Page 39 of Echoes From the Void (Shadow Locke Shifters #3)

Chapter 38

Leo

“Another wave coming!” I shout as more shadow beasts pour through the widening rifts. The tears in reality pulse with sickly purple light, each one large enough now to swallow a car. These beasts look different from the earlier escapees—their forms twisted into impossible angles, shadows bleeding corruption like oil on water. More desperate, more primal. Like they’re fleeing something worse than corruption.

The library’s grand steps have mostly crumbled, leaving me perched on a broken column that gives me a clear view of the quad. Ancient stone, older than Shadow Locke itself, groans under the strain of reality’s fracturing. Through gaps in the destruction, I can see at least thirty beasts already transformed, with twice that many still waiting. Their corrupted forms huddle in loose groups, some barely holding their shapes together.

Matteo and his mother work in perfect sync at the center of it all, their combined power creating a beacon in the chaos. Where Dr. Sharma’s hands glow with healing energy—soft gold like sunrise through leaves—Matteo’s new fangs flash obsidian as he draws corruption from the beasts’ essence. It’s beautiful and terrifying—like watching a predator perform surgery. Each beast that approaches them leaves changed, shadows flowing smooth and purposeful instead of jagged with pain.

“The pattern’s changing,” Bishop calls from his Guardian post near the astronomy tower. His marks pulse blue-white as he tracks the energy flows, one hand pressed to the ancient stones as he monitors the campus wards. “They’re not just running anymore. They’re...”

“Asking for help,” Dorian finishes. His frost patterns spread across broken pillars, analyzing each new arrival. I catch his slight wince as particularly corrupted beast stumbles through a rift, its form so twisted it barely looks solid. “Look at their forms—they’re deliberately approaching Matteo. They recognize what he can do.”

He’s right. The latest group of beasts—at least a dozen strong—doesn’t attack or flee. They approach Matteo with something like supplication, their corrupted forms lowering in ancient gesture of submission. Through our pack bonds, I feel his surprise as he recognizes the behavior, feel the predator in him respond to their trust.

“Like they remember,” Matteo’s voice carries that new predator edge as a particularly massive beast kneels before him. Its corrupted form towers over him even kneeling, shadows writhing with veins of void-purple. “Remember what they were before corruption. Before the void.”

Dr. Sharma’s hands move in precise patterns over the beast’s writhing form. Golden light traces ancient meridian lines through its essence. “The corruption isn’t just physical,” she observes, her clinical tone hiding deeper emotion. “It’s like their very essence has been... twisted. Forced into shapes they were never meant to take.”

“Like what Valerie tried to do to us,” I say quietly, remembering Frankie’s description of the breeding programs. Of children twisted into weapons. Through our stretched-thin bond, I feel an echo of her fierce protection. Wherever she is in that impossible void, she’s still fighting for those who can’t fight for themselves.

The beast under Dr. Sharma’s hands shudders as Matteo begins drawing out its corruption. Dark tendrils flow toward his fangs like iron filings to a magnet. But something’s different this time. Instead of just absorbing the twisted essence, he’s... transforming it. His own shadows wrap around the corruption, breaking it down and rebuilding it into something clean. Like he finally understands what his new abilities are for.

“Mother,” he says suddenly, fangs gleaming in the pre-dawn light. “The healing patterns you taught me—the meridian points for energy flow. What if we...”

She catches his meaning instantly. Her hands shift, matching his movements as they work together on the beast’s form. Where she channels healing energy along ancient pathways, he draws out corruption like venom from a wound. Where her light soothes ravaged essence, his shadows cleanse the very fabric of the beast’s being. Together, they create something I’ve never seen before—healing that doesn’t just fix, but transforms.

The beast’s form ripples, void-purple corruption fragmenting and dissolving under their combined power. Its shadows stabilize into something new. Something balanced. Where before its form was all jagged angles and writhing darkness, now it flows like liquid night, purpose in every movement.

“It’s working,” Dorian breathes. His frost patterns track the transformation with crystalline precision, spreading across the broken ground to analyze every change. “They’re not just healing them. They’re...”

“Restoring them,” Bishop finishes. He moves closer, Guardian marks pulsing as he maps the energy flows. “To what they were before the void corrupted them.”

The transformed beast rises slowly, its form easily twice my height but no longer threatening. In the pre-dawn light filtering through the rifts, I can finally see what these creatures were meant to be. Its shadows ripple like silk in wind, carrying hints of starlight in their depths. Intelligence burns in its ancient eyes—not the feral hunger of corruption, but something wise. Something remembered.

