Page 11

Kaia

I should be panicking.

We just crossed into a corrupted death realm. The sky is bleeding colors I don’t have names for. And the twins? They’ve morphed into actual berserkers—giants wreathed in fire and frost like something out of a half-remembered nightmare.

But instead of panicking, I’m… staring.

Torric’s entire body radiates heat, his skin glowing like forged steel. Aspen’s covered in frost that doesn’t melt, his eyes edged in ice and fixed on me like I’m the only thing tethering him to reality. Every part of me knows I should look away. I don’t.

“So,” I say, because silence is worse and my brain is fried. “This is new.”

“Berserkers,” Malrik says, his voice tight with disbelief. “My father spoke of them, but they were supposed to be extinct. Warriors touched by primal magic, bound to—” He cuts off abruptly, pressing a hand to his chest.

I feel it too, a strange ache that pulses in time with my heartbeat. My shadows coil closer, responding to my unease. Bob takes up a defensive position while Patricia frantically documents the twins’ transformation in her swirling script.

“We need to move,” Malrik says, already starting forward. “My ancestral home is east. The wards there might still hold, give us somewhere safe to figure this out.”

We fall into step behind him, picking our way across terrain that looks like black glass shattered and poorly pieced back together.

The sky, if you can call it that, writhes with colors that shouldn’t exist, casting sickly light across the jagged landscape.

Every surface pulses with corruption, a tangible wrongness that makes my shadows shudder.

“Anyone else feel like their heart’s trying to learn interpretive dance?” Finn asks as we walk, grimacing and rubbing his chest.

A growl that might be agreement rumbles from Torric. The sound sends vibrations through the ground, making my wings spread instinctively. Both twins’ attention snaps to me immediately, their transformed faces turning with unsettling synchronization.

I try not to stare as we walk, but it’s impossible. Torric’s transformation slowly recedes, flames sinking beneath his skin but leaving him… different. His eyes still burn gold, his movements more predatory. He’s like a living forge, contained but still blazing hot.

And Aspen… God, Aspen with frost still glittering in his hair, blue eyes rimmed with ice. His skin catches light differently, like there’s something crystalline beneath the surface. Every time he looks at me, my stomach drops like I’m in freefall.

“Your face is doing the thing again,” Finn stage-whispers beside me.

“What thing?” I hiss back, grateful for the distraction .

“The ‘I’m totally not checking out the twins’ thing. Don’t worry, it’s adorable.”

Heat crawls up my neck. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I mutter, which only makes his grin widen.

Before I can defend myself, something screams in the distance, a sound that should not exist in any realm. My shadows snap to attention, Bob herding the others into defensive formations while Patricia’s notes become increasingly urgent.

“We should make camp,” Malrik says as darkness creeps across the broken landscape. “The nights here are… dangerous.”

We find a relatively defensible spot between two massive rock formations.

As everyone settles in, I notice Walter hovering near a twisted flower—if you can call it that.

The bloom looks more like a wound in reality, its petals black and weeping.

But as Walter bobs closer, something extraordinary happens.

Where his gentle presence touches the flower, color bleeds back in.

The corruption recedes like ice melting in sunlight, leaving behind a perfect white bloom.

My shadows freeze their various activities to watch. The flower holds its restored form for several seconds before crumbling to ash, but Walter seems undeterred. He’s already drifting toward another corrupted plant.

The reaction from my other shadows is immediate and chaotic.

They surge forward en masse, attempting to replicate Walter’s cleansing.

Bob tries to organize them into efficient cleaning squadrons while Patricia takes frantic notes on their attempts.

Even Finnick joins in, though his efforts are more enthusiastic than effective .

“Should we tell them it’s not working?” Finn asks, watching as my shadows discover that any corruption they manage to temporarily clear simply seeps back in moments later.

“Let them try,” I say softly, understanding their need to help, to fix what’s broken. “Sometimes hope is worth a little disappointment.”

The twins, now almost back to normal size though still thrumming with primal energy, move closer to our makeshift camp.

The ache in my chest pulses differently for each of them.

With the twins, it’s a steady throb, like a warrior’s drumbeat calling me to battle.

When Finn moves closer, it shifts to something quicker, chaotic but somehow playful.

And Malrik… with him it’s a deep resonance that seems to echo through my very bones.

“Well,” I sigh, watching my shadows continue their determined but futile cleaning attempts, “at least we won’t be bored while we wait to die horribly.”

“That’s the spirit,” Finn grins, though it looks strained. “Always look on the bright side of certain doom.”

As night settles over this twisted landscape, we huddle closer around a small campfire. The flames cast eerie shadows that dance and writhe, almost indistinguishable from my own restless companions. Even the fire itself feels wrong here, the colors off, the warmth barely reaching my skin.

Torric tears into his portion of food with gusto, still radiating heat from his transformation. “You know,” he says between bites, “I always thought being a berserker would involve more, I don’t know, berserking. Less weird heart stuff.”

Aspen nods, absently rubbing his chest. A fine layer of frost still coats his fingertips. “It’s like… a drum. But inside. Does anyone else feel th at?”

We all nod, and I notice how we’ve unconsciously arranged ourselves in a tight circle, with me at the center.

Malrik sits to my right, his silver eyes reflecting the firelight as he scans the darkness beyond our camp.

Finn’s on my left, his usual grin a bit strained as he fidgets with a coin, making it dance between his fingers.

