Chapter 20: The Betrayal Spike
Two days beyond Havenmoor, the landscape had grown harsh and forsaken. Ragged clifftops and bone-white boulders littered the high plains, remnants of ancient upheavals that mirrored the unsettled tension among the travelers. Sparse purple scrub clung to cracked earth, and wind whistled through narrow gullies with a hollow moan. It was a beautiful yet eerie desolation—as if the world here had been gnawed raw by the cosmic forces of the Falling Star.
Connor rode in the wagon's front seat beside Thea, who handled the reins with practiced ease. The wheels jostled over uneven ground, making the wooden boards creak. Every so often, Connor would glance around, alert. They all were. After leaving Halfway Haven at first light, Sela had pushed them hard, keen to put distance between the convoy and any prying eyes. But that urgency carried a strain; conversation was minimal, and each crevice or distant rock formation earned suspicion.
Sela rode ahead on horseback, visor lowered against the dust. Even from behind, Connor could read the tension in her shoulders. Zara flanked on foot to the right, crossbow in hand, scanning the horizon like a hunting hawk. Nima and Farrah marched to the left of the wagon, spears at the ready. The small party formed a tight knot, wary and watchful.
They had reason to be on edge. Late last night, one of the Havenmoor villagers had come quietly to Sela with a rumor: a group of armed strangers were spotted a day's travel further north, asking after a "star-fallen gentleman." It might have been unrelated, but Sela assumed the worst. The enemy was near, whoever they might be—cartel bounty hunters, guild mercenaries, cult assassins, or all of the above.
We know they're coming, and they know we're coming, Connor reflected grimly. An ugly symmetry. A gust of dry wind kicked up dust devils on the trail ahead, and Connor narrowed his eyes, peering through the haze. They were entering a shallow ravine, walls of stratified rock rising on either side. The path, once a dirt road, had crumbled from neglect—likely no one traveled this far except the desperate or the determined.
They rounded a bend where the ravine narrowed, funneling them between walls of rock barely twenty paces apart. High above, late afternoon sunlight slanted in, but the gorge itself lay in shadow. Sela raised her fist to halt. Instantly everyone stopped, ears pricked. They all listened.
At first, only the sigh of wind. Then—clack. A sound not of nature: the faint clatter of a pebble dislodged, echoing off stone somewhere ahead.
Zara was the first to react. "Up top!" she barked, and swung her crossbow upward, scanning the ridges.
That's when the trap sprung. A sharp twang cut the air and a bolt streaked down from above. It thudded into the wooden side of the wagon not a foot from Connor's thigh. He jolted, heart leaping to his throat.
"Ambush!" Sela cried. "Take cover!"
Chaos erupted. Arrows and bolts rained from the canyon rims, clattering off rocks and the wagon. The mules brayed in panic. Thea dropped the reins and raised her small buckler shield (ever since the lamia attack she kept one by her seat). She cried out as an arrow glanced off the metal rim, jarring her arm.
Connor slid down into the footwell of the driver's bench, yanking Thea with him just as another bolt whistled overhead. His pulse thundered in his ears. Dust trickled from the ravine walls with each projectile impact. Farrah had taken cover by the wagon wheel, using her spear to bat away an arrow targeting Thea's crouched form. Nima stood guard over Sela, who had dismounted and slapped her panicking horse's flank to send it running free (better a loose mount than a stationary target).
Pinned in the canyon, Connor realized grimly. They had to break out or turn the tables. He peered over the bench's edge for a quick assessment. Perhaps eight or more attackers total—a mix of crossbowwomen up high and a few melee fighters below. He couldn't spot them all; they were well-hidden in elevation and behind cover. These were no random bandits—they'd chosen their ground well.
As if to confirm his thought, a familiar voice echoed from above: "Captain Var! Throw down your arms, all of you. You are surrounded!" A woman's voice, edged with smug triumph.
Sela's eyes widened at the call. Connor, too, felt a jolt of recognition. He twisted, trying to see the speaker. On the ridge to their right, a figure stepped into view between two jagged rocks. She wore a dark hood but pulled it back to reveal auburn hair and a freckled face.
"Tasha," Sela growled, venom in her tone.
The missing porter—the traitor from Asterholt—stood some twenty feet above them. Her posture was tense but self-satisfied. In her hand she held a pistol-like flintlock device, likely loaded with an aether shot. Around her, two more crossbow-women had arrows trained on the convoy.
"Surprised?" Tasha called down, voice echoing. "Halfway Haven was a nice detour. Gave me time to set a proper welcome." She smirked. "Now, I suggest you drop your steel and hand over the man. Our business is only with him."
Zara, pressed against the canyon wall below, snarled back, "Traitorous hag! Why betray Asterholt? Was it Vesna? Or coin? Or something else?"
Tasha gave a barking laugh. "Coin is nice. But the cause, now that's priceless." Her eyes slid to Connor. "Don't worry, Sir. My employer wants you unharmed… mostly. They're eager to meet you."
Sela's lip curled. "Better they meet my blade." She jerked her chin to Zara and the guards, a silent signal to prepare.
"Don't be stupid, Captain," Tasha warned, voice hard. "We've got high ground and numbers. None of you need to die if you hand him over now."
Before Connor could even process that suggestion, Sela spat, "You'll have to kill us first, turncoat."
Tasha's expression soured. She raised her pistol. "Have it your way then."
And with that, she made a slicing gesture downward. On both canyon rims, the ambushers opened fire in concert.
Connor barely ducked back in time as three arrows peppered the wagon's bench and side, one nicking the brim of his hat. Sela raised her shield, catching a bolt meant for her head with a resonant clang. Farrah yelped as a dart grazed her thigh; she gritted her teeth and pressed herself flatter to the wheel, returning a spear throw blindly upward.
Zara cursed. "We need to move or we'll be pin-cushioned!"
Sela scanned rapidly. Ahead through the ravine, a tumble of boulders and a fallen log blocked the path—the ambushers had created a roadblock, sealing them in. Retreating back would likely meet similar obstacles or more sharpshooters.
"Smoke cover," Connor hissed to Thea, grabbing her satchel. He fished out two small vials of alchemical smoke powder she carried for emergencies. With trembling hands, he lit the fuses on each using a conjured spark and hurled them upward toward either side of the canyon. They shattered on rocks, billowing thick plumes of grey smoke that began to obscure the ledges.
Shouts of annoyance rang from above as the attackers' lines of sight were disrupted. Sela seized the moment. "Everyone, charge forward! Push through!"
Zara whooped in agreement, already sprinting ahead along the left wall where the smoke was thickest, using the cover to change position. Nima followed right behind, shield raised to protect their flank.