Through our pack bonds, I feel Matteo’s fierce satisfaction mix with his mother’s healer’s pride. They’ve created something new here—a way to heal what was broken, to restore what was lost. Bishop’s tactical mind is already calculating how to expand this healing to others, while Dorian’s academic distance cracks with wonder at witnessing something unprecedented.

“More coming,” Bishop warns as another wave of beasts emerges from the largest rift. This group—maybe twenty strong—moves differently than the earlier ones. More coordinated, like they’re spreading word through whatever passes for communication among their kind. Their corrupted forms weave between broken pillars and crumbling walls with purpose.

A smaller beast breaks away from the group, approaching with uncertain steps. Its corruption runs so deep its form barely holds together, void-purple light bleeding through gaps in its essence. It reminds me painfully of my sisters when their powers first manifested—scared, uncertain, desperate for someone to understand. Before I can think better of it, I’m moving closer, leaving my perch on the broken column.

“Leo,” Matteo growls in warning, but I feel his protective instincts war with his trust in me. His new fangs flash as he takes half a step forward, then forces himself to wait.

“It’s okay,” I say softly, both to him and to the trembling beast. My voice carries the same gentle tone I use with frightened children. “Look at it, Teo. Really look.”

He stills, new predator senses taking in what I’ve noticed. The beast’s corrupted essence pulses with a rhythm I know in my bones—the same cadence I’ve felt in every shadow shifter child I’ve helped through their first manifestation. Even with corruption eating at its edges, the pattern is unmistakable.

“It’s young,” Dr. Sharma realizes, her healer’s insight catching up. She takes a step forward, golden light illuminating the beast’s unstable form. “Recently corrupted. That’s why its form is so unstable. The void hasn’t had time to fully twist its original nature.”

The young beast edges closer to me, drawn perhaps by whatever part of my essence still holds sunshine despite everything. Its shadows reach tentatively for mine like seeking fingers, reminding me so much of Liliana during her first power surge that my heart aches. Void-purple corruption makes its movements jerky, uncertain, but there’s a desperate hope in its approach.

“Hey there, little one,” I murmur, keeping my voice steady and warm. My shadows drift forward without sharp edges or sudden movements, offering comfort rather than challenge. “Rough day, huh? Yeah, me too. But we’ve got you now.”

Through our bond, I feel Matteo’s protective tension ease as he understands what I’m doing. What I’ve always done—find the scared ones, the lost ones, help them feel safe enough to heal. His predator nature settles into something more focused as he moves to my side, new fangs no longer flashing with threat.

“Like you did for me,” he says quietly, his voice carrying years of shared history. “When I first came here. When the shadows were too much.”

I remember those days—watching this fierce, beautiful boy try to contain power he didn’t understand. Watching him fight his nature until I could convince him that some battles aren’t meant to be won alone. Bishop steps closer, his Guardian marks pulsing with recognition as he remembers too—how many students we’ve helped through their first manifestations together.

“Think we can help this one?” I ask, though I already know his answer. Matteo’s never been able to resist protecting the vulnerable, no matter what form they take. Dorian’s frost patterns spread across the ground between us and the beast, ready to contain any unstable energy.

Matteo’s hand finds my shoulder as his mother steps up on my other side, her healing energy already reaching out to assess the young beast’s condition. “Together,” he says, and I hear the echo of all our shared years in that word. “Like always.”

The young beast trembles as we surround it, but doesn’t flee. Doesn’t fight. Just waits with desperate hope as Matteo and his mother begin their combined healing. Corruption swirls off its form in purple-black tendrils as they work, each strand caught and cleansed by Matteo’s new abilities.

I keep talking, the way I always have when helping scared children through their first brush with power. My voice stays gentle, steady, while my shadows offer constant comfort. “You’re doing great, little shadow. That’s it. Let them help. Let them show you what you really are.”

Through our distant bond with Frankie, I feel something pulse—like she’s witnessing this moment across impossible space. Her fierce approval and love echo through the connection, carrying understanding that this is what we were all meant to be.

Healers.

Protectors.

Family.

The young beast’s transformation is different from the first. Where the adult’s was a restoration, this is more like... awakening. Its corrupted form shifts and flows until what stands before us is barely larger than a wolf pup, its shadows carrying hints of golden light like dawn breaking through storm clouds. Each movement is pure grace, uncorrupted by void-taint.

