Perun sat in the dark, his back pressed against the cold concrete wall of the bunker, listening to the slow, shuddering breaths coming from his sister.
Lyra hadn't moved for hours. But her body still pulsed with that strange, faint glow — those same dark lines he'd seen on the Echoes, etched into her skin like cracks in stone.
And her whisper still echoed in his mind.
"I felt it… in my blood. The Voice. It…"
Another shiver ran down his spine. He wasn't ready for this.
Just days ago, he'd been a university student, enjoying the start of summer vacation, worrying about exams, friends, and the small, ordinary troubles of normal life. Now, he was trapped in a bunker, deep in the cold, terrifying unknown of whatever this was.
He'd never even been in a real fight before. And now, just hours ago, he'd killed something. Someone. No — not someone. It had looked like a human, moved like a human, but it had been wrong. Twisted. Hollowed out.
A mindless, shambling Echo.
And now, sitting in the dark, he watched those same black lines flicker across his sister's skin, like veins of cracked marble, glowing faintly in the dim light.
Was she becoming one of those things?Would he have to do to her what he had just done to those creatures?Would he have to kill his own sister?
A sharp, shuddering breath brought his thoughts crashing back to the present. Lyra was moving. Her fingers twitched. Her eyes flickered beneath their lids.
Perun clenched his fists, feeling his back press harder into the cold wall. He didn't breathe. His pulse hammered in his ears. He waited, every muscle tight.
Then her eyes snapped open, wide and frantic.
"Perun?" her voice croaked, rough and unsteady. "What… what happened? What's going on?"
He exhaled, the tightness in his chest loosening just a fraction. Relief washed over him like cold water.
"I… I'm so glad you're awake, Lyra," he managed, his voice shaking. "I thought… I thought for sure you'd become one of those things up there."
Lyra's gaze dropped, her eyes tracing the dark lines on her arms, the cracks in her skin. She seemed to notice them for the first time, her fingers trembling as they hovered over the black marks. She watched as they faded, then flared again, pulsing like veins.
"I didn't know myself," she whispered, her voice unsteady. "I just… I just know something in me is different. Changed."
Perun watched her carefully, his muscles tense, his fingers twitching. He leaned in, his voice raw, barely above a whisper. "Do you… feel it now? Whatever this is?"
Lyra furrowed her brow. She concentrated for a moment, and the dark lines slowly faded away, retreating beneath her skin.
"It's like… it was always a part of me," she whispered. "Like it was burried deep within me. And the ash, or something, woke it up. But that's not the only thing that's awakened."
A cold shiver crept down Perun's spine as he remembered what Lyra whispered before she collapsed.
He opened his mouth, then closed it again. He wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer, but he forced himself to ask. "Do you… hear a voice?"
Lyra's eyes snapped up, locking onto his. For a brief moment, he thought he saw a faint glow behind them, like a dying ember, flickering in the dark.
"Yes," she said, her voice trembling. "It's… distant, but constant. Like a hum, or a heartbeat, or… like someone whispering just out of reach. It's not words. Not really. But I can feel it. Like… pressure. It gets louder when I use this power, but still, it's too quiet for me to hear any real words. Almost like white noise, but somehow it has meaning. I can't explain it."
Perun exhaled, trying to calm the pounding in his chest. He ran a hand through his hair, sticky with sweat and grime.
"Did it… did it tell you to do what you did? When you… hit that thing?"
Lyra's eyes dropped to her hands, her fingers curling into tight fists. The dark lines flared again, then faded, like a heartbeat.
"No," she said slowly. "It didn't tell me to. But when I hit it, I felt… right. Like I was supposed to. Like my body remembered something my mind doesn't."
Perun felt his stomach tighten. Supposed to.
"And these lines…?" he asked, gesturing at her arms.
Lyra looked down, eyes narrowing as if focusing, and the dark marks reappeared once again. She pressed her fingers into her skin, where the black marks had spread like fractures in stone. They faded, then flared again, as if responding to her touch.
"They're… a part of me," she said, her voice trembling. "They move when I think about them. I can feel strength surge through me when I summon them."
Perun leaned back against the cold wall, feeling the sharp, jagged edge of fear cut into him.
"What the hell is happening to you, Lyra?" he whispered.
"I don't know," she whispered back. "This is all new, but I don't think I'm becoming like those creatures. At least not yet."
A cold silence fell between them, broken only by the sound of their own breathing.
Lyra's head tilted slightly, her eyes narrowing as if listening to something only she could hear.
"What?" Perun asked, his pulse quickening again. "What is it?"
She hesitated, her eyes flicking toward the low ceiling, the dark lines on her arms shivering like startled nerves.
