Connor felt Thea's hand clutch at his cloak. He covered it with his own briefly, trying to convey reassurance he did not entirely feel. His mind raced, searching for anything he could do. The amplification rune was too dangerous now—he wouldn't risk another uncontrolled burst. But maybe smaller magic… If he could frighten them or confuse them as they themselves did to others? Echo them back?
An idea struck him. The wolves' illusions played on sight and sound. But what if those senses were overwhelmed? Connor licked his dry lips, then whispered to Thea, "Cover your ears when I say." She looked at him in confusion but nodded resolutely. He hoped the others would forgive him for what he was about to do on instinct.
Sela took position to lead the charge. "Mark!" she shouted. The group began to move as one, retreating and angling toward the west. The wolves surged after to close the gap. The largest wolf with the antler shoulder limped but still howled, rallying the pack for a final lunge.
Connor clenched the focus stone in his fist and mustered every remaining shred of will. Drawing a deep breath, he summoned a thread of aether and fed it directly into a different sigil—a pure sound sigil Sela had taught him to use as an alarm. Normally, drawn small, it could mimic a shrill whistle. But Connor imagined it large, right in the midst of the pack.
He snapped his fingers and the air answered. A concussive bang resounded, like a thunderclap detonating at ground level. The soundwave rippled out from just in front of the wolves, so powerful it rustled branches and sent leaves cascading down. At the same time, Connor cried, "Now!" to his companions and clapped his hands over his ears. Thea did the same, hunkering behind him.
The pack yelped in unison. Dazed by the sudden explosion of noise, a few wolves outright turned tail and bolted into the dark. Others shook their heads, disoriented. Their echoing forms blinked irregularly, the illusion magic apparently disrupted by their own confusion and pain.
Seizing the moment, Sela and Zara pushed forward, striking at the remaining wolves with renewed ferocity. Nima, regaining her stance, let out a battle cry and thrust her spear at the antlered wolf, driving it back. The creature snarled but stumbled, its injured chest heaving. With a coordinated effort—Sela slashing high and Zara low—they forced the leader to retreat. Seeing their alpha withdraw, the remaining wolves melted away one by one, fading into the shroud of night.
In half a minute, the clearing was silent again, save for the ragged panting of the humans and the crackle of their lonely fire. No more red eyes stalked at the edge of vision. The echo-wolves had had enough for tonight.
Connor slowly lowered his hands from his ears, heart hammering. The sudden silence after the thunderclap was almost as jarring as the noise itself. He turned in a circle, torch held high in one hand, to confirm the wolves' absence. He nearly collapsed with relief when he saw none.
The others were gathering and checking wounds. Nima cursed as Thea rushed to help bandage a gash on her calf. Farrah slumped against a stump, catching her breath, her spear still clutched white-knuckled. Zara retrieved her spent arrows, grimacing at the mangled body of one wolf that lay still—its form had reverted to a single corpse, mercifully looking like an ordinary wolf now in death.
Connor's gaze sought the wolf he had tried to save. The stump where he'd drawn the amplification rune was cracked and blackened, his chalk marks scoured away by the force he unleashed. And the wolf… was gone. Only a smeared patch of blood and disturbed earth remained where it had lain. It must have fled in the chaos, or perhaps limped off when the pack came—maybe even rejoined them. Connor hoped, perhaps naively, that it had survived and would have a chance at a normal life now that its corruption was purged.
Sela approached Connor, sheathing her saber with a sharp hiss of metal on leather. Her chest rose and fell as she took a steadying breath. "Everyone alright?" she asked softly. One by one, they gave affirmatives or nods. Minor injuries, nothing fatal. For that, Connor silently thanked every providence that might be listening.
When her eyes met Connor's, Sela's relief was tempered by a hard edge. He knew that look. It was the same one she had when he had run off in Aurelia that first week and gotten ambushed—equal parts worry and reprimand.
"That was a very brave thing you tried," she began, choosing her words carefully. "Healing that wolf."
Connor swallowed, not sure if "brave" was a veiled chastisement for "reckless". "It… worked," he said quietly. He wasn't sure if he was trying to defend the act or simply marveling aloud. "But I lost control of the rune. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to put us in danger." His shoulders sagged as he glanced around at the aftermath—the frightened mules, his friends bloodied and exhausted, the dark trees that had nearly been their tomb. All because he had chosen to experiment here and now.
Sela's stern expression softened at his apology. "I know you meant well, Connor. Your heart is big—that's one of your best qualities." She reached out and gently squeezed his shoulder, mindful of the quiver still running through him. "Just remember, out here, a kind impulse can carry a high price if we're not careful."
Zara trudged over, wiping wolf blood from one of her knives. She gave Connor a lopsided smirk. "That said… gutsy call on that thunder trick, magelet." The informal moniker rolled off her tongue warmly; it was the first time she'd used a playful tone since the forest fight began. "Deafened me for a second, but spooked them good."
Connor managed a faint chuckle. "I figured two can play at the echo game." He was relieved to see no blame in Zara's face for the situation, just camaraderie in having survived it.
Nima tested her bandaged leg and nodded gratefully to Thea, then chimed in, "If not for your healing stunt, we'd have had one more wolf in the fight too. Maybe saved us a worse outcome." She offered a small salute of respect toward Connor. Clearly, in her eyes, he remained the group's treasured ward, but also someone who had just proven again he could hold his own and then some.
Thea gave Connor a quick hug from the side, surprising him. She released him just as fast, flushing slightly at her own boldness. "Thank you," she whispered. "For saving Captain Sela back there. And for trying to save that wolf." In her gaze, Connor saw unwavering support—and something else akin to admiration that made heat rise to his cheeks despite the chill night.
He cleared his throat. "I think we should move camp nearer that outcrop, like Sela planned. Less surrounded by trees." And further from whatever other nightmares prowl this place, he left unsaid.
They agreed. Gathering their things quickly, the group relocated a few hundred yards to a rocky slope that provided a sturdier backdrop. There they spent the rest of a long, wary night with a larger fire unapologetically blazing. The echo-wolves did not return, though distant howls occasionally echoed, reminding them the pack still monitored its territory.
Connor did not sleep much at all. He sat propped against his pack, watching embers rise to join the stars whenever he added a log to the flames. His mind replayed the events over and over: the delicate thrill when the rune's power flowed through him, the elation at seeing corruption healed, and the immediate horror of losing control and nearly getting everyone killed. It was a stark lesson. Amplifying magic was like holding a doubled-edged sword; intent alone was not enough—he needed better mastery, better safeguards.
As the first pale hint of dawn arrived, Connor found himself scribbling in his small field journal by firelight. He sketched the seven-pointed star again from memory, noting the outcome. The rune had indeed amplified his spell—magnificently so—but the feedback and discharge suggested instability. Did the star bring something sentient? he mused, recalling the term "malevolent echo" from the notes. Perhaps the unpredictable surges were not just random; perhaps the magic had a will of its own. The thought made him shiver.
He turned to a fresh page and wrote a question at the top: Can I safely exploit amplification without backlash? Underneath, he began listing ideas: smaller power source, grounding sigil, emotional control (heart steady as a metronome, he jotted, remembering his training). He underlined that. If his own turmoil could exacerbate things, he would need iron focus next time—no fear, no excess passion bleeding into the magic.
A gentle rustle pulled his attention. Sela had awakened and come to sit beside him on the rock, cradling two steaming tin cups from their portable kettle. She handed one to him. The bitter herbal scent identified it as willowbark tea for pain. He realized she must have brewed it as much for his lingering headache as for her arm. Gratefully, he accepted it, warming his hands on the tin.