“It’s beautiful,” Dr. Sharma breathes, her hands still glowing with residual healing energy. “Leo, look at what your presence did. Your natural light—it gave it something to remember. Something to become.”

The beast-pup presses against my legs, its essence carrying that particular mix of shadow and sunshine that’s always been uniquely mine. Its form feels warm now, like summer shadows under ancient trees. Through our pack bonds, I feel Matteo’s love wrap around us both while Bishop and Dorian move to establish a protective perimeter, their powers ready to shield this newly healed being.

“You’ve always done this,” Matteo says softly, watching the pup nuzzle my hand with shadow-silk touch. “Found the light in shadows. Showed us how to be both.”

More beasts approach, drawn by the pup’s successful transformation. Their corrupted forms move with newfound purpose through the debris-strewn quad. But they don’t just come to Matteo and his mother now—some drift toward me, sensing perhaps that there are different kinds of healing. Different ways to remember what they were meant to be.

Bishop moves closer, Guardian marks pulsing brighter as he analyzes the growing crowd of restored beings. Their shadows now carry hints of starlight, moving with liquid grace instead of jagged corruption. “The energy patterns are stabilizing,” he notes, one hand still pressed to the ancient stones. “Each successful transformation seems to be affecting the others, like they’re...”

“Learning,” Dorian finishes. His frost patterns spread in intricate analysis, mapping each change. Beneath his usual academic distance, I catch rare wonder in his voice. “Or remembering. Look how the corruption recedes more easily with each one. They’re teaching each other.”

Through the distant bond, I catch another pulse from Frankie—stronger this time, carrying images I can barely comprehend. Light shifters frozen between moments, their forms crystallized in eternal sacrifice. Ancient choices made with desperate hope. A better way waiting to be found.

The pup at my feet suddenly lifts its head, responding to something only it can sense. Its form ripples with golden-edged shadows as it lets out a sound like bells in darkness. The noise echoes off broken pillars and crumbling walls, carrying frequencies that make the very air shimmer.

Other restored beasts answer, their voices creating harmonies that shouldn’t be possible. The sound reminds me of Lyra’s violin music—the way her shadows dance with sound itself, turning notes into living darkness. Each beast adds its own tone until the pre-dawn air thrums with shadow-song.

“They’re calling to each other,” Matteo realizes, his fangs flashing as he scents the air. New predator senses map the changes in their essence. “Telling the others it’s safe. That they can be helped.”

Another wave of beasts emerges from the rifts—at least fifty strong now. But there’s purpose to their movement, ancient dignity replacing desperate flight. They form lines among the ruins, waiting their turn for healing with patient grace. Some come to Matteo and his mother for restoration, corruption peeling away under their combined power. Others drift toward me, seeking the particular balance of shadow and light that’s always been my gift.

“You know what this means?” I ask softly, watching corruption transform to purpose again and again beneath my pack’s combined efforts. The quad has become a makeshift healing ground, ancient stones humming with renewed power. “What Frankie and Finn might have found?”

“A way to heal it all,” Bishop says, understanding dawning in his voice. His Guardian marks pulse with possibilities as he traces energy patterns through the transformed beasts. “Not just individual beings, but the balance itself.”

“Willing transformation,” Dorian adds, his usual academic distance cracking with wonder. His frost patterns map each successful healing, tracking how the changes ripple through groups of waiting beasts. “Not forced sacrifice or corruption. But choice.”

The pup presses closer to my side as more of its kind approach through the rifts. Its shadow-silk form radiates contentment, golden light threading through darkness like stars coming home. Through our bond, I feel Matteo’s fierce pride, his mother’s healer’s joy, Bishop’s tactical mind already planning how to expand this healing, and Dorian’s frost patterns tracking every successful transformation.

Above us, dawn breaks over a changed world. The first rays catch the transformed beasts’ essence, making their shadows glimmer with remembered starlight. Around us, ancient beings remember what they were always meant to be.

And somewhere in the void, Frankie and Finn work toward the same truth:

Some shadows need light to heal.

Some light needs shadow to shine.

Some balance can only come through choice.

“Incoming!” Bishop’s warning rings out as the largest group yet emerges from the rifts. The tears in reality pulse wider, edges crystallizing with void-purple light. But these beasts move differently—more coordinated, almost ceremonial. Their corrupted forms part like a living river, creating a path through the ruins for something that makes my breath catch.

