My heartbeat stutters. “Mourn Peak?”
Her answer is barely more than a breath:
‘It will betray you, Asha. You must see the truth beneath before it is too late.’
The warmth collapses inward—then vanishes, and suddenly I notice my body shaking.
“Asha—Asha, wake up!”
Ryder’s voice slices through the darkness, urgent and hoarse, far too loud for a whisper. His hands clamp onto my shoulders,shaking me hard enough that the world jostles around me. I peel my face off the damp, mossy blanket, disoriented, my heartbeat stumbling as reality snaps back into place.
I’m still in camp. Still lying on the forest floor. Still surrounded by shadows thick as oil.
But Oriah’s warning slams back into my skull so violently I nearly choke on air.
“W–what…?” My voice comes out thin, trembling. My vision smears and swims before finally sharpening enough to see Ryder crouched in front of me, his eyes wide, and jaw tight, as his hands brace on either side of my arms like he’s ready to drag me to my feet if I don’t move fast enough.
“There’s movement,” he whispers, but there’s nothing soft about it. His eyes lock onto mine, a tangle of fear, fury, and determination. He reaches for his sword, fingers trembling just once before closing around the hilt. “Wake them. Now.”
The panic in his voice jolts me upright, and I shuffle to Nala and River, shaking them far harder than I intend. “Guys—wake up. Wake up!”
Nala jerks awake first, blinking wildly, only just realising she’d fallen asleep on River’s chest. River wakes with a sharp inhale, confusion and something like embarrassment at their unconscious intimacy flashing between them, before fear bulldozes over everything else.
“What’s going on?” River asks, voice rough with sleep but edged with panic.
I shake my head, my pulse thundering against my ribs. “Ryder says something’s coming.”
The words hit like a cold wind, and Nala’s face drains, while River’s expression hardens instantly.
And Ryder… Ryder is already gripping his sword, glancing toward the trees with the look of someone who’s just counted how many breaths they might have left.
I don’t tell him about Oriah’s warning.
Partly because my lungs won’t stop trembling—like they’re trying to fold in on themselves—but mostly because I don’t trust my voice not to splinter if I try to speak. The Hollow presses in from every direction, thick and watchful, and the thought of explaining what Oriah said feels like trying to breathe underwater.
She said it was my fault.
The thought circles me like a slow, heavy tide I can’t push back. All of this, the Hollow shifting around us, the creature hunting us, the threat of Nyxos breaking free, is all because of what I did on the mountain.
Because I merged light and dark.
Because I fused something that was never meant to be joined, no matter how desperate the moment was. I’d thought the explosion was the end of it—that the worst damage was behind us. But it wasn’t. I’d torn open more than just a mountain top.
A part of Nyxos escaped.
A Siphon.
A living fragment of something that should’ve stayed sealed away forever.
The guilt settles under my skin like a bruise that keeps spreading. My chest feels tight, like something pressing from the inside. I can barely keep my breathing steady, and I’m terrified the others will notice.
I don’t know how to carry this.
Or how to admit it.
All I know is that Oriah’s warning keeps replaying in my head, and the more I hear it, the more certain I become:
This isn’t just happening around me.