They sipped in companionable silence for a minute, watching the filtered sunrise send shafts of pale light through the trees below. In the dawn's calmer air, last night's terrors felt somewhat more distant. The Mawing Wood looked almost ordinary now, dew glittering on leaves, the echoes of the night hiding in the growing birdsong.
Finally, Sela spoke softly. "We'll reach the other side of this forest by midday. Halfway Haven isn't far beyond. We can rest properly there." She paused. "You did well, Connor. We all stumbled a bit, but we got through. And you learned something."
He nodded, staring into his tea. "I did. And I won't forget it." His voice was quiet but firm.
The captain studied him for a long moment, then simply said, "Good." There was pride in that single word.
Connor allowed himself a small smile. The trials of the Mawing Wood had tested them, but they had emerged intact—wiser, if a bit worn for wear. As they broke camp and the morning sun finally chased away the last clinging shadows, Connor led the way forward with renewed resolve. His fingertips still bore faint chalk stains, a subtle reminder of the line he'd crossed and the balance he'd yet to master.
At the edge of the clearing, he cast one last glance back into the forest's depths, where a healed wolf might yet be running free. The trees stood silent and still now, giving no sign of either gratitude or malice. Only Connor's own reflection in the dew-laden leaves stared back at him, determined and a little haunted.
He took a deep breath, steadying his pulse to that internal rhythm he was cultivating, and stepped out of the Mawing Wood's grasp. Ahead, the promise of open sky beckoned through the thinning trees—and beyond it, a wisp of chimney smoke visible against the blue, welcoming them toward the Halfway Haven and whatever new choices awaited there.
Chapter 19: Halfway Haven
The late afternoon sun bathed the rolling prairie beyond the forest in copper light, a startling contrast to the dim greens of the Mawing Wood. Approaching the settlement, Connor caught the aroma of civilization—woodsmoke from cookfires, the yeasty tang of brewing ale, baked bread, and the unmistakable musk of penned animals. After the forest's damp rot and wolf-stench, these simple odors were a welcome bouquet. He hadn't realized how much tension he carried until he saw the town; his shoulders relaxed a fraction knowing a real roof and a bed waited, however humble.
At the open gate—little more than a gap in the wall with a wooden arch—two armed women straightened at the sight of Sela's contingent. They were dressed in patched leather jerkins and carried old-model rifles. Clearly militia rather than formal guards. The older of them, a grizzled woman with streaks of gray in her braid, squinted up at Sela on her horse and then at Connor walking beside. Recognition or at least realization dawned in her eyes; she elbowed her comrade and both hurried to bow deeply.
"Captain. My lord," the elder greeted respectfully, voice a bit awed. "Welcome to Havenmoor." Her gaze flitted curiously to Connor's face and away just as quickly, cheeks flushing. Connor managed a polite nod, still not entirely comfortable with the reflexive reverence strangers gave him.
Sela inclined her head. "Thank you. We seek lodging and fresh supplies for the night."
"Of course! Right away." The militia women exchanged another glance. One dashed ahead of them through the gate, presumably to alert the townsfolk. The other remained, nervously brushing dust off her tunic. "It's an honor to have you, truly. We don't see many travelers these days… certainly n-never had a male guest before." She directed the last part more to Connor, offering a smile that was equal parts delighted and anxious.
"I'm pleased to visit," Connor replied kindly. He was exhausted, sweaty, and likely looked nothing like the ethereal princes they probably imagined men to be, but he mustered his best courteous tone. "Thank you for having us."
Inside the wall, Halfway Haven was a modest sprawl of about twenty buildings. A main dirt road ran through the center, lined with a tavern (judging by the faded tankard sign), a livery stable, a blacksmith's shed, and a small marketplace of stalls now shuttered for evening. Villagers were already gathering, drawn by the commotion at the gate. Mostly women of various ages, clad in homespun work dresses or aprons, some wiping flour from their hands, others carrying toddlers on hips. A few older children peered from behind barrels and corners, eyes wide at the newcomers.
When they saw Connor—clearly neither a child nor an old man but a young adult male—their reaction was palpable. A hush fell, followed by excited whispering. A middle-aged woman with freckled cheeks stepped forward, wringing her hands in her apron, and executed a deep curtsey directly to him. "Blessings of the Twin Moons upon you, sir," she breathed, seemingly near tears. "You grace our humble town."
Connor's face warmed. "You're too kind. I'm just a traveler," he said softly. He wasn't sure how to respond to such reverence; he settled for a slight bow which elicited a collective sigh from the gathering crowd as if he'd performed some miracle.
Sela cleared her throat gently, stepping forward with an authoritative but friendly smile. "Greetings. I am Captain Sela Var of Asterholt, leading this expedition. This is Sir Connor, our ward, and our companions Dame Zara, Thea, and our guards. We request hospitality for the night."
At the introduction of Connor by name, more murmurs rippled—perhaps some had heard rumors of the "star-fallen gentleman" or the male ward traveling north. A younger woman darted off, exclaiming something about preparing the guesthouse.
An older matron bustled out from the tavern, wiping her hands on her skirts. She had the look of the town's mayor—chin held high, eyes bright with practical intelligence. "Captain Var, we are honored. I am Yelena Moore, the elected headwoman of Havenmoor." She gave a respectful nod to Sela, then turned to Connor and bowed even lower. "And my lord, welcome. We rarely have the privilege of male visitors, let alone one under the protection of Asterholt's finest."
Connor detected a note of genuine warmth under her formal words. "Thank you, Headwoman Yelena. Your town looks very welcoming after a long journey," he replied.
Yelena beamed and clapped her hands. "We'll see to your every comfort. Rooms are being prepared at our best cottage—er, which is to say, the only proper guest lodging. It's small but clean. Please forgive any lack, as we are but a frontier village."
"Anything is appreciated," Sela said. "Also, our mules could use feed and we may need to replenish provisions."
Yelena immediately dispatched a lanky teenager to guide the animals to the stable and see to feed and water. She then gestured for the group to follow her. As they moved down the road, villagers kept at a respectful distance, bowing or curtsying as Connor passed. He heard snippets of their awed chatter: speculation that he was a "blessing on their town" or perhaps a harbinger of change. One voice, lower and harsher, muttered about "trouble coming with that star man." That made him pause mid-step. He scanned for the source and saw an older woman hunched at the stoop of a shuttered shop, shaking her head at them. Perhaps not everyone was overjoyed—some might fear he would attract monsters (which ironically he had) or conflict.
As if sensing his unease, Thea leaned closer to murmur, "They're mostly excited you're here."
Connor gave a faint, distracted smile. "Mostly," he repeated. "But not all."
Thea followed his gaze to the dour older woman. "Superstitions," she whispered. "Pay it no mind."
Zara chuckled quietly from across the road. "If only they knew the omen does bite back at danger, eh Titan-Tumbler?" she teased under her breath. Connor flushed, and Sela rolled her eyes with a tolerant smirk.
They tried to relax then, enjoying the first truly hot meal in days inside Yelena's tavern hall. Sela engaged Yelena in some polite conversation about the road ahead and any news. The headwoman mentioned that trade wagons had been sparse of late, likely due to increasing monster activity and fears from the crater rumors. At mention of "monster activity," Sela's interest sharpened.
"Anything specific? We encountered a Titan in the high pass weeks back," Sela said. "Hopefully not another one of those."
Yelena winced. "Titan? Saints preserve us, no, not that. But…" She lowered her voice. "We've had our own troubles. There's something nesting out in the badlands a few miles north of here. A great worm or serpent, by the description of those who've seen it. It burrows underground. The quakes it makes have rattled our homes twice this month."
"Seismic wyrm," Zara said grimly, clearly familiar with such beasts. "They usually stay deep in uninhabited areas."