Connor and Thea clambered out of the wagon footwell, Connor taking Thea's hand to steady her as they crouched and ran after Sela. Farrah stayed a pace behind them, providing cover with her spear aimed upward, warding off any opportunistic ambusher leaning over the ledge.
Through the haze, Connor saw the three melee attackers blocking their path near the rockfall ahead—one was the burly woman with the hand-cannon, back on her feet after being knocked earlier; another was a lanky swordswoman; the third—
Connor's heart clenched—the third was Tasha herself, having slid down a scree path to personally intercept them. She grinned ferally, pistol now holstered in favor of a long knife and a short sword, one in each hand.
She shouted something to her comrades—"Take out the guards first!" perhaps—but Connor couldn't be sure over the din of echoing footsteps and coughs from the smoke. All he knew was that a second later, Tasha was lunging at Sela, steel flashing in each hand.
Sela met her head-on with a savage parry, saber ringing against Tasha's short sword. "Snake!" Sela spat, fury and hurt mingling in her voice.
Tasha bared her teeth. "Not the first to call me that," she sneered, hooking her dagger toward Sela's hip. Sela twisted away, narrowly avoiding the slash, and riposted with a slash that nicked Tasha's forearm. The traitor hissed but held her ground.
Meanwhile, the burly mercenary leveled her hand-cannon at Nima, who was charging her spear raised. Connor reacted on instinct: he reached out with his mind and nudged the cannon's barrel just as it fired. The green alchemical shot that would have hit Nima squarely instead sizzled past her shoulder, exploding against the canyon wall in a splash of acid. Nima didn't slow; she barreled into the gunner shield-first, knocking the woman flat.
The swordswoman engaged Zara, blades clashing with dizzying speed. Zara fought with cold precision, her monster-hunter reflexes driving the attacker back step by step.
Connor pulled Thea behind a boulder for a heartbeat of cover, sucking in a quick breath. "Stay close," he said, voice taut.
She nodded, face grim but determined. In her hand was a throwing knife now, ready to hurl if a target presented.
Peering out, Connor could make out Sela and Tasha dueling fiercely at the center of the pass. Beyond them, through swirling smoke, figures moved on the canyon edges—Sela's riflewomen must be flanking or picking off the remaining archers. A shriek above indicated someone fell or got hit.
"Connor!" Farrah's voice rang out. She was near the wagon still, grappling with a wounded crossbowwoman who had tumbled from the ledge. Connor waved acknowledgment and motioned for her to disengage and retreat toward them. If they could consolidate, they'd have a better chance.
But the fight had fragmented: Sela versus Tasha mid-ravine, Zara finishing the swordswoman with a thrust (the attacker crumpled), Nima wrestling the downed gunner for control of the cannon, Farrah whacking her opponent with the butt of her spear. And somewhere above, presumably, the final ambusher or two were in retreat or already neutralized by smoke and surprise.
A strangled cry ahead made Connor's stomach drop—Tasha had managed to slip a slash past Sela's guard, slicing across the Captain's thigh. Sela stumbled, and Tasha followed up with a vicious backhand swing aimed at Sela's neck.
Connor didn't think—he thrust out his hand. A surge of telekinetic force hit Tasha side-on, spoiling her strike and throwing her off balance. She staggered, eyes widening in rage as she realized he'd intervened.
"You little—!" Tasha snarled, turning her dagger toward Connor even as Sela, bleeding, struggled back to her feet.
Before Tasha could pounce, a crossbow bolt suddenly blossomed in her left shoulder. Tasha cried out, the dagger dropping from her numb hand. Across the ravine, barely visible in thinning smoke, Brynna stood on a rocky outcrop with crossbow raised—when had she arrived? Connor's heart leapt at the sight of her battered Asterholt armor and determined face. Reinforcements at last.
Tasha, furious and now cornered, snapped her gaze between the approaching Brynna and Sela who had regrouped, sword leveled. The battle was lost for her and she knew it.
With a scream of frustration, Tasha hurled her short sword like a spear toward Connor—a final act of spite—and then whirled to flee back up the scree path she'd come.
"Thea!" Connor shouted. Already, Thea had seen the blade flying end-over-end toward them. She yanked Connor down, and they both hit the ground as the sword sailed an inch above Connor's back and clattered harmlessly on stone behind them.
Zara, never one to let prey slip away, dashed after Tasha's limping form. But a thunderous boom echoed then—Brynna had fired her own hand-cannon at the scree just ahead of Tasha. The explosion of rock and dirt knocked Tasha off her feet, sending her sliding back down with a scream. She came to rest at the ravine's bottom, half-buried in rubble, groaning.
"Hold fire!" Sela shouted, limping quickly over to where Tasha lay.
All around, the sounds of fighting died; the last ambusher had been dealt with or captured. Nima stood panting over the unconscious gunner, Farrah and the villagers secured the wounded crossbowwoman. Brynna strode forward through the haze, smoke curling around her like a battle goddess.
Tasha tried feebly to rise, but Sela planted a boot on her chest, sword point hovering at the traitor's throat. Both women were dusty and blood-smeared—Sela from her leg, Tasha from the bolt wound. They locked eyes.
"You," Sela said, voice trembling with emotion—anger, betrayal. "You were like a sister in arms. Why?"
Tasha coughed, blood flecking her lips. She gave a broken laugh. "You'd never understand," she rasped. "All your high ideals… The Echo is beyond your petty politics." Her eyes rolled toward Connor, who was helped to his feet by Thea and Brynna. "You really don't know what he is, do you?"
Sela pressed the sword tip until it drew a bead of blood at Tasha's throat. "Enlighten me," she growled.
But Tasha just closed her eyes, a chilling smile on her face. "The Star will sing and all will be echoes…" she whispered, an almost reverent lilt. "You're already too late."
With that, she slumped. Sela, startled, bent to check—Tasha had bit down on something in her mouth. Self-administered poison. Within seconds, the traitor's body went limp, eyes glassing over as whatever cyanide or venom she carried did its work.
Sela cursed and stepped back, dragging a hand across her face in weary disgust.
A heavy silence fell in the ravine, broken only by the crackle of remaining smoke and the groans of the living wounded. They had survived the ambush—but at cost.
Connor's vision swam for a moment as the adrenaline faded. He felt Thea's steadying arm around him and realized he was shaking. It wasn't from injury—aside from a bruise or two and his overtaxed magic headache, he was fine. It was the shock of how close that had been.
Brynna stepped up, placing a gauntleted hand on his shoulder. "Are you alright, lad?" she asked gently, scanning him for wounds.
He nodded, finding his breath. "Yes… thanks to you all." He managed a wan smile for her. "Perfect timing, Dame Brynna."
Brynna smiled back, eyes warm. "I came as swiftly as I could." Her expression turned serious as she glanced at Tasha's corpse. "It appears my news was accurate—an inside traitor, cult involvement… We've much to discuss."
