The forest was hushed.
Not with peace, but with exhaustion. As if even the trees and stone were still reeling from the chaos that had swept through the world just days before. The storm had passed, but its aftershocks lingered in the air, thick and pulsing. The silence left behind was not calm. It was heavy.
Neil moved slowly through the wreckage of what had once been a small glade. Twisted trees lay fallen. The ground was littered with broken branches, torn roots, and blood-stained leaves. He stepped carefully over a torn piece of cloak—child-sized.
His hands trembled.
It had been five days. Five long days since the sky had cracked open and taken the children from them. Since the air itself had turned against them, boiling their lungs and burning their veins. Five days of stillness. Of recovery. Of reflection.
Neil looked down at his hands. They had stilled now. No longer shaking, no longer streaked with blood. But the memory clung to them. Like ash.
Calen was resting behind him, his breathing shallow. The older elf's wounds were internal, deeper than Neil could fully understand. Despite the circulation of energy, Neil had only managed to slow the damage. Calen was stable, but fragile.
Elara sat a short distance away, legs folded, eyes half-closed. She hadn't spoken much since that day. Her voice, usually steady and patient, had turned distant. Not hostile, but cold. Focused entirely on the two who remained.
Neil didn't try to force words from her.
Instead, he turned inward.
He had recovered physically. The torn tissue and overextended nerves from the tomb's backlash were now fully healed. His energy flowed easily again. But it was different.
He was different.
The world had changed, and so had he.
The energy that surrounded them had grown heavier, richer. It was no longer the thin mist he had once sensed so easily across kilometers. Now it was a dense ocean, turbulent and deep. His senses, once precise and far-reaching, now felt muffled by the sheer volume. What had once been a gentle brush against distant life was now a chaotic flood that clouded clarity.
His effective range had shrunk. He could still feel the energy, but now only within a few hundred meters. It forced him to rely more on his sight, on instincts honed not just through power, but discipline.
It reminded him that power without control was just noise.
Neil sat cross-legged and extended his senses outward, carefully calibrating the flow of energy within his body. He mapped each meridian, each pathway, adjusted the balance. He didn't rush. Every shift in circulation was made with deliberate precision. He spent hours doing this now. Practicing. Rebuilding his foundation.
He had almost died because of his own greed.
Because he had thought strength was enough.
He had broken through to Inner Luminarity, but it had come with a cost. Too much energy, too fast. His body could bear it, barely. But his mind, his spirit, were still catching up. If he were to survive whatever this world was turning into, he couldn't afford more recklessness.
Behind him, Calen stirred. Neil rose to check on him. The elf's breathing was weak, but steady. Neil placed a hand lightly against Calen's back and channeled a soft stream of energy into his spine. It wouldn't heal the internal wounds completely, but it would ease the pain.
Elara watched, but said nothing.
When he returned to sit beside her, she finally broke the silence.
"We should move soon."
Neil nodded. "Not far. He can't be carried long like that."
"We'll find a place. Higher ground. Somewhere safer."
"The energy's still shifting. I don't know if any place is truly safe now."
She didn't argue. Just looked out at the forest. Her face had the same unreadable quality it had during their first weeks of travel together.
After a pause, she spoke again. "Did you feel it? The moment the air changed?"
Neil nodded. "I thought I imagined it at first. But something snapped."
"The world is unraveling. Or maybe becoming something new."
They fell back into silence.
Later, Neil rose and moved to scout the perimeter. He kept close, his senses fully extended. Though he could only scan a few hundred meters, his visual perception compensated. He began using energy vision instinctively now, watching how the flows bent around trees, how it shimmered faintly on leaves, how the air itself distorted with new density.
It wasn't just the energy that had changed. The wildlife, too, had shifted.
He passed by signs of larger predators. Claw marks on trees, gouges deeper than anything he had seen weeks ago. Tracks left behind by beasts easily reaching Muscle Sinew tier. The world was accelerating.
The stronger energy was changing everything.
He returned by dusk.
Elara had prepared a weak broth over a low fire. Calen was sleeping again, covered in a thick cloak. Neil sat across from her.
She finally looked at him. Truly looked.
"We needed you, Neil."
He swallowed hard.
"I know."
"But you weren't there."
The weight of it fell over him like a stone. He didn't defend himself. Didn't explain.
He only nodded.
"I'm here now."
"I hope that will be enough."
They didn't speak again that night. But when she handed him a bowl of broth, her fingers brushed his.
It wasn't forgiveness. Not yet. Maybe never.
But it was something.
And that was enough.
For now.
Elara stirred behind him, the weight of grief and exhaustion etched into her face. She was trying to soothe Calen, whose breathing had grown shallow, each exhale rattling in his chest. Neil turned back toward them, jaw tight. The damage done to the young elves was irreversible, but Calen was still breathing. Barely.
Neil dropped to his knees beside him, his hands moving automatically. He tried reinforcing Calen's body using external energy, tracing along the surface of his skin, searching for channels that weren't torn or ruptured. Every time he found a weak point and tried to stabilize it, another broke open deeper within. It was like trying to dam a river with crumbling stones.
"Elara," Neil said quietly. "I don't know how much longer he'll hold on."
She didn't answer right away. Her fingers brushed Calen's hair from his face, the gentleness of the gesture jarring against the brutality of the scene. Finally, she whispered, "He was the one who kept the others calm when I couldn't. When we were walking through the deeper woods, he made them laugh."
Neil swallowed hard.
"He stayed up every night on watch without complaint. Even when his arm was wounded. He didn't want the children to be afraid." Her voice broke, just slightly. "He told them they'd be safe once you came back."
Neil's hands curled into fists. "I was too slow."
"No," Elara said, not looking at him. "You were too late."
The truth of it struck harder than any blade. He had spent days recovering, fine-tuning his power, promising himself he was doing the right thing. That he would be ready. And now, all his readiness amounted to was kneeling in the dirt beside someone who would soon die.
Calen's chest hitched sharply, a gurgle of breath escaping. Neil instinctively moved to help, pouring his Core energy around the young elf's chest, trying to at least ease the pain. But his limbs jerked slightly in response, and Neil could tell his consciousness was fading.
"I don't think he can even hear us," Neil murmured.
Elara reached out and held Calen's hand in both of hers. She was silent for a long time, and then said, almost too softly to hear, "It's not fair."
Neil agreed. But fairness had no place here.
He stood slowly, looking away toward the horizon, where the storm had begun to retreat. Black clouds still lingered, pulsing with dull light, but they were breaking apart. As if the world had already forgotten what it had just done.
A low groan escaped Calen's throat. Elara tightened her grip on his hand, her eyes searching Neil's for anything. Hope. A miracle. Some flicker that the world wasn't as cruel as it seemed.
But Neil had nothing left to give.
He stepped away, giving them space. He walked a short distance from the group, not because he needed to scout or act as lookout—but because the guilt sat like a stone in his gut. He didn't cry. But he felt hollow.
He had chased strength. Had climbed through pain and blood to reach new heights. And in the end, when it mattered, none of it was enough.
He looked back once, at the dying firelight in Calen's eyes.
Then he turned his face to the trees, and prepared to carry the weight.