"Likely stirred up by the same starfall energies affecting everything," Connor murmured. It made sense: if wolves and trees were warped, a subterranean creature might be driven from its normal pattern too.
Yelena sighed. "Three nights ago it came closer than ever—surfaced in our grazing fields. It took two cows and collapsed part of the pasture. We've warned everyone not to stray far, but if it gets bolder…" She trailed off, worry etched on her face.
The meaning was clear. Havenmoor was vulnerable. They had few defenses against something that large. Connor could feel the unspoken hope hanging in the air around their table. Villagers watching from nearby were leaning in, awaiting the reaction of the capable-looking outsiders who had wandered into their plight.
Sela leaned back, exchanging a cautious glance with Zara. "We're sorry for your troubles. We'll keep watch tonight in case it approaches the town." Her tone was carefully neutral, not committing to more. Connor knew that tone; she was balancing compassion with caution.
Yelena nodded appreciatively. "We would be in your debt for that alone, Captain."
As the headwoman moved off to address another table, an awkward silence fell among the companions. Connor stared down at the browned crust of bread in his hand, mind churning. Every instinct in him screamed to help these people. A seismic wyrm was a terror they didn't deserve to face alone. And here they were—armed, experienced fighters, and a mage—surely able to make a difference.
But Sela's fingers tapping on the tabletop betrayed her inner conflict. She caught Connor's eye. "We have a mission," she said softly so only their group could hear. "The crater. That must remain our priority."
He understood her unspoken point: risking themselves in a fight here could delay or derail the expedition, not to mention risk him unnecessarily. And after last night, no doubt Sela was even more protective of him.
Zara folded her arms. "If that thing attacks while we're here, we'll respond. But seeking it out might not be wise." Despite her hunter's spirit, she looked to Sela for direction.
Connor realized they were all expecting him to assent, to follow the strategy of avoidance. That they assumed he'd accept prioritizing his own safety. The older woman's mutter at the bar echoed in his mind: trouble coming with the star man. Would he prove her right by bringing danger and then shrinking from it?
He pushed his plate away gently. "I know our mission is urgent," he began, keeping his voice low but firm. "But these people… they have nowhere else to turn. If we can remove this threat, even quickly, perhaps we should."
Thea nodded quietly beside him, her expression supportive. Farrah and Nima, the two guards at the end of the table, exchanged glances; Nima spoke hesitantly, "We could at least scout for it, Captain. Better we meet it on our terms than it surprise us at 3 a.m. tearing through the town."
Sela's lips pressed into a thin line. One could almost see the competing arguments in her mind. Finally, she exhaled. "It's nearly dark now. The wyrm comes out mostly at night, I gather. We can set a trap or ambush outside town, perhaps, rather than waiting."
A spark of determination lit in Connor's chest as Sela implicitly accepted the plan. He felt a surge of gratitude toward her trust. "I'm for that. Zara, what do we need to know about seismic wyrms?"
Zara downed the last of her cider and wiped her mouth. "Big. Armored hide, burrows and senses vibrations. Sensitive hearing too, ironically. Usually come aboveground to feed. If it took cattle, likely it'll surface again around the pastures or outskirts sniffing for more."
Sela was already rising. "We'll need to lure it out. Perhaps tether a goat or use other bait at the far field. Then hit it with everything we have." She glanced at Connor. "We'll handle the close combat. Connor, you hang back. Use your power when the time's right."
Connor nodded, ignoring the clench of anxiety in his gut at the thought of facing such a monster. "Understood."
The tavernkeeper overheard enough to know something was afoot, and soon Yelena and a few stout villagers were helping coordinate. They led the team to the northern edge of town as dusk settled into purple night. The pastures lay beyond a split-rail fence. A few nervous goats were corralled in a pen; one was tied to a stake further out as bait, bleating plaintively.
Connor stood with Thea atop a hay wagon parked near the fence, giving him some elevation. Thea clutched a lantern but kept it hooded to a mere glow. Sela, Zara, and the two guards spread out in a loose semi-circle around the tethered goat, weapons ready. A handful of braver townsfolk stood by with torches further back, emergency backup or at least spectators who could raise alarm if things went awry.
The night air was still, disturbingly so. Even the insects seemed to hush as if anticipating calamity. The only sound was the occasional bleat of the goat and the far-off howl of wind over the plains. Stars emerged in a scatter, and one of the twin moons—the smaller blue one—rose above the horizon, casting a faint silvery light.
Connor's palms were damp. He wiped them on his trouser legs and flexed his fingers. He inhaled slowly, repeating a quiet breathing pattern—four counts in, hold, four counts out—trying to keep himself centered like a ticking metronome. He needed to be focused and calm when the wyrm appeared. If last night's lesson held, panic or excess power could be dangerous.
Minutes crept by. Each passing heartbeat made it harder to stay calm. A low tremor began to vibrate through the ground. It was subtle at first—Connor wondered if he imagined it. But then the water in a trough nearby rippled. The goat jerked against its tether, sensing something in the earth, and let out a terrified bleat.
A distant rumble, like thunder beneath the ground, grew louder. The vibration became more violent, rattling the fence posts. "Steady!" Sela called, bracing her stance with shield raised (she had taken a roundshield from a villager). Zara crouched with one knee on the soil, ear tilted as if listening to the ground, her blade drawn.
Suddenly, with an explosion of dirt and rock, the earth about twenty yards beyond the goat erupted. A massive, sinuous shape burst forth, outlined in the moonlight and the sudden flares of torches.
The seismic wyrm was terrifying to behold. Its body was like an enormous segmented snake, at least thirty feet long and as thick around as an oak barrel. Plates of jagged stone-like armor covered it, encrusted with soil and glowing lichen. It had no visible eyes—just a gaping circular maw at the front, ringed with rotating teeth like a grotesque grinder. As it reared up, it emitted a shrill, unearthly screech that reverberated in the chest of every onlooker.
The goat bleated frantically. In a flash, the wyrm lunged, mouth-first, toward the tethered animal. But Sela was faster; she dashed forward and slashed the rope binding the goat, sending the poor creature scampering aside just as the maw slammed into the ground where it had stood. The wyrm's teeth ground on empty air, spraying up clods of dirt.
Zara let fly a javelin she had prepared. It struck the beast's side with a metallic thud and glanced off the stony plates. Nima and Farrah hurled spears as well; one bounced away, the other managed to wedge between two armor segments, eliciting an angry hiss from the creature.
Connor stayed back on the wagon, heart pounding but mind focused. He extended his aetheric sense and felt the wyrm's presence—a roiling mass of energy, frenzied and hunger-driven. Small sparks of aether crackled where the villagers' torches lit its hide—perhaps remnants of whatever corrupted influence drove it above ground. He knew he'd need a significant force to penetrate that armor. A precise application, maybe telekinetic pressure at a weak point, or some element of surprise.
The wyrm thrashed, swinging its massive tail. The tail crashed into a fence section, smashing wood to splinters. Sela ducked behind her shield as debris flew. The beast oriented towards the movement of Zara and the guards, sensing them through vibrations. With alarming speed for its size, it lunged sideways. Zara rolled clear with a curse, but Farrah wasn't as quick—the wyrm's tail clipped her and sent her sprawling with a cry.
The beast's maw plunged down toward the prone guard, intending to swallow her whole. Farrah raised her arms in a futile guard, eyes wide.
Connor acted without thinking. He thrust out his left hand, fingers splayed, and yanked upward with his will. A directed telekinetic grip seized Farrah's armored form and wrenched her across the ground, sliding her out from under the descending jaws just in time. The wyrm's mouth crashed onto bare earth, and it reared back in confusion, having lost its target. Farrah scrambled away, pale but alive, mouthing thanks toward Connor's silhouette on the wagon.