Sela, though bleeding, immediately barked orders: "Nima, Farrah, secure any intel off these bodies. Zara, see to the villagers that helped—thank them and perhaps impress upon them not to spread details." She winced, putting weight on her injured leg.
"You need bandaging, Captain," Thea said softly, already moving to support Sela. Sela allowed it reluctantly.
Within minutes, they gathered themselves. The Havenmoor militia women who came to help were wide-eyed at the spectacle but obeyed Sela's request to alert no one else yet. Yelena would be told a vague story of highwaymen repelled.
When Connor turned to mount the wagon again, he caught a final glimpse of Tasha's body being covered with a canvas by Zara. For all her crimes, he felt a pang seeing her end this way—a misguided zealot whose last act was trying to murder him.
Brynna followed his gaze. "She was working for a cult called the Daughters of Echo," Brynna said quietly. "Her last words… they're motto-like. We'll talk when we're safe."
Connor nodded heavily. The cult again. It loomed larger now with confirmation.
As the convoy prepared to move, Thea sat beside Connor, slipping her hand into his. He squeezed it gratefully. "Still with me?" he asked, attempting a light tone.
She gave a tired laugh. "Always." Her eyes drifted to the covered shape on the ravine floor. "No more missing porters left to betray us at least."
"Small mercies," Connor murmured.
Brynna rode next to Sela at the front now, ready to share what she'd learned. As they rolled forward, leaving the ambush site behind, Connor realized Act III's troubles had reached a crescendo and passed. But in their wake lay revelations to absorb and a final journey's leg into the truly unknown.
He felt older, wearier—and yet a steely resolve coiled within him. The Echo's true cult was revealed, the final enemy clearer. And ahead waited the crater, where presumably this cult was converging and something otherworldly stirred.
Connor set his eyes on the horizon, where even now a faint unnatural glow from beyond the hills hinted at the crater's presence. Come what may, they would be there by tomorrow.
He reached a hand into his pocket, fingering the little titan-scale trinket Zara had gifted him earlier in the journey. It felt cool and solid in his hand—a reminder that he'd overcome threats before with these companions at his side.
The sun dipped low as they pressed on. A new chapter of Act III beckoned—the approach to the crater and the ultimate mystery awaiting within.
Connor closed his eyes for a moment, centering himself as the wagon jostled onward. Whatever echoes of betrayal still rattled in his heart were replaced by the steady rhythm of determination, beating in time with the wheels carrying them inexorably toward their destiny.
Chapter 22: Brynna's Return & Revelation
Under the wan light of a dying campfire ember, Brynna's face appeared drawn and haunted. They had risked a small flame at dawn—just enough to boil a bit of healing tea and illuminate the grave discussion that had carried through the early morning hours. Now, as a grey pre-dawn light crept into their makeshift hollow, Connor and the others listened with rapt, grim attention to the knight's account.
"I rode out the moment I could walk without a crutch," Brynna began. Her voice was low and measured, each word weighed by import. "Captain, the investigation in Asterholt uncovered more than we bargained for. The sabotage at the reactor, the attempt on Connor in the city—they weren't just Vesna's mercenaries or cartel agents. They were part of something else. A cult."
Across the circle, Sela's jaw tightened. She sat beside Brynna, her injured leg stretched before her, arm still in a sling but posture unbowed. "We suspected a coordinated effort, but an outright cult… Did you learn their name?"
Brynna nodded. "They call themselves the Daughters of Echo. Though it seems not all are women despite the name—like that porter of yours. They've been operating in secret for years, embedded in various places. Waiting for a sign, I suppose." Her green eyes flicked to Connor. "The Falling Star was that sign."
Connor felt a chill despite the warmth of Thea pressed at his side. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Tasha—our traitor—she said something about 'the Echo will consume us' and 'He is coming.' Who is 'He'? Is it…the Echo itself?"
Brynna exhaled slowly. "From what our interrogations and seized letters indicate, the cult believes that when the star fell, it left behind a sort of… entity. They call it the Echo of the Firmament, or just the Star Echo. They speak of it as a consciousness, born from the Falling Star's energy." She paused, letting that sink in.
The space between Connor's shoulder blades prickled. A sentient presence from the star… He exchanged a glance with Sela. The captain's brows were knitted; doubt and worry warred on her face.
Zara, arms crossed, regarded Brynna skeptically. "Sounds like superstition. Rocks falling from the sky don't birth minds."
"Maybe not mere rocks," Brynna allowed, "but consider: Connor's arrival in our world coincided with that meteor shower. A rift in the Veil, perhaps? What if something else came through?"
Connor's heart skipped. He had often wondered if the timing of his appearance and the celestial event were linked. Now it seemed all but confirmed. "You think this Echo… came from my world?" he asked quietly.
"Or from beyond any world," Brynna replied. "The cult's writings speak of an 'Echoed One'—some cosmic wanderer trapped in the falling star, waiting to be reborn. They believe it's conscious, powerful, and seeks a vessel or conduit."
She did not say it explicitly, but Connor felt the implication like a weight on his shoulders. A vessel… a conduit. In Aurelia, Lady Vesna had wanted him as an aether conduit due to his unusual magic. But this cult might have a far darker purpose in mind for him. The thought churned his stomach.
Thea's hand found his and squeezed reassuringly. He realized his breathing had grown fast and forced himself to inhale slowly, quietly, adopting the rhythmic pattern Sela taught—one, two, three, four… and out. Thea didn't let go, grounding him.
"So," Sela said in a steely tone, "the cult orchestrated these attacks to capture Connor, presumably to offer him up to this Echo entity." Her lip curled with disgust.
"And perhaps to eliminate anyone who might interfere with their plans at the crater," Brynna added. She gestured to her torn cloak. "I encountered their scouts along the way. Not an hour before I found you, I dispatched two fanatics trailing up the road. They were headed crater-ward with explosives. Possibly to blast the crater open further or unearth something."
Farrah, cradling her bandaged arm, muttered a curse. Nima shook her head. "They're going to the crater too. How many are we talking, Dame Brynna? An army?"
Brynna grimaced. "Hard to say. It's a cult, not a formal troop. But they have agents scattered about. Some Asterholt officials we thought loyal were secretly coordinating with them. We caught a few, but not all." She hesitated, then added, "One of the Asterholt Council members—Councilor René—she vanished the night after the reactor incident. Left a symbol scorched into her chamber floor: a seven-pointed star."
Connor's blood ran cold. He traced an unconscious finger against his palm, picturing the same symbol. "The amplification rune," he whispered. Of course the cult would adopt it; it was born of the star's energy.