The twins have positioned themselves directly across from me, their larger frames like a living wall between us and whatever lurks in the shadows.

“Maybe it’s this place,” I suggest, trying to ignore how my heart seems to skip a beat every time I catch Aspen or Torric’s eye. “Everything here feels… wrong. Like reality is coming apart at the seams.”

Malrik shifts beside me. “That’s because it is.”

Everyone turns to him. His silver eyes are distant, haunted.

“Absentia was never meant to be what it became. It was supposed to be a realm between realms—a bridge between life and death.” He exhales, his breath misting despite the lack of cold.

“But it was corrupted, twisted into something else. A prison for things that couldn’t be contained elsewhere.

And now the corruption isn’t just spreading, it’s trying to break what little balance remains. ”

Something twists in my chest. Not fear. Not exactly. But a pull, like my magic is trying to respond to the mention of balance, like it recognizes something in his words that I don’t yet understand.

Aspen watches Malrik carefully. “And what about berserkers?”

Malrik glances between the twins, his expression unreadable.

“Berserkers were warriors that walked the edge of balance. Too much rage, and they burned themselves out. Too much control, and their power faded. They needed purpose, something to anchor them. Without it, the magic consumed them.” He looks down at his hands. “It always consumes. ”

A chill runs through me. My shadows stir, restless. They don’t like this place.

Torric frowns. “So what are we supposed to do? Just keep walking and hope we don’t burn out?”

Malrik looks at me. “Maybe that depends on Kaia.”

I stiffen. “Why me?”

He gestures toward my shadows, how they move differently here. Slower. Sharper. Watching.

“They’re reacting to this place. Not just to protect you, but because something in Absentia is… responding to you.”

I swallow hard. “That’s not ominous at all.”

Before anyone can say more, the fire sputters and dims.

Finn swears, rubbing his arms. “Why is it colder all of a sudden?”

Aspen’s breath mists. “It’s not just the fire. The whole area just shifted.”

The air presses heavier. My magic coils inside me, twisting in warning as my shadows freeze in place. Something is watching us from beyond the firelight.

Malrik’s expression has gone eerily still, his silver eyes fixed on the darkness beyond our camp. “We’re not alone,” he murmurs.

For a long moment, no one speaks. Then Finn stretches his arms overhead, feigning nonchalance. “Well, whatever it is, let’s hope it has bad vision, ‘cause I’m calling it a night.”

Torric huffs but rises to his feet, shaking out his shoulders like a predator shedding tension. “We set watches?”

“Obviously,” Malrik replies, still scanning the distance. “I’ll take first.”

None of us actually sleeps, though we pretend to. We arrange ourselves in shifts, weapons within reach, eyes only half-closed. Even Torric, who could normally sleep through a battle, keeps twitching at every sound. My shadows maintain a constant perimeter, Bob directing them with silent efficiency.

I lie down, wings curled tight against my back, but I’m hyperaware of every shift in the darkness. The weight of this place, of the watching presence, makes true rest impossible. We’re all just waiting, coiled and ready.

Aspen catches my eye from across the fire. His expression says what we’re all thinking: whatever’s out there isn’t going to wait forever.

I get up after an hour of this farce, moving to stand beside Malrik. He doesn’t seem surprised.

“You should sleep,” he murmurs, not looking at me.

“I can’t.”

He glances down then, his gaze flickering with something unreadable. “I didn’t think you would.”

We stand there for a while, side by side, watching the writhing sky above us. The silence between us isn’t uncomfortable, it’s charged.

“You knew about berserkers,” I say finally. “What else do you know about this place?”

Malrik exhales, rubbing a hand down his face. “More than I’d like.”

“Tell me.”

His lips twitch, but there’s no humor in it. “The thing about Absentia is… it doesn’t just corrupt. It adapts. It remembers. And if it knows you don’t belong, it makes you belong.”

I shiver. “That’s what this ache is, isn’t it?” I press a hand to my chest. “Like it’s trying to change us. ”

Malrik watches me, his gaze dipping briefly to where my fingers press against my skin. Then, slowly, deliberately, he reaches out and rests his palm over my hand.

The moment he touches me, the ache shifts. It’s still there, but different, like my magic is stretching toward him, trying to align itself with his.

I inhale sharply. His fingers are warm against mine. His presence steadies me, like an anchor against whatever’s happening in this realm.

“Kaia,” he murmurs, voice rougher than before.

When I look up at him, I see it—the hesitation, the war between logic and something deeper. Something undeniable.

I don’t think. I don’t second-guess. I just rise onto my toes, closing the distance between us.

He meets me halfway.

The kiss is slow, not hesitant, just careful. Like he’s testing the feel of me in this realm, the shape of this moment. His fingers tighten over mine, then shift, trailing up my arm as he cups my face.

I press closer. His breath hitches. Something in his magic, something deep and ancient, pulls at mine, like a thread being drawn between us.

Then the air around us shudders.

The moment breaks.

Malrik pulls back first, his expression unreadable. But I can feel it, the change in the air, the watching presence pressing closer.

I turn my head, pulse thundering. The fire is still burning, but it feels smaller. The silence around us isn’t normal anymore. It’s waiting.

I swallow hard .

“Malrik…”

He’s already staring into the darkness beyond our camp, every muscle in his body tensed.

“I know.”

The darkness beyond our camp writhes, moving in ways shadow shouldn’t.

Something is here.