Connor swayed as a lance of pain seared through his temples—a reaction from the sudden heavy lift. But he kept his focus. That was one life saved; now to end the threat.
The wyrm was enraged, swiveling its front half back and forth. With a grinding hiss, it began to dive back into the ground—perhaps to reposition or launch another surprise strike from below. They could not allow that; if it burrowed again, it might come up under someone.
"Stop it!" Sela shouted. She and Nima rushed forward, slashing at its retreating tail. The blades scraped but didn't penetrate deeply. The creature's head was already half-submerged in the churned soil, tunneling down.
No, you don't. Connor raised both hands now, summoning more of his strength. He visualized pushing against the sides of the tunnel it bored, trying to wedge it in place. With a guttural effort, he sent out a telekinetic force like an expanding ring. The ground around the wyrm shuddered; clumps of earth collapsed onto its back. The beast halted with another shriek, its body half-in, half-out of the ground, momentarily stuck as Connor's power pressed from all sides like an invisible vice.
"Now! Hit it now!" Connor yelled, voice strained. He could feel the monstrous strength thrashing against his hold, an almost unbearable pressure building in his mind. It was like trying to hold back a collapsing mine shaft with outstretched arms. Already a warm trickle of blood from his nostril tickled his lip—his old nemesis, backlash.
Zara didn't hesitate. She sprinted closer, drawing a long curved hunting sword with both hands, and swung brutally at a spot where the earlier spear jutted between armor plates. With a crunch, her blade bit in. The wyrm's screech was deafening, thrashing anew. Nima drove her pike at the same opening, twisting to widen the wound. Thick, tar-like blood gushed out, splattering the ground.
Sela, seeing the opportunity, rushed the creature's front. She dodged a feeble snap of its jaws and, with a fierce cry, drove her sword deep into what passed for the beast's throat, right beneath the whirring rings of teeth. The blade sunk to its hilt. Sela wrenched it sideways, and a horrific gurgling noise erupted from the wyrm.
Connor's head felt like it was splitting. He released his telekinetic grip as the beast convulsed; any further hold was unnecessary. The wyrm flailed in agony, its massive body thumping the ground in spasms. Sela fell back out of range, retrieving her sword as she went. Zara yanked Nima aside as the tail whipped past them one last time. Then, with a shuddering heave, the monstrous worm collapsed. Half of its length slumped out of the tunnel, coiling on the trampled pasture. Its maw opened and closed weakly, a keening whine emanating as dark blood pooled under it. Finally, its movement stilled, the huge form settling like a felled tree. The seismic wyrm was dead.
A cheer rose from the watching townsfolk. Several came running forward, lanterns aloft, whooping in triumph and gratitude.
Connor sat down hard on the wagon, legs suddenly jelly. He wiped the back of his hand under his nose, smearing the telltale blood. His head still throbbed, but he breathed through it—slow, rhythmic. The pain ebbed to a dull ache. Not so bad, he thought. In truth, he was drained, but compared to earlier episodes, he managed to stay conscious and in control. A small victory.
Thea was instantly by his side. She had stayed put during the fight as instructed, though he'd seen her with a throwing knife in hand scanning for any stray threats. Now she looked at him with a mixture of exhilaration and worry. "Connor, your nose—"
"I'm alright," he assured, pinching the bridge of it to stop the bleeding. He tried a grin. "We did it."
She returned the smile, eyes shining. "Yes, you did." She pressed a clean handkerchief from her pocket to his nose gently. "Hold that. And please, rest a moment."
Down in the field, Sela was helping Farrah to her feet while Zara and Nima cautiously prodded the wyrm to ensure it was truly gone. The villagers were already crowding around, though maintaining a respectful distance, applauding softly or simply gazing at him like a hero from legend.
One older man (one of the only men present, and clearly very aged) tottered forward, leaning on a cane. He bowed as deeply as his frail back would allow and addressed Connor in a quavering voice, "In all my years, I never thought I'd live to see one of the Blessed Brothers (he must mean a man) fight a demon of the earth. You honor us, sir."
Connor didn't know how to respond to such a lofty comment. He shook the man's hand gently. "I'm glad we could help. No one should have to abandon their home because of monsters."
This earned him more murmurs of approval. A few of the braver villagers, women in their prime, suddenly broke into a traditional frontier victory song—wordless humming at first, then a lilting melody about dawn driving away night's terrors. The impromptu music and the warm torchlight combined with the collective relief created a moment of true celebration. Connor found himself at the center of it, an uncomfortable focal point yet also strangely fulfilled. This was what using his power was supposed to feel like: meaningful, protective, right.
Sela caught his eye and gave him a subtle nod—half proud, half cautioning. He understood. They'd done good here, but it was a visible deed that would likely spread as gossip. And visible deeds had consequences.
Soon enough, Yelena was insisting they return to the tavern to toast the victory and tend to any wounds. The dead wyrm could be dealt with on the morrow (some already talked of harvesting its armored plates for smithing, and whatever strange organs might fetch coin with alchemists). The group made their way back into town as villagers peeled away to either stand watch in case of other threats or to excitedly relay the news to those who stayed behind.
Farrah's shoulder was bruised from her tumble, and Sela's left arm had strained again during one of her shield blocks—both were given immediate fussing care by Havenmoor's resident midwife. Connor got away with just cleaning up his nosebleed, which had already stopped, though the midwife clucked about him needing rest and pressed a tonic into his hands.
Later, in the privacy of the guest cottage, the companions debriefed in hushed tones. Through the window, they could still hear distant laughter and chatter from the tavern—Havenmoor celebrating late into the night. Their mood inside was more subdued.
Zara stretched out on a cot, exhaustion evident now that adrenaline ebbed. "Well, that detour ended well. No casualties on our side." She pointed her knife at Connor in a playful gesture. "Thanks to our resident miracle-worker here."
Connor shook his head. "Team effort. If you three hadn't slashed it to bits, my head trick would've just annoyed it."
Sela, seated by the small table cradling her sling-bound arm (the midwife insisted she rest it), cleared her throat. "Still, Connor. You saved Farrah's life. And likely others." Her eyes shone with sincere admiration. "You truly embraced responsibility out there. I'm proud of you."
The praise warmed him deeply. Connor attempted to shrug it off lightly, but he couldn't hide his pleased smile. "It felt… good to help." His gaze drifted to the window, where beyond lay the dark silhouette of the felled monster in the moonlight. "Though now more people know about what I can do."
"They do," Sela acknowledged quietly. "Word will spread along the frontier faster than wildfire. By next week, every hamlet will be buzzing that a male sorcerer vanquished a wyrm at Havenmoor."
Thea frowned. "Could that be a problem? Perhaps it might deter some factions—the knowledge that Connor isn't defenseless."
"Or it may entice them more," Zara countered grimly. "Some might see it as proof of the power to be gained if they control him."
Connor sighed. This was the trade-off he'd been aware of. "I couldn't just do nothing."
"And you shouldn't have," Sela said firmly. "We did the right thing. We'll handle whatever comes." She glanced toward the other room where their two Asterholt guards slept. "At first light, we depart. With speed. The longer we linger, the more chance attention catches up."
Connor knew she was thinking of Lady Vesna's spies, the cartel's bounty hunters, and of course the unresolved matter that gnawed at them all: the saboteur who had vanished back at Asterholt. They hadn't spoken of it openly in days, but Connor saw Sela's troubled look each night when she thought no one watched. A porter assigned to their expedition had disappeared just before they left the fortress-city, along with some sensitive documents. It wasn't hard to guess her allegiance lay with their enemies.