Brynna nodded. "Exactly. They stole the original blueprints from our vaults—likely Tasha's doing—so they have whatever knowledge we had gleaned. Possibly more if they deciphered further. And Councilor René, Emperor help her, she was likely a high-ranking cultist feeding them information. If she's headed to the crater too…" She didn't finish, but they all felt it: the crater might already be crawling with zealots by the time they arrive.
"We'll be walking into a nest of them," Zara said, voice hard. "We few against who knows how many."
A heavy silence followed. The crackling of the tiny fire and the distant call of a morning crow were the only sounds.
Connor felt the weight of their eyes turn to him. Because ultimately, this all revolved around him—his existence, his power, his possible connection to this Echo. They were all risking everything because of it. A familiar swell of guilt and resolve rose in him.
He cleared his throat. "We still have to go. Cult or no cult. If this Echo thing is real… if it's dangerous, then letting them awaken or unleash it is unthinkable." He looked around at his friends—his family, really, after all they'd been through. Sela with her unyielding loyalty, Brynna with her fearless honor, Zara keen and fierce, Thea brave beyond measure, Nima and Farrah steadfast and true. "We might be the only ones in position to stop them. Certainly the only ones who know what's really happening out here."
Sela gave him a proud, somber nod. "Well spoken, my lord." Formality slipped back into her address out of respect. She turned to the rest. "We proceed to the crater. Stealth and strategy will be our advantage. We know they want Connor alive—at least until this entity can claim him or whatever foul ritual they intend. That gives us some leverage and time."
"I doubt they'll just let us stroll in," Zara noted wryly. "They could be setting traps as we speak."
"Then we avoid straightforward approaches," Sela said. She used a stick to sketch in the dirt—a crude map of the crater's rim and surroundings based on the best intelligence they had. "We split up when we get close. Some of us make noise at one side to draw attention, while a smaller team slips into the crater from another angle."
Connor quickly caught on. "A diversion and an infiltration. I should be on the infiltration team—I can sense whatever's down there and maybe communicate with it, if it truly… recognizes me." He almost choked on the last words, the concept bizarre, yet after all that had happened, conceivable.
"Absolutely not alone," Thea interjected, alarm flashing in her eyes.
"Of course not," Sela agreed. "Thea, you'd go with Connor as support. And I'd send one more—"
"I'll go," Zara volunteered immediately.
But Brynna raised a hand. "No, Zara. With your tracking and combat skills, better you circle with Nima and Farrah to set up the diversion—perhaps take out any sentries quietly too. Sela and I…" She looked at Sela, a hint of challenge in her smile, "—we're not exactly subtle in heavy armor. One of us should command the frontal distraction. The other stays back to protect a retreat."
Sela considered. "I'm the louder presence. I'll lead the decoy team with Zara and the guards. Dame Brynna, you stay concealed near the rim to guard our exit and reinforce whichever side needs help. Meanwhile, Connor, Thea slip in amid the confusion and make for the crater's epicenter. Find out what the cult is doing, and put a stop to it. If the Echo entity is there…" She paused, eyes meeting Connor's. "Do what you can. Destroy it or… reason with it, if that's even possible."
Reason with it. Connor doubted a being worshipped by cultists for its malevolence would respond to reason. But he kept that to himself. He simply said, "Understood."
The plan settled over them like a final piece clicking into place. It was risky, every bit of it, but no alternative seemed better.
They doused the fire and prepared to move. There was a hush of determination as they gathered their packs and weapons, each member lost in their own thoughts for a moment.
Connor wrapped a fresh bandage around his left palm where he'd scraped it raw carving the echo rune last night. The gesture felt symbolic—binding up wounds, steeling oneself.
Thea stepped over, adjusting the straps of her light leather armor. She gave him a gentle nudge. "How's the head?" she asked softly.
The headache from the ambush lingered, but bearably. "Better, thanks," he said. He studied her face; smudges of dirt could not hide the resolute set of her jaw, or the flicker of fear in her eyes that she tried hard to quell. "And you? This is… more than you signed up for."
Thea surprised him with a small laugh. "I don't recall signing anything. I came because I believed in you—in what we were doing. That hasn't changed." Her hand found his forearm lightly. "I won't pretend I'm not scared. But as long as we face it together, I trust we'll find a way."
Connor felt an almost overwhelming gratitude. He placed his hand over hers. Words failed, so he simply nodded, hoping she understood the depth of feeling behind the simple gesture.
Nearby, Brynna and Sela spoke in low tones as they polished and loaded weapons. Brynna gave Connor a nod of encouragement and a faint wink when she caught him looking—a reminder of shared battles, of trust forged in blood. Sela approached as everyone was nearly ready, her limp pronounced but her gaze sharp.
"Connor, a word," she said. She drew him a few steps aside under the shade of a boulder. Brynna tactfully occupied the others with last-minute gear checks.
Up close, Connor noticed new lines of fatigue around Sela's eyes. She hadn't truly rested in days, it seemed. She took a breath, as if gathering courage for what she wanted to say.
"I… never properly thanked you for saving my life in that wolf attack," she began quietly, surprising him. "Or for shielding all of us at Havenmoor, or even back there in the canyon despite—" She stopped, glancing at the dried blood that still flecked his collar. She reached out and, in a surprisingly tender gesture, wiped a bit of it away with her thumb. "Despite the toll on you."
Connor felt heat rise to his cheeks. "I did what I had to, Captain. As you would for me. For any of us."
She nodded. "I know. That's why I…" Her throat bobbed with an uncharacteristic hesitation. "I need you to promise me something now. In the crater, if that entity tries to… to take you, or if the power starts to overwhelm you—" She faltered, searching his face. "Promise you won't sacrifice yourself recklessly. We will find another way, no matter what it is. Just don't throw yourself away thinking it will save us. Losing you would…" She trailed off, unable to finish, but the rare cracks in her stoic demeanor spoke volumes.
Emotion constricted Connor's chest. He saw in her fierce protective eyes the mirror of his own resolve: each was willing to die for the other, if it came to it. But both needed the other to live. He managed a faint smile. "I promise to be as careful as I can. And I'll come back. We both will, all of us." He hoped he sounded convincing, for both their sakes.
Sela studied him, then placed a hand briefly on his cheek—a gesture so maternal and tender it almost undid him. "Good man," she said softly. Then, as if the moment risked lasting too long, she pulled away and cleared her throat. Back to business.
By full daylight, they set out, leaving behind the hollow and the last remnants of Act II's pursuit. Ahead lay the final approach to the Falling Star Crater. The terrain turned stranger with each mile. They encountered sections of scorched earth where the soil glittered with glassy sand fused by intense heat, likely from the star's impact. Once, they passed a ring of ancient standing stones—perhaps a ruin from eons ago—that hummed faintly as Connor walked among them, resonating with his very presence like tuning forks.
