Chapter 68 The Man Belonging to the Shadows
The trail reacted.
Roots exploded from the ground, trying to pull me back, trying to protect me. Lior fought against them, his face distorted.
“They promised I would be whole!” He shouted, lunging forward again. “That I would cease to be an echo!”
I rolled to the side, feeling the ground vibrate beneath my hands. The mark burned—not from fear, but from command.
“You are not empty.” I said, breathless. “Just broken.”
Lior’s laughter cut through the air.
“I am the shadows!” he says with a terrifying smile on his face. “We are one.”
Fighting against the vegetation that seemed to have a life of its own, Lior runs towards me. His dagger lunges at me, trying to tear my neck.
I dodge with agility, each attack after that. I can’t think of an escape plan, only to dodge his well-calculated movements.
I gripped the blade that was heading towards my stomach, and Lior took advantage of the distraction. His legs violently collided with mine, causing me to fall to the ground.
Soon Lior was on top of me, trying to plunge the dagger into my neck.
"Your blood will soak this land, and never again will a creature dare to face the darkness!"
Lior shouted, smiling broadly, like a madman.
"You, Elyrion, will regret thinking you could manipulate us!"
My hand began to weaken, and I felt the tip of the dagger press against my skin. I felt the blood running down my neck and searched for strength.
Lior was roughly pushed off me. I placed my hand over the cut, trying to stop the bleeding. I raised my head to understand what was happening.
There was an adult stag, with large antlers, in front of me. Somehow, the animal seemed ready to defend me from Lior.
Lior rises with a furious look, a deep scream escaping his throat. His mouth opens bizarrely, and his skin begins to darken.
His eyes turn black, as does part of his skin. A black mist begins to swirl around him, just like the erasers.
The deer shows no fear at any point. Its hooves kick the ground, and it runs swiftly toward Lior.
A war of magic begins there. Both wielded dark magic. Rift magic.
But there, near me, something on the trail begins to change. The mist begins to dissipate.
As the mist partially dissipates, the trail opens into a small circular clearing, sheltered by twisted trees that grow in spirals. In the center, the ground is polished black stone, cracked by silvery veins that pulse in the same rhythm as the mark on its chest.
When I step there, the world tilts.
There is no pain. There is recognition.
I see ancient footprints, etched into the stone like fossils of light. They are not human, nor entirely lupine, nor elven. They are from ancient Elyrion—and each carries a fragment of intention, not memory.
A mark in the center begins to glow more brightly. The ground around seems to vibrate, and I stare at the light. That mark was familiar. Then I touch my chest. It was my mark. My symbol.
I kneel on the ground and touch it with my fingertips. I feel a flash engulf my entire body, and the world gives way.
It wasn't like falling. It was like being lifted.
The ground disappeared beneath me, and for an instant too brief for fear to form, I felt only lightness. Then, silence. An absolute, thick silence that belonged nowhere. My body didn't respond. My breath didn't hurt. I wasn't dead—but I wasn't awake either.
When I opened my eyes, there was no forest.
I stood in a field of pale ash, illuminated by a huge, motionless moon in the sky. It didn't shine. It observed. Around me, figures appeared and disappeared like reflections in water, until one remained.
She was Elyrion.
There was no threat in her presence. There was antiquity. Her body seemed made of dim light and delicate shadow, as if the spiritual world couldn't decide what form to grant her. Her eyes, however, were steady—full of a knowledge that asked no permission.
“You fainted because your body cannot traverse what truth demands,” she said, without moving her lips. “But your essence can.”
I swallowed hard. “Who are you?”
“I was the guardian of the Link when it still breathed,” she replied. “And I am the last to remember without resentment.”
She reached out, and the ground shifted. I saw cities rise and fall. Leaders making empty oaths. Crowds accepting silence as comfort.
“The Rift wasn’t born from chaos,” she explained. “It was born from denial.”
The image changed. I saw the Rift opening not as a violent tear, but as a slow wound, fueled by repeated decisions. Fear turned into politics. Purity used as an excuse.
“The Rift isn’t a place,” she continued. “It’s a state. It arises when a world decides to erase parts of itself to continue functioning.”
I felt the mark on my chest throb, even there.
“Then it moves,” I murmured.
“Yes.” The Elyrion nodded. “It goes where the mistake is about to be made again.”
The scene dissolved, giving way to a single image: a large stone hall, ancient symbols etched into the walls, leaders gathered in a circle.
“They call it the Hall of Oaths,” she said. “There, decisions shape what will be remembered… and what will be erased.”
My heart tightened. “Then that’s where I must go.”
“That’s where the Rift will be born again,” she corrected. “If no one stops it.”
Then the Elyrion touched my chest, and the pain came—not physical, but deep. I saw blood, but not spilled. I saw bloodlines crossing. I saw Conrad. I saw his father’s name shrouded in choices never confessed.
“The Elyrion blood is the key,” she said carefully. “But it was never the sacrifice. The kings’ mistake was believing that healing wounds requires death.”
“Then what does it require?” I asked, my voice trembling.
“Truth.” The answer came firmly. “Truth revealed before all. Buried confessions. Public acknowledgment of wrongdoing.”
I took a deep breath. “And if they refuse?” “Then the Rift will choose for them,” she replied. “And the erasers will do what they always do.”
The Elyrion stepped back a pace, and luminous roots sprouted beneath her feet, forming a living symbol.
“The path chose you,” she said. “As long as you follow the truth, it will protect you. If you lie to yourself… it will close.”
She held something out to me: a darkened fragment of the Moon.
“Take this,” she said. “It’s not a weapon. It’s an invitation. It will allow you to cross where others cannot.”
The Moon in the sky began to crack, scattering pale light.
“Remember,” the Elyrion concluded, her form beginning to dissipate. “You don’t close the Rift alone. You force the world to face itself.”
My body was violently pulled back.
I awoke gasping on the trail, my heart racing, the mist still creeping around me. In my hand, cold and real, lay the fragment of the Moon.