The chipped basalt warmed beneath Falon’s palm. It wasn’t the stone itself, though ancient and weighty, but the feel of *him* woven into it—Elio. Centuries of silence clung to the giant’s legacy, a vow stretched taut until someone saw…what, exactly? Depths akin to his own? Falon traced a hairline fracture with a fingertip. Elio hadn’t spoken a word in five hundred years, not since the fracturing.
Dust motes danced in the single shaft of sunlight piercing the cavern. Falon hadn’t expected the weight of grief to be so…tactile. It pressed against her ribs, a constant ache.
“He remembers,” she breathed, the sound swallowed by the stone.
Old Man Hemlock, bent like a weathered branch, grunted. He adjusted the lantern, its beam jittering across the cavern walls, highlighting the faded frescoes. “Remembers the fracturing. Remembers *her*.”
“And the promise?”
Hemlock’s lips thinned. He didn’t meet Falon’s gaze. “Some promises are best left buried, girl. Some stones shouldn’t be turned.”
“I inherited more than riddles, Hemlock. I inherited a debt.”
“A debt to a ghost?” He tapped a bony finger against the basalt. “Elio’s grief is a landslide waiting to happen. You poking around…it’ll wake things up.”
“What things?” Falon stepped closer, the lantern light catching the fear in Hemlock’s eyes.
“The Shadow Blight. Old Kael. He wanted Elio’s power. He *tried* to take it. Nearly shattered Elio entirely. That’s why the vow.” Hemlock’s voice rasped. “The silence…it was a shield.”
“A shield that’s failing.” Falon ran her hand over the stone again. A pulse seemed to thrum beneath her fingertips. “I feel…something stirring.”
“He’s reacting to you.” Hemlock straightened, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. “Like he did with Lyra.”
“Lyra?”
“The woman he loved. Centuries ago. Before the fracturing.”
A slow, deliberate crack spread across the basalt, mirroring the fissures in Falon’s own heart.
“She didn’t see it, did she?” Falon asked, already knowing the answer. “His depths?”
Hemlock shook his head, his face etched with sorrow. “She saw a beautiful giant. A protector. She didn’t see the storm inside.”
“And now Kael is returning?”
“I felt the shift in the aether. A coldness. A hunger.” Hemlock’s grip tightened on the lantern, knuckles white. “He’s gathering strength. He’ll come for what he wants.”
“Elio’s power?”
“And you, girl. You’re the key.”
Falon clenched her jaw. “What do you mean?”
“The giant feels your presence, your connection. It’s awakening something inside him. Kael will exploit it. Use you to break the vow, to access Elio’s power.”
“I won’t let him.”
“You think you have a choice?” Hemlock’s voice was a dry whisper. “Kael is a master puppeteer. He’ll weave a story, a promise of safety, a world restored. And you’ll dance to his tune.”
“I feel something too, Hemlock. A…recognition. Like I’ve known him before.”
Hemlock scoffed. “Sentimentality is a weakness, girl. A fatal one.”
“It’s not sentimentality.” She touched the basalt, and a vision flooded her mind: a sun-drenched meadow, a laugh like wind chimes, a promise whispered under a star-strewn sky. A broken vow. A searing pain.
“He remembers her,” Falon breathed. “He remembers Lyra.”
“And he’s remembering you.” Hemlock’s eyes narrowed. “That’s the danger. He’s seeing a reflection of what he lost, and Kael will use that to shatter him.”
A tremor ran through the cavern. Dust rained from the ceiling.
“It’s starting.” Falon’s voice was barely a whisper. “He’s waking up.”
“And so is Kael.” Hemlock raised the lantern, his face grim. “Prepare yourself, girl. The storm is coming.”