The ambient aether grew thicker, like a mist only Connor could feel. His senses became hypersensitive; occasionally he winced at flares of energy that others couldn't see, like invisible lightning dancing along the ground in certain spots. He warned the others to detour around such places, trusting his intuition to guide them safely.
Near mid-afternoon, they topped a ridge of black basalt and finally beheld their destination.
The Falling Star Crater sprawled before them, several miles across, as if a giant had punched a bowl into the earth. Its edges were jagged, rising in cliffs of obsidian-like rock. Within, strange lights shimmered: bluish vapor clouds twisting in slow spirals, and shards of rock hovering unnaturally above the ground, drifting in lazy orbits. The very air over the crater wavered like a desert mirage despite the cool day, hinting at warped gravity and lingering arcane forces.
For a moment, all of them stood in awe and dread at the sight. It was a landscape both wondrous and foreboding—the scar of another world's touch upon this one.
"There it is," Brynna murmured, resting a hand on the hilt of her longsword as if the familiar steel might anchor her against the unreality ahead.
Sela's eyes scanned the crater's rim. "Keep low. We don't know where they might have lookouts." The group dropped into a crouch, using scrub and rocks for cover as they advanced to a better vantage.
Connor could not tear his gaze from the crater's interior. Even from here, he sensed something pulsing at its center—a slow throb in the aether, like the heartbeat of a colossal sleeping beast. It was faint but undeniable, calling to that sixth sense of his. He suppressed a shiver. Was that the Echo? Was it aware of them already?
Zara returned from a quick scout to the east. "I saw movement on the far rim—figures, maybe two. Likely sentries. They didn't see me."
Sela pursed her lips. "Alright. This is where we split." She reiterated the plan in terse whispers: She, Zara, Nima, Farrah would circle eastward and make a bold entrance near the most obvious slope path, drawing the cultists' focus. Brynna would station herself on a western promontory with her bow, ready to snipe or charge as needed. And Connor with Thea would sneak down a secondary path on the north side, slipping into the crater while the enemy's eyes were elsewhere.
Each nodded in understanding. There were no lengthy goodbyes or speeches. But as they parted ways with final clasped forearms and brief embraces, much was conveyed in silence—gratitude, love, and the unspoken hope that they would all reunite when it was done.
Thea stayed glued to Connor's side as they crept along a cleft in the northern rocks. Brynna gave him one last encouraging salute before she ghosted away into the shadows of an outcrop, her armor wrapped in cloth to mute its shine.
Connor and Thea descended carefully, sometimes crawling to avoid silhouetting themselves. The crater's edge loomed nearer, and the peculiar energies intensified. Pebbles on the ground trembled occasionally and lifted an inch or two before plunking back down. Thea watched one with wide eyes. "This place is alive," she whispered.
Connor just nodded. He felt it too. A pressure in his skull that wasn't pain but a sensation of being probed, like fingers drumming on the edges of his mind. Steady… he told himself, inhaling and exhaling slowly as they hugged the rocks.
Then, echoing faintly across the vast bowl, they heard it: a horn blast, and distant shouts. Sela's diversion had engaged the cultists on the far side. Connor prayed his friends were holding their own. Every instinct told him to hurry, to finish this so he could aid them. But he forced a patient pace. A reckless sprint now could spell disaster if he blundered into a trap or the entity unprepared.
Thea tapped his shoulder and pointed. Ahead, through a gauzy bank of violet mist, they could make out structures—tents? No, ruins. As they crept closer, the mist parted to reveal the remnants of what looked like an encampment and an ancient site combined.
Torn canvas tarps fluttered from poles—evidence that the cultists had established a base here recently. Bedrolls, supply crates, and ritual paraphernalia lay strewn about as if abandoned in haste. Perhaps when Sela's team attacked, the occupants of this camp rushed off to join the fray.
But dominating the scene was something older and more ominous: a circle of standing stones carved with seven-pointed star symbols, much larger and more weathered than any cult handiwork. It seemed the cult had set up around this prehistoric stone circle at the crater's center—maybe built by some long-dead civilization that had witnessed a similar event ages past.
At the very center of the stone ring was a depression—a small secondary crater within the crater. And within that depression, Connor saw what at first looked like a still pond of mercury, perfectly reflective. A pool of liquid light.
No, not liquid. A shimmer, a presence—flat yet three-dimensional, a disc of swirling radiance about ten feet across, hovering inches above the ground. It cast no shadow. As Connor and Thea edged nearer, they noticed it gently undulating, surface rippling as if stirred by an invisible breeze or something from beneath.
Connor's breath caught. Every sense in him screamed that this was the source. That pulsing he'd felt—it emanated from here. The Echo…
He motioned Thea to stay low behind a toppled crate at the circle's edge. They peered over it, scanning for any remaining cultists guarding this holy of holies. None immediately visible. The battle must have drawn them all away for now.
And yet, Connor did not feel alone. Far from it. An overwhelming sensation of presence saturated the air, centered on that shining pool. It was as if a million eyes were suddenly upon him, though physically nothing stirred.
He swallowed, mouth dry. Thea looked to him, awaiting a cue, face taut with awe and apprehension. Connor gave a slight nod and stepped forward into the stone circle, one careful foot after another, until he was at the rim of the strange shimmering pool.
From up close, he could see shifting images in the mercurial surface. His own reflection was there, bent and wavering. But as he gazed, it wasn't just him—other shapes flickered across the silver sheen, impossible to pin down: landscapes, starfields, faces… He sucked in a sharp breath. For the briefest moment he thought he saw his mother's face, then Marisela's, then Sela's, all in the span of a heartbeat. Echoes of memory? Or bait, designed to lure him closer?
Behind him, Thea rose slowly from cover, unable to resist the sight. She drew nearer but kept a respectful distance, not entering the stone circle. "Connor," she whispered, "do you feel that? It's like it's looking at us."
Before he could respond, a voice sounded—a low, resonant murmur that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. It wasn't heard with the ears so much as felt inside the skull, like an idea spoken directly into their minds.
"At last… you have come."
Connor's heart seized. Thea clamped her hands over her mouth to stifle a gasp. Both of them turned instinctively, expecting to see someone behind. But the crater was empty save for them.
It was the pool—the voice came from the pool.
Connor stepped closer to it, boots crunching on crystalline sand. He tried to keep his voice steady. "Who are you?" he called softly.
The reflective surface of the pool began to churn, swirls coalescing into vague shapes of light. Connor's reflection disappeared into a haze of brightness. The standing stones around them hummed, each rune carving lighting up with pale fire in response.
The voice came again, stronger this time, like a chorus layered over itself, male and female, young and old, all at once. "I have had many names. None in this tongue. You may call me Echo, if you must use a word."