As if reading his thoughts, Sela spoke softly, "We must assume by now that missing porter from Asterholt has passed information to someone. Perhaps even about our route, our timing… maybe even about Havenmoor being a stop."
Zara sat up, eyes narrowing. "Do you suspect an ambush waiting ahead?"
Sela drummed her fingers once on the table. "Havenmoor was not a planned stop on any official itinerary. So perhaps not here. But certainly further along, toward the crater, I'd bet on it."
Connor exchanged a glance with Thea. She was nibbling her lip, worry evident. He realized how risk after risk had piled on for her too, far from the timid apprentice he first met. He put a reassuring hand over hers. "We'll be ready," he said, trying to sound confident.
A faint smile tugged at her lips. She turned her hand to squeeze his briefly. "We will."
Zara sighed and flopped back onto her cot. "I hate two-legged foes. Give me beasts and wild magic any day. But if they come, they'll find we've teeth as well." She patted the hilt of a dagger under her pillow.
In spite of the tension, Connor managed a chuckle. The fatigue was hitting him hard now. He lay back on his bunk, staring at the wooden beams of the ceiling. Victory and its costs. Tonight had been a high point—he had been able to fully help, to be more than a symbol. But tomorrow would bring its own challenges. Rival hunters possibly lying in wait, an unknown cult puppet master out there as Brynna's letter had warned… and the crater itself still beckoning, full of cosmic mystery.
As he drifted towards sleep, Connor thought of the villagers' song—dawn chasing away the dark. He hoped they had given Havenmoor a lasting dawn free of fear. And he prayed in turn that when darkness next fell upon him and his friends, he would find a similar light to see them through.
His eyes closed to the muffled sound of Sela quietly arranging a rotating watch among them for the remainder of the night. Even here, even after triumph, caution did not sleep. Connor clutched Thea's little handkerchief in his fingers as he lost himself to weariness. It smelled faintly of her lavender perfume, a gentle, human scent that grounded him.
Outside, the town of Havenmoor celebrated its safety under the twin moons. Inside, Connor and his companions stole a few hours of hard-earned rest. But beyond the comforting circle of that Halfway Haven, the vast frontier night remained full of unseen eyes and conspiracies edging ever closer.
And come morning, the open road to the crater—now shorter than the road behind—awaited them, whatever perils it might bring.
Chapter 20: The Betrayal Spike
Two days beyond Havenmoor, the landscape had grown harsh and forsaken. Ragged clifftops and bone-white boulders littered the high plains, remnants of ancient upheavals that mirrored the unsettled tension among the travelers. Sparse purple scrub clung to cracked earth, and wind whistled through narrow gullies with a hollow moan. It was a beautiful yet eerie desolation—as if the world here had been gnawed raw by the cosmic forces of the Falling Star.
Connor rode in the wagon's front seat beside Thea, who handled the reins with practiced ease. The wheels jostled over uneven ground, making the wooden boards creak. Every so often, Connor would glance around, alert. They all were. After leaving Halfway Haven at first light, Sela had pushed them hard, keen to put distance between the convoy and any prying eyes. But that urgency carried a strain; conversation was minimal, and each crevice or distant rock formation earned suspicion.
Sela rode ahead on horseback, visor lowered against the dust. Even from behind, Connor could read the tension in her shoulders. Zara flanked on foot to the right, crossbow in hand, scanning the horizon like a hunting hawk. Nima and Farrah marched to the left of the wagon, spears at the ready. The small party formed a tight knot, wary and watchful.
They had reason to be on edge. Late last night, one of the Havenmoor villagers had come quietly to Sela with a rumor: a group of armed strangers were spotted a day's travel further north, asking after a "star-fallen gentleman." It might have been unrelated, but Sela assumed the worst. The enemy was near, whoever they might be—cartel bounty hunters, guild mercenaries, cult assassins, or all of the above.
We know they're coming, and they know we're coming, Connor reflected grimly. An ugly symmetry. A gust of dry wind kicked up dust devils on the trail ahead, and Connor narrowed his eyes, peering through the haze. They were entering a shallow ravine, walls of stratified rock rising on either side. The path, once a dirt road, had crumbled from neglect—likely no one traveled this far except the desperate or the determined.
They rounded a bend where the ravine narrowed, funneling them between walls of rock barely twenty paces apart. High above, late afternoon sunlight slanted in, but the gorge itself lay in shadow. Sela raised her fist to halt. Instantly everyone stopped, ears pricked. They all listened.
At first, only the sigh of wind. Then—clack. A sound not of nature: the faint clatter of a pebble dislodged, echoing off stone somewhere ahead.
Zara was the first to react. "Up top!" she barked, and swung her crossbow upward, scanning the ridges.
That's when the trap sprung. A sharp twang cut the air and a bolt streaked down from above. It thudded into the wooden side of the wagon not a foot from Connor's thigh. He jolted, heart leaping to his throat.
"Ambush!" Sela cried. "Take cover!"
Chaos erupted. Arrows and bolts rained from the canyon rims, clattering off rocks and the wagon. The mules brayed in panic. Thea dropped the reins and raised her small buckler shield (ever since the lamia attack she kept one by her seat). She cried out as an arrow glanced off the metal rim, jarring her arm.
Connor slid down into the footwell of the driver's bench, yanking Thea with him just as another bolt whistled overhead. His pulse thundered in his ears. Dust trickled from the ravine walls with each projectile impact. Farrah had taken cover by the wagon wheel, using her spear to bat away an arrow targeting Thea's crouched form. Nima stood guard over Sela, who had dismounted and slapped her panicking horse's flank to send it running free (better a loose mount than a stationary target).
Pinned in the canyon, Connor realized grimly. They had to break out or turn the tables. He peered over the bench's edge for a quick assessment. Perhaps eight or more attackers total—a mix of crossbowwomen up high and a few melee fighters below. He couldn't spot them all; they were well-hidden in elevation and behind cover. These were no random bandits—they'd chosen their ground well.
As if to confirm his thought, a familiar voice echoed from above: "Captain Var! Throw down your arms, all of you. You are surrounded!" A woman's voice, edged with smug triumph.
Sela's eyes widened at the call. Connor, too, felt a jolt of recognition. He twisted, trying to see the speaker. On the ridge to their right, a figure stepped into view between two jagged rocks. She wore a dark hood but pulled it back to reveal auburn hair and a freckled face.
"Tasha," Sela growled, venom in her tone.
The missing porter—the traitor from Asterholt—stood some twenty feet above them. Her posture was tense but self-satisfied. In her hand she held a pistol-like flintlock device, likely loaded with an aether shot. Around her, two more crossbow-women had arrows trained on the convoy.
"Surprised?" Tasha called down, voice echoing. "Halfway Haven was a nice detour. Gave me time to set a proper welcome." She smirked. "Now, I suggest you drop your steel and hand over the man. Our business is only with him."
Zara, pressed against the canyon wall below, snarled back, "Traitorous hag! Why betray Asterholt? Was it Vesna? Or coin? Or something else?"
Tasha gave a barking laugh. "Coin is nice. But the cause, now that's priceless." Her eyes slid to Connor. "Don't worry, Sir. My employer wants you unharmed… mostly. They're eager to meet you."
Sela's lip curled. "Better they meet my blade." She jerked her chin to Zara and the guards, a silent signal to prepare.
"Don't be stupid, Captain," Tasha warned, voice hard. "We've got high ground and numbers. None of you need to die if you hand him over now."
Before Connor could even process that suggestion, Sela spat, "You'll have to kill us first, turncoat."
Tasha's expression soured. She raised her pistol. "Have it your way then."
And with that, she made a slicing gesture downward. On both canyon rims, the ambushers opened fire in concert.
