Chapter 77: Echoes in the Dark
The canyons stretched before them like a labyrinth of sorrow—walls etched with ancient markings and veins of forgotten magic. They were called the Weeping Canyons for a reason. Whispering winds seemed to carry the cries of those who had once perished here, and even the air felt thick with mourning.
Elara led the way with her blade drawn, and Ariella kept close, eyes scanning for hidden threats. Though both were on edge, they'd grown far from the frightened girls they once were. Now, they moved like warriors with purpose, with the confidence of those who had faced the impossible—and survived.
As they neared a cluster of moss-covered stones near a jagged cliffside—exactly where the vision had led them—a cloaked figure waited. He stood perfectly still, almost like a statue. The moment felt suspended in time.
When he pulled back his hood, Elara and Ariella froze.
The face before them was an ethereal being, striking and radiant, so flawless and calm it stole their breath. His eyes shimmered like ocean light under a full moon, and his presence radiated a serene power.
Elara blinked, unable to look away. "What… Who are you?"
Ariella gripped her staff tighter, equally stunned.
The man smiled warmly. "Nice to meet you, girls. My name is Kai—the Blue Queen's Guardian." His gaze rested on Elara. "Elara's guardian."
It was the first time they had seen a Guardian of the Chosen Ones—beings they had only heard of in whispered legends.
Ariella's breath caught. "You're real…"
Kai nodded gently. "And you've come far to reach us. The shadow behind the Master is a threat unlike any before. It's planning something catastrophic, but it cannot yet appear in physical form."
Elara's brow furrowed. "Why not?"
Kai's expression dimmed. "It lacks a host. A strong human host. When it finds one, it will take form fully. And no force in this world will be able to stop it."
Ariella clenched her fists. "So what do we do?"
"Whatever you're planning," Kai said, his voice grave, "do it fast—and above all, make sure the shadow never finds a host."
The girls exchanged a determined glance, the weight of his words settling over them like armor.
Back at the ruins of the Master's old house, the silence was deceptive.
Amid the wreckage, the broken pieces of the once-feared pot trembled. Faint light pulsed from deep within the largest fragment. Slowly, silently, the shards began to draw together, pulled by some invisible force.
Cracks sealed. Lines faded.
Then—
A hiss.
Soft and serpentine.
The pot wasn't just reforming.
It was waking up.
In the Master's new hideout, far from the cursed canyon, his eyes shot open as panic gripped his chest.
The pot—it was alive.
He could feel its pulse again. Distant, but undeniable. Like a second heartbeat deep in the earth. One that refused to die.
He staggered back, breath catching in his throat. That cursed vessel should've been gone forever. Destroyed. Yet now, it lived—and what it might bring forth terrified him.
Before he could gather his thoughts, the shadow returned.
"You delay."
The walls darkened, light retreating into corners. The presence pressed in like a noose tightening.
"You were warned."
"I wasn't ready," the Master muttered. "They've changed. They're not what they used to be."
"And neither are you."
The voice was cruel. Disappointed.
He tried to ignore it. But the ghosts of the past clawed their way forward. Images flooded his mind: Little 7, his quiet loyalty. Little 9, his rebellion, his potential. The fire. The betrayal. The loss. His sons—gone. And he had let it happen.
Through it all, the shadow had pulled the strings. Promised him power, dominion, and respect in exchange for unwavering loyalty.
But what had he really gained?
Power built on blood and lies.
Now, all he had were regrets—and the weight of his failures.
He turned away from the shadow, hoping to shut out its voice, but a deeper memory emerged, unbidden.
He was a young man again, standing in the throne room.
His father, the king, sat upon the dais, his aged eyes full of warning.
> "There is no honor in seeking shortcuts to greatness," the old king had said. "The throne does not require power bought with darkness, but strength forged in service and sacrifice."
> "You never intended to give it to me," the young prince had snapped. "You always favored him. Your precious second son."
> "Because he understands mercy. You understand ambition. And ambition—unchecked—leads to ruin."
But he had not listened.
He had stormed from the palace that night and walked into the desert, where the devil waited, cloaked in shadow and promises.
The deal had been struck before dawn.
His brother's sacrifice.
His own transformation.
His exile.
And now, it all circled back.
The shadow pressed again.
"This is your final chance."
With no other path left, the Master obeyed.
He launched another assault on the village—but this time, his steps faltered. His strikes lacked conviction. Somewhere deep inside, something resisted.
And so did the girls.
With strength, unity, and the guidance of the Guardians, Elara and Ariella pushed him back.
He barely escaped.
Wounded. Broken. Humiliated.
And afraid.
He stumbled through the forest until his legs gave out beneath a large baobab. Panting, bloodied, he whispered, "Percy…"
Moments later, Percy emerged from the trees, his face a mix of worry and disapproval. Still, he reached out to heal him.
"Why didn't you just go home?" Percy asked, his voice gentle.
The Master winced. "Because… I failed him."
Percy paused mid-heal. "Who?"
"The one behind it all…" the Master said quietly. "He's not human. He's… greater. More evil than anything we've faced."
Percy studied the Master carefully. "You make it sound like you owe him something."
The Master's gaze dropped. "It's much more than that. I'm terrified of what will happen if I don't deliver. He promised me mercy once… but I know now it was a lie. I should have let the girls kill me when they had the chance. Running away only delays the inevitable. His punishment will be the cruelest death imaginable."
Percy remained silent, troubled by the confession. What kind of being could instill such terror in the Master—once the most feared man in the land?
When they finally returned to the hideout, the Master moved to the secret chamber. He knelt, heart thudding.
He didn't wait long.
The shadow came—not as a whisper this time, but a force that bent the air and made the walls hum with dread.
"You failed me," it hissed.
The Master lowered his head. "I tried. I—"
"I no longer care for excuses."
Darkness pressed against his skin like ice, seeping into every crack in his soul.
"You had your chance. Now, you will suffer. And someone else… someone stronger… will take your place."
The Master trembled. "Please—mercy…"
"You ran from death once." The shadow's voice turned razor-sharp. "You won't escape it this time."
Terror engulfed him.
And for the first time in his life, he regretted surviving.