cannot harm you unless you believe you deserve it," he said beside her.
She swallowed hard.
The guilt pressed down like a second sky.
How easy it would be to believe them.
How easy to drown in the weight of all she could not fix.
He touched her hand lightly, grounding her.
"You chose to survive," he said. "You chose to fight for what you could save."
"But they " she began.
"They chose too," he interrupted gently.
The echoes surrounded her now, not attacking, not touching, but weighing her down with sorrow so thick she could barely breathe.
She squeezed his hand, clinging to the warmth of his presence, the reality of him.
"I'm sorry," she whispered to the echoes.
The woman's hand faltered.
The boy blinked.
The soldier's mouth softened by a fraction.
She took a deep breath, steadying herself.
"But I will not let the past claim me."
The words tasted of ash and iron, but they were true.
The mist stirred at her feet.
The echoes hesitated, caught between their sorrow and the strength she refused to surrender.
She stepped forward, her hand still clasped tightly in his.
The echoes shuddered
And began to fade.
The mist swirled and recoiled from her steps, thinning like fear losing its hold.
The echoes wavered at the edges of the clearing, their shapes fraying like cloth caught in a dying wind.
She took another step forward.
The woman's face blurred into shadow.
The boy's broken toy slipped from his hands and vanished.
The soldier raised his hand to his brow in a silent, weary salute
And then they were gone.
Swallowed by the mist.
Not destroyed.
Not banished.
Released.
Her knees buckled, and she would have fallen if not for him.
He caught her with ease, his arms wrapping around her like the earth itself holding her steady.
She buried her face against his chest, the broken sword pressing between them like a reminder of the cost already paid.
"It's over," she breathed.
"For now," he murmured against her hair.
She didn't pull away immediately.
Didn't pretend she didn't need the shelter of his arms.
For once, she let herself need.
When she finally lifted her head, he was already watching her, the barest smile touching his lips a smile not of triumph, but of pride.
"You are stronger than you know," he said.
She shook her head, wiping tears from her cheeks.
"I'm tired of being strong."
"Then be tired," he said. "I will hold the weight awhile."
The simple offer broke something inside her
And built something stronger in its place.
She nodded, unable to speak.
He reached into his cloak and pulled out a scrap of cloth worn but clean and gently wrapped her wounded hand.
His fingers lingered over the scar she had carved into herself to protect them both.
Not in judgment.
But in silent gratitude.
She watched him work, feeling the hush between them settle into something deep and unbreakable.
"You're not just my shadow," she said softly.
He looked up, the moonlight catching in his dark eyes.
"No," he agreed.
"You're my heart."
The words trembled in the air between them, fragile and fierce.
He didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
Instead, he pressed his forehead lightly against hers, his breath warm and steady against her skin.
For a moment, the world narrowed to the space between heartbeats.
No past.
No guilt.
Only this.
Only them.
When they pulled apart, he took her hand in his again not leading, not pulling, simply holding.
Together, they turned away from the clearing, the broken memories left behind like fallen leaves.
The mist parted before them, revealing a path that wound higher still, toward a mountain crowned in silver and shadow.
A place where truth waited.
And with it, perhaps, redemption.
She squeezed his hand, feeling the steady pulse of life beneath his skin.
Whatever lay ahead, she would face it.
Not alone.
Never again.