Connor barely ducked back in time as three arrows peppered the wagon's bench and side, one nicking the brim of his hat. Sela raised her shield, catching a bolt meant for her head with a resonant clang. Farrah yelped as a dart grazed her thigh; she gritted her teeth and pressed herself flatter to the wheel, returning a spear throw blindly upward.
Zara cursed. "We need to move or we'll be pin-cushioned!"
Sela scanned rapidly. Ahead through the ravine, a tumble of boulders and a fallen log blocked the path—the ambushers had created a roadblock, sealing them in. Retreating back would likely meet similar obstacles or more sharpshooters.
"Smoke cover," Connor hissed to Thea, grabbing her satchel. He fished out two small vials of alchemical smoke powder she carried for emergencies. With trembling hands, he lit the fuses on each using a conjured spark and hurled them upward toward either side of the canyon. They shattered on rocks, billowing thick plumes of grey smoke that began to obscure the ledges.
Shouts of annoyance rang from above as the attackers' lines of sight were disrupted. Sela seized the moment. "Everyone, charge forward! Push through!"
Zara whooped in agreement, already sprinting ahead along the left wall where the smoke was thickest, using the cover to change position. Nima followed right behind, shield raised to protect their flank.
Connor and Thea clambered out of the wagon footwell, Connor taking Thea's hand to steady her as they crouched and ran after Sela. Farrah stayed a pace behind them, providing cover with her spear aimed upward, warding off any opportunistic ambusher leaning over the ledge.
Through the haze, Connor saw the three melee attackers blocking their path near the rockfall ahead—one was the burly woman with the hand-cannon, back on her feet after being knocked earlier; another was a lanky swordswoman; the third—
Connor's heart clenched—the third was Tasha herself, having slid down a scree path to personally intercept them. She grinned ferally, pistol now holstered in favor of a long knife and a short sword, one in each hand.
She shouted something to her comrades—"Take out the guards first!" perhaps—but Connor couldn't be sure over the din of echoing footsteps and coughs from the smoke. All he knew was that a second later, Tasha was lunging at Sela, steel flashing in each hand.
Sela met her head-on with a savage parry, saber ringing against Tasha's short sword. "Snake!" Sela spat, fury and hurt mingling in her voice.
Tasha bared her teeth. "Not the first to call me that," she sneered, hooking her dagger toward Sela's hip. Sela twisted away, narrowly avoiding the slash, and riposted with a slash that nicked Tasha's forearm. The traitor hissed but held her ground.
Meanwhile, the burly mercenary leveled her hand-cannon at Nima, who was charging her spear raised. Connor reacted on instinct: he reached out with his mind and nudged the cannon's barrel just as it fired. The green alchemical shot that would have hit Nima squarely instead sizzled past her shoulder, exploding against the canyon wall in a splash of acid. Nima didn't slow; she barreled into the gunner shield-first, knocking the woman flat.
The swordswoman engaged Zara, blades clashing with dizzying speed. Zara fought with cold precision, her monster-hunter reflexes driving the attacker back step by step.
Connor pulled Thea behind a boulder for a heartbeat of cover, sucking in a quick breath. "Stay close," he said, voice taut.
She nodded, face grim but determined. In her hand was a throwing knife now, ready to hurl if a target presented.
Peering out, Connor could make out Sela and Tasha dueling fiercely at the center of the pass. Beyond them, through swirling smoke, figures moved on the canyon edges—Sela's riflewomen must be flanking or picking off the remaining archers. A shriek above indicated someone fell or got hit.
"Connor!" Farrah's voice rang out. She was near the wagon still, grappling with a wounded crossbowwoman who had tumbled from the ledge. Connor waved acknowledgment and motioned for her to disengage and retreat toward them. If they could consolidate, they'd have a better chance.
But the fight had fragmented: Sela versus Tasha mid-ravine, Zara finishing the swordswoman with a thrust (the attacker crumpled), Nima wrestling the downed gunner for control of the cannon, Farrah whacking her opponent with the butt of her spear. And somewhere above, presumably, the final ambusher or two were in retreat or already neutralized by smoke and surprise.
A strangled cry ahead made Connor's stomach drop—Tasha had managed to slip a slash past Sela's guard, slicing across the Captain's thigh. Sela stumbled, and Tasha followed up with a vicious backhand swing aimed at Sela's neck.
Connor didn't think—he thrust out his hand. A surge of telekinetic force hit Tasha side-on, spoiling her strike and throwing her off balance. She staggered, eyes widening in rage as she realized he'd intervened.
"You little—!" Tasha snarled, turning her dagger toward Connor even as Sela, bleeding, struggled back to her feet.
Before Tasha could pounce, a crossbow bolt suddenly blossomed in her left shoulder. Tasha cried out, the dagger dropping from her numb hand. Across the ravine, barely visible in thinning smoke, Brynna stood on a rocky outcrop with crossbow raised—when had she arrived? Connor's heart leapt at the sight of her battered Asterholt armor and determined face. Reinforcements at last.
Tasha, furious and now cornered, snapped her gaze between the approaching Brynna and Sela who had regrouped, sword leveled. The battle was lost for her and she knew it.
With a scream of frustration, Tasha hurled her short sword like a spear toward Connor—a final act of spite—and then whirled to flee back up the scree path she'd come.
"Thea!" Connor shouted. Already, Thea had seen the blade flying end-over-end toward them. She yanked Connor down, and they both hit the ground as the sword sailed an inch above Connor's back and clattered harmlessly on stone behind them.
Zara, never one to let prey slip away, dashed after Tasha's limping form. But a thunderous boom echoed then—Brynna had fired her own hand-cannon at the scree just ahead of Tasha. The explosion of rock and dirt knocked Tasha off her feet, sending her sliding back down with a scream. She came to rest at the ravine's bottom, half-buried in rubble, groaning.
"Hold fire!" Sela shouted, limping quickly over to where Tasha lay.
All around, the sounds of fighting died; the last ambusher had been dealt with or captured. Nima stood panting over the unconscious gunner, Farrah and the villagers secured the wounded crossbowwoman. Brynna strode forward through the haze, smoke curling around her like a battle goddess.
Tasha tried feebly to rise, but Sela planted a boot on her chest, sword point hovering at the traitor's throat. Both women were dusty and blood-smeared—Sela from her leg, Tasha from the bolt wound. They locked eyes.
"You," Sela said, voice trembling with emotion—anger, betrayal. "You were like a sister in arms. Why?"
Tasha coughed, blood flecking her lips. She gave a broken laugh. "You'd never understand," she rasped. "All your high ideals… The Echo is beyond your petty politics." Her eyes rolled toward Connor, who was helped to his feet by Thea and Brynna. "You really don't know what he is, do you?"
Sela pressed the sword tip until it drew a bead of blood at Tasha's throat. "Enlighten me," she growled.
But Tasha just closed her eyes, a chilling smile on her face. "The Star will sing and all will be echoes…" she whispered, an almost reverent lilt. "You're already too late."
With that, she slumped. Sela, startled, bent to check—Tasha had bit down on something in her mouth. Self-administered poison. Within seconds, the traitor's body went limp, eyes glassing over as whatever cyanide or venom she carried did its work.
Sela cursed and stepped back, dragging a hand across her face in weary disgust.
A heavy silence fell in the ravine, broken only by the crackle of remaining smoke and the groans of the living wounded. They had survived the ambush—but at cost.
Connor's vision swam for a moment as the adrenaline faded. He felt Thea's steadying arm around him and realized he was shaking. It wasn't from injury—aside from a bruise or two and his overtaxed magic headache, he was fine. It was the shock of how close that had been.
Brynna stepped up, placing a gauntleted hand on his shoulder. "Are you alright, lad?" she asked gently, scanning him for wounds.
