Zane knelt in the dirt, chest heaving, the courtyard a mess of blood and broken stone around him.
The riftspawn lay still now, a black heap leaking ichor that pooled under its cracked hide, steaming in the cool dusk air.
Guards milled about, some leaning on spears, others barking orders, their voices hoarse and jagged.
The talisman hung heavy against his chest, its pulse faint but steady, like it was smug about the whole damn thing.
He wiped his sleeve across his face, smearing the bitter muck off his lips, and spat into the dust. His hands—Zane's hands—trembled, not from fear anymore, but from the raw ache of moving when he shouldn't have.
Thud!
His spit hit the ground, a small, wet smack lost in the noise.
The scarred guard limped closer, her half-spear dangling, blood crusting down her arm. She stared at him, eyes narrow, like she was trying to peel back his skin and see what ticked underneath.
"You're no ghost, kid," she said again, quieter this time, her voice rough as gravel. "What's that trick you pulled?"
Zane shrugged, shoulders stiff, and climbed to his feet.
"Luck," he muttered, brushing dirt off his knees. It wasn't a lie—not really. He didn't know what the talisman was doing, just that it'd saved his ass and Tessa's. That was enough for now.
Crunch!
His boots scraped the rubble, a dry grind as he stood.
Tessa hovered a few steps off, arms crossed tight, her apron streaked with dirt from their fall. Her gray eyes flicked between him and the dead riftspawn, sharp and searching, like she didn't recognize the kid she'd just yelled at.
"Zane," she started, voice low, "you don't… you don't fight. You don't do that." She waved a hand at the beast, its claws still twitching faintly in the muck.
"Didn't have a choice," he said, sharper than he meant, and turned away, staring at the breach in the wall.
The rift was gone—sealed up somehow, leaving just cracked stone and a faint hum in the air—but the mess it'd left was real.
Too real.
Jamie's face flickered in his head, pale and still, and Evan's guilt clawed up his throat. He'd moved this time, but it didn't erase the last time he hadn't.
Twitch!
The riftspawn's claw jerked once, a soft, dying spasm.
"Bullshit," Tessa snapped, stepping closer, her boots scuffing the dirt. "You're an errand boy, Zane. You fetch water, you sweep floors—not this. What's going on with you?" Her voice cracked, not loud but raw, like she was scared of the answer.
He didn't look at her. Couldn't.
"Just happened," he mumbled, fingers brushing the talisman through his tunic. It pulsed, a smug little thump, and he clenched his jaw. She didn't need to know—not about the whispers, not about Evan, not about any of it. Not yet.
Scuff!
Tessa's boots dragged, a short, frustrated slide.
"Oi, you lot!" The big guard from before—beard guy—stomped over, spear planted like a crutch, his leg wrapped in a bloody rag.
"Quit gawkin' and help clear this shit. Rift's down, but we've got wounded and a wall to patch." His eyes landed on Zane, hard and flat. "You too, ghost. Earned your keep today—don't waste it."
Zane nodded, slow, and started toward a pile of splintered wood near the breach.
The guards were already moving—hauling bodies, dragging debris—grunting and swearing under their breath.
He grabbed a plank, the rough grain biting his palms, and heaved it aside, muscles screaming in Zane's scrawny frame. He wasn't built for this—not like Rhydian or the heroes from the book—but he'd made it work. Somehow.
Thump!
The plank hit the ground, a dull, heavy drop.
"Zane, wait." Tessa's hand caught his arm, grip tight, and he flinched, nearly dropping the next piece. She pulled him around, forcing him to face her.
"You're not tellin' me something. That—that shadow thing. Where'd it come from?" Her eyes bored into him, fierce and unsteady, like she was holding onto him to keep herself upright.
He yanked free, stepping back.
"Doesn't matter," he said, voice flat. "It's done. We're alive. Let it go." The talisman pulsed again, a faint buzz, and he fought the urge to rip it off and chuck it into the rubble.
Swoosh!
His arm jerked free, a quick rustle of cloth against her grip.
"It matters to me," she hissed, quieter now, stepping closer again. "You're my cousin, Zane. I don't care if you're a ghost or a fighter or whatever—you don't get to shut me out after that." Her breath hitched, and for a second, he saw it: she wasn't just mad. She was terrified. For him.
Zane's chest tightened, and Evan's voice whispered in his skull—she's not Jamie, she's still here—but he shoved it down.
"I'm fine," he said, softer, meeting her eyes. "Just… don't push it, Tessa. Please."
Hiss!
Her breath slipped out, a sharp, shaky exhale.
She held his gaze a beat longer, then turned away, muttering something he didn't catch, and grabbed a broken crate to haul off.
Zane watched her go, the weight of her worry settling on his shoulders like damp rot. He didn't want this—didn't want anyone looking at him like he was something more than a nobody. But the talisman wouldn't let him fade back, not now.
"Move it, ghost!" Beard guy barked, limping past with a chunk of stone, and Zane jolted, bending to grab another plank.
The courtyard buzzed—guards shouting, wood scraping, the faint groan of the wounded being dragged inside. He worked in silence, piling debris, the talisman's heat a constant nag against his chest. Every creak of the wall, every grunt from the guards, made him twitch, half-expecting another rift to tear open.
Scrape!
The plank dragged across stone, a rough, grating slide.
Footsteps crunched behind him, heavy and deliberate, and he turned, tense. The scarred guard stood there, arms crossed, her good eye fixed on him.
"You're not just lucky," she said, voice low, like she was testing him. "That shadow trick—seen mana before, but not like that. You awakened, kid?"
Zane froze, plank slipping from his hands. Awakened. The book talked about it—mana wells opening in folks who faced rifts, fought, survived. Stage 1, maybe. He didn't know—didn't feel different, just tired and sore.
"Dunno," he said, honest for once. "Maybe."
Thud!
The plank hit the dirt, a soft, clumsy fall.
She grunted, eyeing the talisman's bulge under his tunic.
"Get it checked at Riftspire. Academy'll sort you. Can't have some ghost mucking up fights without knowin' his own strength." She limped off, leaving him staring at the rubble, head spinning.
Riftspire.
The academy—where Rhydian trained, where the real players went. Zane wasn't supposed to be anywhere near that. He was an extra, a dead-end, not a Warden. But the talisman pulsed, a quiet thrum, and Evan's old life flickered—sitting useless while Jamie bled out. Maybe this was something. Maybe it wasn't.
Thrum!
The talisman vibrated, a low, insistent hum.
He grabbed another plank, jaw tight, and kept working. The courtyard darkened, dusk swallowing the orange sky, and the riftspawn's corpse stank worse with every passing minute.
He'd survived. That was enough. For now.