The city was waking.
Birds sang broken melodies.
The sky, fractured but less hostile, bled dawn's first light.
He sat on the edge of a crumbling rooftop, fingers brushing the pulse beneath his skin.
The seed.
A heartbeat echoing in the quiet.
Lira approached, silent as the morning.
"You can feel it, can't you?"
He nodded.
"It's like… something alive inside me.
Like it's trying to speak."
She sat beside him.
"That's because it is. The seed isn't just power.
It's memory."
He frowned.
"Memory of what?"
Lira's gaze drifted to the horizon.
"Of the fracture's birth.
Of the city's sins.
Of a time before time."
Suddenly, a breeze whispered through the broken streets.
Carrying voices — faint, fragile, urgent.
"Listen."
He closed his eyes.
The voices became clearer.
"We are the roots...
We are the forgotten...
Heal us... or let us fall..."
He shuddered.
"They're calling."
Lira's expression hardened.
"The roots are awakening.
And so are those who want to keep the fracture open."
He looked at her sharply.
"Who?"
Lira gazed at his face with a stern expression, "The Keepers."
The word hung heavy between them.
"Shadowed figures. Guardians of the fracture's chaos.
They thrive in the pain and disorder."
He clenched his fists.
"Then we'll have to stop them."
Lira's eyes flickered with something unreadable, "Obviously...b-but be careful od what you wish for. They know you carry the seed.
They'll come for you."
A sudden crash echoed from below.
They both spun around.
A group of figures emerged from the shadows, cloaked and silent.
One stepped forward.
"The seed belongs to the fracture.
Not to you."
He felt the seed pulse violently, a storm rising within.
"It belongs to no one but the city — and to its future."
The figures closed in.
The battle for the seed — and the city's soul — had begun.
End of Chapter 11.