He nodded, finding his breath. "Yes… thanks to you all." He managed a wan smile for her. "Perfect timing, Dame Brynna."
Brynna smiled back, eyes warm. "I came as swiftly as I could." Her expression turned serious as she glanced at Tasha's corpse. "It appears my news was accurate—an inside traitor, cult involvement… We've much to discuss."
Sela, though bleeding, immediately barked orders: "Nima, Farrah, secure any intel off these bodies. Zara, see to the villagers that helped—thank them and perhaps impress upon them not to spread details." She winced, putting weight on her injured leg.
"You need bandaging, Captain," Thea said softly, already moving to support Sela. Sela allowed it reluctantly.
Within minutes, they gathered themselves. The Havenmoor militia women who came to help were wide-eyed at the spectacle but obeyed Sela's request to alert no one else yet. Yelena would be told a vague story of highwaymen repelled.
When Connor turned to mount the wagon again, he caught a final glimpse of Tasha's body being covered with a canvas by Zara. For all her crimes, he felt a pang seeing her end this way—a misguided zealot whose last act was trying to murder him.
Brynna followed his gaze. "She was working for a cult called the Daughters of Echo," Brynna said quietly. "Her last words… they're motto-like. We'll talk when we're safe."
Connor nodded heavily. The cult again. It loomed larger now with confirmation.
As the convoy prepared to move, Thea sat beside Connor, slipping her hand into his. He squeezed it gratefully. "Still with me?" he asked, attempting a light tone.
She gave a tired laugh. "Always." Her eyes drifted to the covered shape on the ravine floor. "No more missing porters left to betray us at least."
"Small mercies," Connor murmured.
Brynna rode next to Sela at the front now, ready to share what she'd learned. As they rolled forward, leaving the ambush site behind, Connor realized Act III's troubles had reached a crescendo and passed. But in their wake lay revelations to absorb and a final journey's leg into the truly unknown.
He felt older, wearier—and yet a steely resolve coiled within him. The Echo's true cult was revealed, the final enemy clearer. And ahead waited the crater, where presumably this cult was converging and something otherworldly stirred.
Connor set his eyes on the horizon, where even now a faint unnatural glow from beyond the hills hinted at the crater's presence. Come what may, they would be there by tomorrow.
He reached a hand into his pocket, fingering the little titan-scale trinket Zara had gifted him earlier in the journey. It felt cool and solid in his hand—a reminder that he'd overcome threats before with these companions at his side.
The sun dipped low as they pressed on. A new chapter of Act III beckoned—the approach to the crater and the ultimate mystery awaiting within.
Connor closed his eyes for a moment, centering himself as the wagon jostled onward. Whatever echoes of betrayal still rattled in his heart were replaced by the steady rhythm of determination, beating in time with the wheels carrying them inexorably toward their destiny.
Chapter 22: Brynna's Return & Revelation
Under the wan light of a dying campfire ember, Brynna's face appeared drawn and haunted. They had risked a small flame at dawn—just enough to boil a bit of healing tea and illuminate the grave discussion that had carried through the early morning hours. Now, as a grey pre-dawn light crept into their makeshift hollow, Connor and the others listened with rapt, grim attention to the knight's account.
"I rode out the moment I could walk without a crutch," Brynna began. Her voice was low and measured, each word weighed by import. "Captain, the investigation in Asterholt uncovered more than we bargained for. The sabotage at the reactor, the attempt on Connor in the city—they weren't just Vesna's mercenaries or cartel agents. They were part of something else. A cult."
Across the circle, Sela's jaw tightened. She sat beside Brynna, her injured leg stretched before her, arm still in a sling but posture unbowed. "We suspected a coordinated effort, but an outright cult… Did you learn their name?"
Brynna nodded. "They call themselves the Daughters of Echo. Though it seems not all are women despite the name—like that porter of yours. They've been operating in secret for years, embedded in various places. Waiting for a sign, I suppose." Her green eyes flicked to Connor. "The Falling Star was that sign."
Connor felt a chill despite the warmth of Thea pressed at his side. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Tasha—our traitor—she said something about 'the Echo will consume us' and 'He is coming.' Who is 'He'? Is it…the Echo itself?"
Brynna exhaled slowly. "From what our interrogations and seized letters indicate, the cult believes that when the star fell, it left behind a sort of… entity. They call it the Echo of the Firmament, or just the Star Echo. They speak of it as a consciousness, born from the Falling Star's energy." She paused, letting that sink in.
The space between Connor's shoulder blades prickled. A sentient presence from the star… He exchanged a glance with Sela. The captain's brows were knitted; doubt and worry warred on her face.
Zara, arms crossed, regarded Brynna skeptically. "Sounds like superstition. Rocks falling from the sky don't birth minds."
"Maybe not mere rocks," Brynna allowed, "but consider: Connor's arrival in our world coincided with that meteor shower. A rift in the Veil, perhaps? What if something else came through?"
Connor's heart skipped. He had often wondered if the timing of his appearance and the celestial event were linked. Now it seemed all but confirmed. "You think this Echo… came from my world?" he asked quietly.
"Or from beyond any world," Brynna replied. "The cult's writings speak of an 'Echoed One'—some cosmic wanderer trapped in the falling star, waiting to be reborn. They believe it's conscious, powerful, and seeks a vessel or conduit."
She did not say it explicitly, but Connor felt the implication like a weight on his shoulders. A vessel… a conduit. In Aurelia, Lady Vesna had wanted him as an aether conduit due to his unusual magic. But this cult might have a far darker purpose in mind for him. The thought churned his stomach.
Thea's hand found his and squeezed reassuringly. He realized his breathing had grown fast and forced himself to inhale slowly, quietly, adopting the rhythmic pattern Sela taught—one, two, three, four… and out. Thea didn't let go, grounding him.
"So," Sela said in a steely tone, "the cult orchestrated these attacks to capture Connor, presumably to offer him up to this Echo entity." Her lip curled with disgust.
"And perhaps to eliminate anyone who might interfere with their plans at the crater," Brynna added. She gestured to her torn cloak. "I encountered their scouts along the way. Not an hour before I found you, I dispatched two fanatics trailing up the road. They were headed crater-ward with explosives. Possibly to blast the crater open further or unearth something."
Farrah, cradling her bandaged arm, muttered a curse. Nima shook her head. "They're going to the crater too. How many are we talking, Dame Brynna? An army?"
Brynna grimaced. "Hard to say. It's a cult, not a formal troop. But they have agents scattered about. Some Asterholt officials we thought loyal were secretly coordinating with them. We caught a few, but not all." She hesitated, then added, "One of the Asterholt Council members—Councilor René—she vanished the night after the reactor incident. Left a symbol scorched into her chamber floor: a seven-pointed star."
Connor's blood ran cold. He traced an unconscious finger against his palm, picturing the same symbol. "The amplification rune," he whispered. Of course the cult would adopt it; it was born of the star's energy.
Brynna nodded. "Exactly. They stole the original blueprints from our vaults—likely Tasha's doing—so they have whatever knowledge we had gleaned. Possibly more if they deciphered further. And Councilor René, Emperor help her, she was likely a high-ranking cultist feeding them information. If she's headed to the crater too…" She didn't finish, but they all felt it: the crater might already be crawling with zealots by the time they arrive.
"We'll be walking into a nest of them," Zara said, voice hard. "We few against who knows how many."
A heavy silence followed. The crackling of the tiny fire and the distant call of a morning crow were the only sounds.
Connor felt the weight of their eyes turn to him. Because ultimately, this all revolved around him—his existence, his power, his possible connection to this Echo. They were all risking everything because of it. A familiar swell of guilt and resolve rose in him.