A beast larger than the others appears through the largest rift, its corruption deep but not complete. Ancient power radiates from its massive form, shadows moving with deliberate grace despite the void-taint eating at its edges. It approaches slowly, ancient eyes fixed on me. Through our pack bonds, I feel Matteo tense, ready to defend. But this doesn’t feel like danger.

It feels like recognition.

The beast stops before me, lowering its massive head until we’re eye to eye. Its form towers over us, large enough to swallow the remains of the library steps, yet its movements carry careful grace. In its gaze, I see something I understand in my bones—the capacity for shadows to be gentle, to protect, to nurture. The same truth I’ve always known, even when others saw only darkness.

Purple-black corruption still clings to its edges, but its core essence pulses with something older than the void’s hunger. Something that reminds me of summer storms and twilight gardens, of safe spaces made from gentle dark.

“Oh,” I breathe as understanding hits. The pup at my feet perks up, responding to my revelation. “You remember, don’t you? What shadows were meant to be before corruption. Not just weapons or darkness, but protection. Safety.”

The beast’s essence ripples in response, void-taint temporarily receding as something ancient awakens in its depths. Around us, the restored beings gather closer, their harmonies shifting to something that sounds almost like hope. Each voice adds new notes until the sound resembles Lyra’s most complex compositions—darkness turned to music, shadows learning to sing.

“Leo,” Matteo says softly, moving to my side. His predator nature recognizes something profound in this moment. “Your shadows...”

I look down to find my darkness moving differently—not just power, but purpose. The same patterns I’ve always used to comfort scared children now flow outward, touching corrupted essence with gentle invitation rather than force. The pup at my feet presses closer, its own shadows beginning to mirror the gentler movements.

“They don’t need light to heal,” Dr. Sharma observes, her healer’s insight catching deeper meaning. Golden energy pulses from her hands as she analyzes the changes. “They just need to remember that shadows can nurture too.”

The massive beast leans into my touch, its essence beginning to shift. This transformation is different from the others—not just restoration or awakening, but remembering. Choice made manifest. Its corruption dissolves not from forced cleansing, but from recognition of what it once was. What it could be again.

Through our distant bond, I feel Frankie’s fierce joy. Feel her understanding that this is what she and Finn are fighting for—not just survival, but the right to choose what our shadows become. The bond pulses with images I can barely comprehend—light shifters frozen in crystal, ancient sacrifices, a better way finally found.

The pup lets out another bell-like cry, but this time the sound carries pure joy. Other young ones emerge from the crowd, their corrupted forms already beginning to shift just from proximity to their transformed kin. They gather around us, drawn to this proof that shadows don’t have to be harsh. Don’t have to be feared.

“You know what this means?” Dorian asks, his frost patterns tracking the spreading transformations. For once, his academic mask fully cracks as wonder overtakes analysis.

“It means Frankie was right,” Matteo says, his predator nature recognizing deeper truth. His fangs gleam as he smiles, watching more beasts approach for healing. “There’s always another way. Always a choice in how we use what we are.”

The massive beast—now restored to its original purpose—turns its ancient gaze to the rifts where more of its kind emerge. Starlight dances through its shadows as it moves, each step leaving traces of power that make the very air hum. Its voice, when it comes, feels like velvet through darkness:

Show them, it seems to say. Show them what shadows were always meant to be.

I look at my pack—at Matteo’s protective strength, Bishop’s tactical mind, Dorian’s careful analysis. At Dr. Sharma’s healer’s wisdom. At the growing crowd of beings choosing to become something more than their corruption. The rising sun catches their transformed shadows, making them shimmer with remembered grace.

“Together?” I ask, feeling my shadows settle into their truest purpose. The pup presses against my legs, its essence a promise of what’s possible.

Their response comes without hesitation:

“Together.”

Above us, dawn embraces the edge of night.

Around us, ancient beings remember gentler shadows.

Within us, power shifts and grows.

And somewhere in the void, Frankie and Finn fight for the same truth:

Some choices remake reality itself.

Some shadows protect rather than harm.

Some darkness cradles rather than consumes.

Always.

The pup raises its voice in one final harmony, joined by all the transformed beasts. The sound echoes through broken ruins and fractured reality, carrying hope into even the darkest spaces.

Together.

As we were always meant to be.

Even in shadow.

Especially in shadow.

Forever in truth.