"I felt it again," she whispered, almost to herself. "The Voice… it felt strange for a moment. Like it twitched, like it… hesitated. I felt the same thing before… well, before we went up last time."
Perun frowned, his mind grasping for some connection, some explanation. "What do you mean?"
Lyra turned to him, her eyes clearer now, more focused. "It's the ash," she said, her tone sharper. "I think it… stopped. I can feel it. Like a breath held back. It's almost like… like the creatures depend on it."
Perun felt his jaw tighten. He hadn't thought about it in the chaos of their last fight, but he remembered now — the way the ash had been barely falling just before the attack. And afterward, as he dragged Lyra back down into the bunker, he hadn't seen any ash outside. Not a single flake drifting through the air.
The world above had grown still.
Only the distant, echoing shrieks of creatures pierced the silence, carried through the abandoned streets like the dying cries of a wounded animal.
"I noticed it too," he admitted. "After we fought, the ash just… stopped. Like something changed. I panicked, and I dragged you back down here, shut the hatch. But now…"
He looked at her, fear crawling up his spine again. "You think the ash somehow plays a role in this?"
Lyra's eyes flicked up to meet his, a hint of fear sparking in her gaze.
"I don't know," she whispered, her voice trailing off. "I just know that when the ash is falling, the Voice is quieter. When it stops, it changes. It feels… closer. Now it's changed again."
They both fell silent, the air in the bunker suddenly feeling thicker, heavier.
Perun swallowed, the taste of iron and dust clinging to his tongue.
"This just sucks," he said finally, his voice edged with bitter frustration. "If we go out when the ash is falling, we die. If we wait for it to stop, then we have to face those… things." He ran a trembling hand through his hair, fingers snagging on tangles. "It's a lose-lose."
Lyra's eyes drifted to the ceiling, as if she could see through the concrete to the world above. The dark lines on her arms pulsed faintly, then stilled, like a heartbeat losing its rhythm.
"We still have food," she said, her voice steadier now, as if saying it aloud might make it feel more real. "Maybe we can wait it out. Maybe… whatever this is, it'll change. Maybe it'll burn itself out."
Perun felt a flicker of hope, but it died as quickly as it came.
From above, the faint, bone-chilling shrieks of the creatures echoed down to them, vibrating through the cold concrete. The sounds were closer now — more numerous.
"And if it doesn't?" he asked, his voice sharper than he intended. "What if it gets worse? What if more of those things come? This hatch won't hold forever."
Lyra flinched, her fingers tightening against her own arms, as if trying to hold herself together. The dark lines on her skin pulsed once more, a faint, shivering response to her rising fear.
"I know," she whispered. "But I don't know what else to do. I can barely control this… this thing in me. If we go out there, and I lose control, I might… I might hurt you."
Perun hesitated, the words cutting deeper than he expected. He forced himself to take a slow, measured breath, steadying his shaking hands against the cold, rough wall.
"I'd rather take my chances up there," he said, his voice low but steady, his gaze never leaving hers. "With you. I'm not leaving you here, Lyra. Not after everything we've been through."
She looked at him, her eyes a deep, troubled green, the faint glow behind them flickering like a candle struggling to stay lit.
"Then… what do we do?" she whispered.
Perun clenched his fists, the cool concrete pressing into his back, grounding him. His mind raced, flicking through half-formed plans, survival instincts, and the raw, unfiltered fear of the unknown.
"We need a plan," he said finally, his voice a little stronger now. "We can't just sit here and wait to die. We need to figure out what's happening out there. Maybe we can find other survivors — people who know more about this. At the very least, we need to thin out the number of these creatures around the house. If they keep building up, we'll be trapped for good."
Lyra looked down, her gaze distant, her mind clearly working through the same grim possibilities.
"Alright," she said, her voice steadier now, more certain. "But we move carefully. We watch each other's backs. And if I… if I lose control, you do what you have to do."
Perun felt his jaw clench again, the weight of her words settling deep into his bones. He took a step closer, pulled her into a tight, protective embrace, feeling the faint warmth of her body, the trembling pulse of her new strength beneath his arms.
"For now," he whispered into her hair, his voice rough but determined, "we wait it out until the ash starts falling again. Then we take care of whatever's in the house — clear a path. When it stops… we'll see. If it's too many, we hide. If it's not, we look for survivors. One step at a time."
Lyra nodded against his shoulder, her arms wrapping around him, pulling him closer, her fingers clinging to the back of his shirt as if he might disappear if she let go.
They stayed like that for a moment, just the two of them in the dark, holding each other against the cold and the fear and the unknown.
Above them, the creaking of the old wooden floorboards echoed through the bunker, the slow, shuffling steps of something that no longer remembered what it once was.