Thea had crept to Connor's side now, her eyes huge. Connor felt her hand find his and squeeze, but he barely registered it, transfixed by the spectacle in front of him.
Within the pool, the light swirled faster, rising. An amorphous column took shape, extending upward from the liquid glow—humanoid in outline but shifting, as if made of mist and starlight.
Connor could see what looked like arms, a suggestion of a head and shoulders. But instead of a face, the front of the head was a vortex of luminescence, a constantly changing visage. One moment it hinted at angular, alien features; the next it flickered to mirror something disturbingly familiar: for a split second, Connor was staring at a ghostly version of his own face.
He recoiled slightly, and the figure's face became featureless once more, an empty light.
A gentle sound emanated—like the echo of distant whale-song mixed with a sigh. The being took a step (or what passed for a step) forward, hovering just above the ground within the stone circle. It regarded the two humans before it.
"So long… since I had form," it said, "so long since I touched a mind like yours, Connor."
The sound of his name spoken by this entity froze Connor's blood. It knew him. Not just as the cult's target, but truly knew him. The way it said his name… with an almost intimate familiarity.
Thea was trembling; she whispered, "How does it know—?"
"Why do you know my name?" Connor said hoarsely, fighting to keep his voice from shaking.
Within the pool, the light swirled faster, rising higher up the column of the Echo's form. Connor felt a pressure in his skull, like fingers rifling through pages of his memories. Images flashed in his mind unbidden: the bushfire on Earth, the roaring flames… the pain and clarity in those final moments as he shoved the girl out of harm's way… his own death.
Tears sprang to his eyes at the sudden vivid recollection. The Echo made a soft sound almost like compassion.
"I saw you then," it said, "in the between-place, when fire took you. A brave soul, untethered and shining. Through the rift I came and clung to you, little ember, carried along your wake. You brought me here."
Connor's mind reeled. The roaring in his ears could have been the memory of the fire, or the blood rushing with shock. This… thing… hitchhiked on his death? Followed him through whatever cosmic door delivered him to this world?
He remembered those early days in Aurelia, Marisela's theory that the starfall and his arrival were intertwined. Now here was the proof, from the star's own echoing ghost.
Thea looked at Connor, confusion and dawning understanding in her expression as she pieced together what she could from the Echo's words. She knew he was from "elsewhere" but not the details. Now was hardly the time to explain, and it seemed the Echo was doing it anyway.
"I… carried you here?" Connor said hoarsely, barely believing his own words.
"In a fashion," the Echo replied. "I was but an impression, scattered and weak. When the star that brought me shattered, I became stuck—diffused in this crater, half-aware. I needed a focus… an anchor. It has taken time, but your presence nearby—your resonance—stirs me to coherence once more."
The swirling form drifted nearer until it was only an arm's length from Connor. Thea instinctively raised her dagger in her free hand, teeth gritted.
The Echo's head tilted, as if noticing Thea for the first time. The chorus of its voice gentled. "Peace, child. I mean no harm to you. My interest is in the one who bridges worlds."
It extended a nebulous hand toward Connor. There were flickers inside its semi-transparent limb—glints of starry sky, as though its form contained a window to the cosmos.
Connor's legs felt rooted, equal parts terror and enthrallment. The being radiated a curious warmth that wasn't physical; it plucked at his emotions directly, alternating waves of comfort and dread.
"What… what do you want with me?" he managed.
Before the Echo answered, a burst of sound crackled from behind them—a flare of gunfire from the battle. A streak of red alchemical flame arced into the crater sky on the far side. The Echo's form snapped its head in that direction, the light in its face flaring brighter for an instant.
"They disrupt the aether with their petty skirmish," it said, almost petulantly. "The Daughters, those zealots… they served to hasten your coming, but now they are noise." There was an unmistakable disdain in its tone.
The cultists—noise to it. Tools, nothing more.
Thea took the moment of distraction to whisper urgently to Connor, "We should destroy that thing—now, while it's focused elsewhere." She had her dagger, but clearly that wouldn't hurt this entity. Her other hand hovered near her pouch of throwing knives nervously.
Connor understood her fear, and part of him was inclined to lash out too. But he wasn't sure brute force would work—this wasn't a foe like any they'd faced. And… a quiet part of him didn't want to destroy it, not yet. It was the key to so many questions—about him, about the universe. Perhaps even a way home, if such a thing existed.
He gently squeezed Thea's hand in a gesture of patience. "Not yet," he breathed.
The Echo turned back to them, its attention refocused. "They wanted me to be their god," it said, almost amused. "All their rituals and blood spilled, thinking it would earn them my favor. Primitive minds." Its glowing head swiveled between Connor and Thea. "But I have no need for acolytes. I need only a conduit—a way to fully exist in this world. And you, Connor, opened that path once. You can open it again."
At that, Thea stepped in front of Connor, as if to shield him from the cosmic being. "He's a person, not some tool for you," she snapped, voice trembling but defiant.
The Echo's form flickered, and for a moment the face of Councilor René appeared within its glow—perhaps a memory of the last person who attempted to speak to it thus. "All people are tools for something, child," it answered dispassionately, then looked to Connor. "In your world, I was a mere phantom. Here, I can be real. Don't you see? We are two exiles, you and I."
Connor felt a pang at those words. Exile—yes, he'd felt that loneliness keenly since arriving. To hear it from this entity was almost empathic. But he couldn't forget what it had done—manipulating events, costing lives, all in pursuit of becoming "real."
He summoned strength into his voice. "And if I refuse to help you manifest? What then? Will you kill me? Force me?"
The Echo emitted a sound like wind chimes in a sigh. "Kill you? I would rather not. Without you, I remain diffuse. If you refuse… I suppose I continue as I have, half-aware for eons, or seek another bridge—perhaps that spirited friend of yours? She too has a glimmer, but not like yours…" It regarded Thea briefly; Thea snarled silently in response, blade at the ready.
"But truly, Connor," the Echo pressed, "why would you refuse? I offer knowledge. Power beyond what these petty sorceresses and guilds could dream. I have touched the stars, roamed the void between worlds. With me, your magic—our magic—would be limitless. You could reshape reality as you see fit. Right the wrongs of this world… perhaps even return to the one you lost."
Connor's heart thudded. The temptation slid into him like a velvet dagger. Return to the world he lost—Earth. Was that possible? This being might know the way, might have the power to tear open the path. He could see his family again, the life he left behind…
He realized his hand had drifted toward the Echo's outstretched luminous hand, as if of its own accord. He snatched it back, clenching his fist. Focus. The Echo's words resonated too well with his private yearnings—no doubt intentionally.
He steadied himself, recalling the faces of those who relied on him here: Marisela's kind smile, Sela's steady eyes, Thea's unwavering trust right at his side. This world had given him purpose, bonds he never imagined. He couldn't betray that for a honeyed promise.