He cleared his throat. "We still have to go. Cult or no cult. If this Echo thing is real… if it's dangerous, then letting them awaken or unleash it is unthinkable." He looked around at his friends—his family, really, after all they'd been through. Sela with her unyielding loyalty, Brynna with her fearless honor, Zara keen and fierce, Thea brave beyond measure, Nima and Farrah steadfast and true. "We might be the only ones in position to stop them. Certainly the only ones who know what's really happening out here."
Sela gave him a proud, somber nod. "Well spoken, my lord." Formality slipped back into her address out of respect. She turned to the rest. "We proceed to the crater. Stealth and strategy will be our advantage. We know they want Connor alive—at least until this entity can claim him or whatever foul ritual they intend. That gives us some leverage and time."
"I doubt they'll just let us stroll in," Zara noted wryly. "They could be setting traps as we speak."
"Then we avoid straightforward approaches," Sela said. She used a stick to sketch in the dirt—a crude map of the crater's rim and surroundings based on the best intelligence they had. "We split up when we get close. Some of us make noise at one side to draw attention, while a smaller team slips into the crater from another angle."
Connor quickly caught on. "A diversion and an infiltration. I should be on the infiltration team—I can sense whatever's down there and maybe communicate with it, if it truly… recognizes me." He almost choked on the last words, the concept bizarre, yet after all that had happened, conceivable.
"Absolutely not alone," Thea interjected, alarm flashing in her eyes.
"Of course not," Sela agreed. "Thea, you'd go with Connor as support. And I'd send one more—"
"I'll go," Zara volunteered immediately.
But Brynna raised a hand. "No, Zara. With your tracking and combat skills, better you circle with Nima and Farrah to set up the diversion—perhaps take out any sentries quietly too. Sela and I…" She looked at Sela, a hint of challenge in her smile, "—we're not exactly subtle in heavy armor. One of us should command the frontal distraction. The other stays back to protect a retreat."
Sela considered. "I'm the louder presence. I'll lead the decoy team with Zara and the guards. Dame Brynna, you stay concealed near the rim to guard our exit and reinforce whichever side needs help. Meanwhile, Connor, Thea slip in amid the confusion and make for the crater's epicenter. Find out what the cult is doing, and put a stop to it. If the Echo entity is there…" She paused, eyes meeting Connor's. "Do what you can. Destroy it or… reason with it, if that's even possible."
Reason with it. Connor doubted a being worshipped by cultists for its malevolence would respond to reason. But he kept that to himself. He simply said, "Understood."
The plan settled over them like a final piece clicking into place. It was risky, every bit of it, but no alternative seemed better.
They doused the fire and prepared to move. There was a hush of determination as they gathered their packs and weapons, each member lost in their own thoughts for a moment.
Connor wrapped a fresh bandage around his left palm where he'd scraped it raw carving the echo rune last night. The gesture felt symbolic—binding up wounds, steeling oneself.
Thea stepped over, adjusting the straps of her light leather armor. She gave him a gentle nudge. "How's the head?" she asked softly.
The headache from the ambush lingered, but bearably. "Better, thanks," he said. He studied her face; smudges of dirt could not hide the resolute set of her jaw, or the flicker of fear in her eyes that she tried hard to quell. "And you? This is… more than you signed up for."
Thea surprised him with a small laugh. "I don't recall signing anything. I came because I believed in you—in what we were doing. That hasn't changed." Her hand found his forearm lightly. "I won't pretend I'm not scared. But as long as we face it together, I trust we'll find a way."
Connor felt an almost overwhelming gratitude. He placed his hand over hers. Words failed, so he simply nodded, hoping she understood the depth of feeling behind the simple gesture.
Nearby, Brynna and Sela spoke in low tones as they polished and loaded weapons. Brynna gave Connor a nod of encouragement and a faint wink when she caught him looking—a reminder of shared battles, of trust forged in blood. Sela approached as everyone was nearly ready, her limp pronounced but her gaze sharp.
"Connor, a word," she said. She drew him a few steps aside under the shade of a boulder. Brynna tactfully occupied the others with last-minute gear checks.
Up close, Connor noticed new lines of fatigue around Sela's eyes. She hadn't truly rested in days, it seemed. She took a breath, as if gathering courage for what she wanted to say.
"I… never properly thanked you for saving my life in that wolf attack," she began quietly, surprising him. "Or for shielding all of us at Havenmoor, or even back there in the canyon despite—" She stopped, glancing at the dried blood that still flecked his collar. She reached out and, in a surprisingly tender gesture, wiped a bit of it away with her thumb. "Despite the toll on you."
Connor felt heat rise to his cheeks. "I did what I had to, Captain. As you would for me. For any of us."
She nodded. "I know. That's why I…" Her throat bobbed with an uncharacteristic hesitation. "I need you to promise me something now. In the crater, if that entity tries to… to take you, or if the power starts to overwhelm you—" She faltered, searching his face. "Promise you won't sacrifice yourself recklessly. We will find another way, no matter what it is. Just don't throw yourself away thinking it will save us. Losing you would…" She trailed off, unable to finish, but the rare cracks in her stoic demeanor spoke volumes.
Emotion constricted Connor's chest. He saw in her fierce protective eyes the mirror of his own resolve: each was willing to die for the other, if it came to it. But both needed the other to live. He managed a faint smile. "I promise to be as careful as I can. And I'll come back. We both will, all of us." He hoped he sounded convincing, for both their sakes.
Sela studied him, then placed a hand briefly on his cheek—a gesture so maternal and tender it almost undid him. "Good man," she said softly. Then, as if the moment risked lasting too long, she pulled away and cleared her throat. Back to business.
By full daylight, they set out, leaving behind the hollow and the last remnants of Act II's pursuit. Ahead lay the final approach to the Falling Star Crater. The terrain turned stranger with each mile. They encountered sections of scorched earth where the soil glittered with glassy sand fused by intense heat, likely from the star's impact. Once, they passed a ring of ancient standing stones—perhaps a ruin from eons ago—that hummed faintly as Connor walked among them, resonating with his very presence like tuning forks.
The ambient aether grew thicker, like a mist only Connor could feel. His senses became hypersensitive; occasionally he winced at flares of energy that others couldn't see, like invisible lightning dancing along the ground in certain spots. He warned the others to detour around such places, trusting his intuition to guide them safely.
Near mid-afternoon, they topped a ridge of black basalt and finally beheld their destination.
The Falling Star Crater sprawled before them, several miles across, as if a giant had punched a bowl into the earth. Its edges were jagged, rising in cliffs of obsidian-like rock. Within, strange lights shimmered: bluish vapor clouds twisting in slow spirals, and shards of rock hovering unnaturally above the ground, drifting in lazy orbits. The very air over the crater wavered like a desert mirage despite the cool day, hinting at warped gravity and lingering arcane forces.
For a moment, all of them stood in awe and dread at the sight. It was a landscape both wondrous and foreboding—the scar of another world's touch upon this one.
"There it is," Brynna murmured, resting a hand on the hilt of her longsword as if the familiar steel might anchor her against the unreality ahead.
Sela's eyes scanned the crater's rim. "Keep low. We don't know where they might have lookouts." The group dropped into a crouch, using scrub and rocks for cover as they advanced to a better vantage.
Connor could not tear his gaze from the crater's interior. Even from here, he sensed something pulsing at its center—a slow throb in the aether, like the heartbeat of a colossal sleeping beast. It was faint but undeniable, calling to that sixth sense of his. He suppressed a shiver. Was that the Echo? Was it aware of them already?
Zara returned from a quick scout to the east. "I saw movement on the far rim—figures, maybe two. Likely sentries. They didn't see me."