“We should make camp,” Malrik says as darkness creeps across the broken landscape. “The nights here are… dangerous.”
We find a relatively defensible spot between two massive rock formations. As everyone settles in, I notice Walter hovering near a twisted flower—if you can call it that. The bloom looks more like a wound in reality, its petals black and weeping. But as Walter bobs closer, something extraordinary happens. Where his gentle presence touches the flower, color bleeds back in. The corruption recedes like ice melting in sunlight, leaving behind a perfect white bloom.
My shadows freeze their various activities to watch. The flower holds its restored form for several seconds before crumbling to ash, but Walter seems undeterred. He’s already drifting toward another corrupted plant.
The reaction from my other shadows is immediate and chaotic. They surge forward en masse, attempting to replicate Walter’s cleansing. Bob tries to organize them into efficient cleaning squadrons while Patricia takes frantic notes on their attempts. Even Finnick joins in, though his efforts are more enthusiastic than effective.
“Should we tell them it’s not working?” Finn asks, watching as my shadows discover that any corruption they manage to temporarily clear simply seeps back in moments later.
“Let them try,” I say softly, understanding their need to help, to fix what’s broken. “Sometimes hope is worth a little disappointment.”
The twins, now almost back to normal size though still thrumming with primal energy, move closer to our makeshift camp. The ache in my chest pulses differently for each of them. With the twins, it’s a steady throb, like a warrior’s drumbeat calling me to battle. When Finn moves closer, it shifts to something quicker, chaotic but somehow playful. And Malrik… with him it’s a deep resonance that seems to echo through my very bones.
“Well,” I sigh, watching my shadows continue their determined but futile cleaning attempts, “at least we won’t be bored while we wait to die horribly.”
“That’s the spirit,” Finn grins, though it looks strained. “Always look on the bright side of certain doom.”
As night settles over this twisted landscape, we huddle closer around a small campfire. The flames cast eerie shadows that dance and writhe, almost indistinguishable from my own restless companions. Even the fire itself feels wrong here, the colors off, the warmth barely reaching my skin.
Torric tears into his portion of food with gusto, still radiating heat from his transformation. “You know,” he says between bites, “I always thought being a berserker would involve more, I don’t know, berserking. Less weird heart stuff.”
Aspen nods, absently rubbing his chest. A fine layer of frost still coats his fingertips. “It’s like… a drum. But inside. Does anyone else feel that?”
We all nod, and I notice how we’ve unconsciously arranged ourselves in a tight circle, with me at the center. Malrik sits tomy right, his silver eyes reflecting the firelight as he scans the darkness beyond our camp. Finn’s on my left, his usual grin a bit strained as he fidgets with a coin, making it dance between his fingers. The twins have positioned themselves directly across from me, their larger frames like a living wall between us and whatever lurks in the shadows.
“Maybe it’s this place,” I suggest, trying to ignore how my heart seems to skip a beat every time I catch Aspen or Torric’s eye. “Everything here feels… wrong. Like reality is coming apart at the seams.”
Malrik shifts beside me. “That’s because it is.”
Everyone turns to him. His silver eyes are distant, haunted. “Absentia was never meant to be what it became. It was supposed to be a realm between realms—a bridge between life and death.” He exhales, his breath misting despite the lack of cold. “But it was corrupted, twisted into something else. A prison for things that couldn’t be contained elsewhere. And now the corruption isn’t just spreading, it’s trying to break what little balance remains.”
Something twists in my chest. Not fear. Not exactly. But a pull, like my magic is trying to respond to the mention of balance, like it recognizes something in his words that I don’t yet understand.
Aspen watches Malrik carefully. “And what about berserkers?”
Malrik glances between the twins, his expression unreadable. “Berserkers were warriors that walked the edge of balance. Too much rage, and they burned themselves out. Too much control, and their power faded. They needed purpose, something to anchor them. Without it, the magic consumed them.” He looks down at his hands. “It always consumes.”
A chill runs through me. My shadows stir, restless. They don’t like this place.
Torric frowns. “So what are we supposed to do? Just keep walking and hope we don’t burn out?”
Malrik looks at me. “Maybe that depends on Kaia.”
I stiffen. “Why me?”
He gestures toward my shadows, how they move differently here. Slower. Sharper. Watching.
“They’re reacting to this place. Not just to protect you, but because something in Absentia is… responding to you.”
I swallow hard. “That’s not ominous at all.”
Before anyone can say more, the fire sputters and dims.
Finn swears, rubbing his arms. “Why is it colder all of a sudden?”
Aspen’s breath mists. “It’s not just the fire. The whole area just shifted.”
The air presses heavier. My magic coils inside me, twisting in warning as my shadows freeze in place. Something is watching us from beyond the firelight.