Connor straightened, meeting the swirling gaze of the Echo. "I am not your pawn," he said, voice firm. "And I've no interest in godhood or whatever you seek. I just want to protect the people I care about—from you, if need be."
The Echo's form drew back slightly, the light intensifying. Something like disappointment rippled across the mental link. Then anger. The standing stones around the circle vibrated, humming discordantly.
"Foolish," the voice reverberated, deeper now, resonant enough that Thea winced in pain, covering her ears. "You would reject the cosmos for these gnats? You truly take after the primitive apes of this sphere."
Its form began to loft higher, expanding. The liquid light pool beneath bubbled violently, sending up tendrils of brightness that licked at the air. The ground shook—Connor had to widen his stance to keep balance.
The Echo was losing its gentle façade. "If you will not join willingly, you will still serve, Connor. When you die—here and now—your unraveling spirit will feed me fully into this realm. Perhaps not as elegant as bonding with you alive, but sufficient."
With that chilling pronouncement, the Echo raised a nebulous arm. The seven standing stones flared in response, and beams of crackling energy arced between them, forming a cage of light around the circle—around Connor and Thea. The trap sprung, too fast to avoid.
Thea cried out as one beam passed near her; even being grazed by its radiance made her arm numb and cold. Connor lunged to catch her as she stumbled.
He looked up, adrenaline surging. The Echo loomed above them like a glowing specter of doom, drawing power from the ritual stones that the cult no doubt prepared for this exact moment. The air within the cage crackled with multi-colored lightning.
Out of the corner of his eye, Connor saw a figure sprinting toward the circle from the mist—Brynna, drawn by the commotion, no doubt. Her face was a mix of horror and determination. She loosed an arrow from her bow; it sizzled through the energy barrier and evaporated into nothing before reaching the Echo.
The knight didn't falter—she kept running, tossing aside her bow and drawing sword. "Connor!" she yelled, desperation in her voice.
Inside the trap, Connor grimaced. He quickly pushed Thea behind him, sheltering her with his body as arcs of energy danced perilously close. One misstep into those beams and they'd be fried to ash, he suspected.
Options whirled through his mind. Attack with his power? He had to try, though he feared how his aether might react with the Echo's. But if he did nothing, they were done.
He met Thea's terrified gaze. Still, she managed a nod to him, trust implicit even now.
Steeling himself, Connor planted his feet. He summoned the deepest well of his magic, ignoring the throbbing protest in his skull from yesterday's overexertion. Fine tendrils of telekinetic force snaked out from his hands, probing the cage for any weakness.
The beams danced wildly under his attempt—he felt them pushing back, threatening to overload his senses with raw aether. The Echo poured more of its power through, almost contemptuous.
"Your tricks are useless here," it thundered. "Be still and die with some grace."
With a sweeping motion of its arm, the cage of light began contracting, the standing stones inching inward as if pulled by invisible chains. The space for Connor and Thea shrank step by step.
Outside the ring, Brynna reached the perimeter. She hacked at one of the megaliths with her sword, grunting with effort. The blade bit stone, chipping it, but a backlash of energy knocked her on her back with a pained cry, her sword flying from her grip. She lay dazed for a moment, the front of her armor scorched.
Seeing Brynna fall stirred something in Connor—a burning refusal to let any more friends be hurt by this creature. He felt anger rising to meet fear, crystallizing into resolve. The Echo wanted to feed on his spirit? It would find it not so easily devoured.
He thrust both arms out, palms facing the nearest energy beam. He thought of Sela's training, the steady breath, the metronome. He would shape this chaotic magic, or break against it trying.
Teeth gritted, Connor poured his telekinetic force into a focused wedge, aiming to pry open a gap in the cage. At first, nothing—just blinding pain as raw aether fought back, stinging his nerves. He roared in defiance, digging deeper, finding that quiet center amid the storm of power. The beam in front of him quivered, then split—just a tiny opening, flickering unstable.
"Thea, now!" he shouted.
Without hesitation, Thea sprang for the gap. Connor dove after, feeling the searing burn as stray tendrils of energy licked his arm and shoulder. Agony flared, but then they were out—sprawled on the ground outside the ring as the energy cage sparked violently behind them, trying to recombine.
The Echo gave a discordant screech, its featureless face snapping down toward the escaped prey. Brynna was already on her feet again despite a limp. She grabbed Thea by the arm, helping pull her further clear. Connor scrambled up, half his sleeve charred and skin beneath blistered, but adrenaline masked the pain.
The standing stones began to move, realigning under the Echo's will for another strike. Connor realized this might be their only slim chance while it reconfigured.
Brynna passed in front of him, interposing herself between Connor and the Echo with shield raised. "Go!" she barked over her shoulder. "I'll hold it off—"
Before she could finish, a sudden explosive crack rang out. One of the megaliths shuddered, a chunk blown off its side. Another crack—rifle fire! Across the crater, on a ridge, Connor spotted tiny figures: Zara and Sela's group. Sela stood braced, smoke rising from the barrel of a captured longrifle. They must have fought through the cultists and seen the entity. Now they were firing on the standing stones, rightly guessing those were channeling its power.
The Echo let out a howl that resonated in the very stones. The ground around the ring ruptured as it directed energy outward in a shockwave. Brynna planted her shield, but the concussive force flung all three humans—Brynna, Connor, Thea—back like leaves in a gale. Connor hit the dirt hard, winding him. Brynna was thrown onto her back again, and Thea tumbled to the side with a yelp.
Dazed, Connor rolled onto his side. His vision blurred; the world was ringing. He saw the Echo, no longer a vaguely human size, but towering now, a pillar of wrathful light in the center of the circle. The standing stones around it were cracking under strain, their ancient surfaces unable to fully contain the surging power.
It was going to unleash something catastrophic—Connor could sense the build-up like the mother of all thunderstorms about to break. Perhaps it meant to obliterate friend and foe alike in one blow.
Summoning the last reserves of his strength, Connor dragged himself to his knees. Brynna and Thea were stirring, alive but stunned. Sela and Zara were rushing closer from the ridge, but they'd never make it in time.
The Echo coalesced a brilliant orb of energy between its "hands," a crackling sun of lethal force. It pulsed once—Connor felt the hair on his arms rise, knowing the next pulse would be release.
He locked eyes with Thea, who watched him with fear and unshakeable faith even now. And then he looked beyond, to the Echo entity that hungered for freedom at any cost.
In that fractional moment, Connor made his choice. Agency and responsibility merged—his will honed to a single point. He might not stop this being permanently, but he could sure as hell derail it.
With a strangled cry, he flung himself forward, right back into the stone circle, straight toward the Echo. He extended one hand and, with every ounce of magic and life left in him, formed a counter-surge—a crude, unrefined blast aimed not to kill (he doubted he could) but to disrupt.
His outstretched palm slammed against the forming orb of energy in the Echo's grasp. For an instant, time froze. Connor's mind filled with blinding light and a cacophony of voices not his own—a sensation of standing at the edge of an infinite echo chamber.
Then came the detonation.
A soundless explosion of pure light engulfed the crater's center. Those watching saw only a white flash and fell back, covering their eyes. The standing stones finally gave up, each monolith bursting into fragments that rained down like meteor shards. The Echo's towering figure was swallowed in the glare alongside Connor's small form.
When the brilliance faded, a strange calm settled. The heart of the crater was a smoking ruin of shattered stone and glassed earth. The Echo entity was nowhere to be seen—dispersed? Destroyed? There was no way to tell yet. Only a faint shimmering haze remained, drifting like fading fireworks.
And at the very center lay Connor, motionless on his back, half-buried in fine glowing dust.
"Connor!" Thea screamed, stumbling to her feet and racing into the debris field towards him. Brynna limped after, face stricken. From the other side, Sela, Zara, and the guards sprinted as well, having witnessed the cataclysm in horror.
Thea reached him first. She fell to her knees beside Connor, frantically brushing dust and grit off his face and neck. He wasn't moving. "No no no… Connor, please," she sobbed, fingers trembling as she felt for a pulse at his throat.
A beat… then another. Faint, but present.
"He's alive!" she cried out, a giddy mix of relief and panic. His pulse was thready and he remained unconscious, eyes closed as if merely in deep sleep.
Sela's head snapped up. "Connor? Can you hear us?" She leaned over him.
His eyes fluttered, not fully opening yet. His breathing quickened into a shallow pant as consciousness tried to claw back. Thea continued murmuring to him softly, encouraging.
Finally, those grey-blue eyes she knew so well blinked open, unfocused but alive. Connor gazed up at Thea's tear-streaked face, then at Sela and Brynna leaning over, with Zara and the others forming a concerned ring.
He managed a weak, lopsided smile. "We… we did it?" he croaked, voice raw.
A collective laugh—half joy, half release of tension—rippled through the group.
"You did it, you unbelievable man," Sela said, laughing through a sob she no longer bothered to hide. She grasped his uninjured hand and squeezed firmly, like a proud parent might.
Connor winced (her gauntleted grip still strong), but he squeezed back lightly. "The Echo… gone?" he rasped.
They looked around. The unnatural glow had faded; gravity felt normal again; silence reigned aside from their voices and the distant caw of returning crows. It seemed, at least for now, the entity was indeed dispersed.
"Likely banished or weakened severely," Brynna said. "If it ever shows its face again, it will find us ready."
A shadow of uncertainty passed over Connor's face, as if he alone felt some lingering presence. But it melted into weary contentment as Thea brushed his forehead soothingly. He let his eyes close again, exhausted beyond measure, but now in the gentle company of allies.
Thea looked up at the others. "He'll be alright, but he needs rest. We should get him out of this crater."
"Agreed," Sela said. She stood and began marshaling tasks, back in Captain mode: secure the area, salvage any useful supplies, prepare a stretcher for Connor.
Nima and Farrah nodded and hurried to fetch poles and canvas from the abandoned cult camp. Zara offered Brynna a shoulder; the Dame finally allowed herself to lean, clearly nursing a twisted knee.
As they all set about these tasks, Thea stayed with Connor. She dabbed at a smudge on his face with a corner of her sleeve. He opened his eyes a crack to peer at her. "You're fussing," he mumbled, a ghost of his cheeky grin appearing.
"Hush," she chided gently, relief and affection flooding her tone. "I'm tending. Big difference."
He might have chuckled if it didn't hurt so much. Instead, he shifted painfully and managed to lift his good arm towards her. She understood, carefully lowering herself to hug him against her, mindful of his burns. His head rested on her shoulder; she could feel his heartbeat gradually steadying against her chest.
In that embrace, amid the ruins of the Echo's altar, all the strain and fear of the previous days finally eased from Connor's mind. They had done it—together. The cost had been great, but the worst outcome averted.
"We'll get you patched up," Thea whispered into his hair. "Then it's back to Asterholt, and maybe a year of sleep for you."
Connor mustered a faint "Sounds lovely," against her collar.
Within the hour, the companions were ready to depart the crater. They bore new scars—burns, bruises, a stitched cut above Brynna's brow, a sling for Sela's re-strained arm, and the invisible marks of trauma in their eyes—but they also carried something else: triumph tempered with hard-won wisdom.
At the crater's rim, Connor insisted on being helped to his feet to take one last look back. Propped between Sela and Zara, he gazed at the silent bowl beneath. The stone circle lay broken, the evil it channeled dissipated to the winds. Sunlight poured down innocently now, as if the land were just land again.
Yet Connor couldn't shake the sense that this wasn't truly an ending. Something of the Echo lingered—a whisper at the farthest edge of hearing, an imprint on his soul. Perhaps it always would, for it had twined with him in ways even he did not fully grasp. Echoes can fade, but do they ever truly die? he wondered.
He thought of the Echo's last look at him—was it rage or sorrow?—and what it had said about being two exiles. In slaying it (if that's what he'd done), had he also cut off his own road home for good? The possibility gave him a pang of melancholy and relief all at once. Home… perhaps that idea had evolved for him.
Thea appeared at his side, slipping an arm around his waist to support his weight, drawing him out of his reverie. "Ready?" she asked softly.
Connor turned from the crater, letting his gaze fall on Thea's freckled, determined face, then Sela's proud smile, Brynna's respectful nod, Zara's playful salute, and the others waiting to escort him. His family in this world.
He nodded, a smile touching his lips despite his fatigue. "Ready."
With that, they began the trek back up out of the crater, leaving behind the echo of the fallen star and stepping forward, together, into whatever dawn awaited beyond Act III.
As they crested the crater's rim, Connor cast one last glance over his shoulder. Far below, for just an instant, he thought he saw a faint glimmer in the air, as if some formless eye winked at him from the shadows of broken stones. Then it was gone.
Connor couldn't be sure if it was real or imagination. Perhaps an echo of a voice brushed his mind—warm, familiar, and oddly content: We will meet again, conduit.
He shivered, but Thea's hold tightened around him, and he turned away resolutely. If there were more echoes to come—be they of men or gods—he would face them on his own terms.
Act III closed under the midday sun, the heroes battered but unbowed as they journeyed back, their figures growing distant against the wild horizon. And though none could say what shadows or lights would play out in Act IV, one truth rang clear in Connor's heart with each step: in a world of echoes, he would strive to remain a voice of his own, forging fate from choice, and guided always by the friendships that had become his true home.