The Herald stood unmoving.
Watching.
Waiting.
For the Balance to tip.
For them to make the first move.
But they didn’t.
Because they knew that anything they did to it...
It would do to them in return.
Kian’s pulse hammered in his ears.
They had been chased to the edge of a cliff by a creature that wasn’t even trying to fight. It was just waiting for them to make a mistake. His throat ran dry, his legs wobbled, and his thoughts scrambled.
What do we do? If we attack it, it’ll hit us back with the same damn thing.
The terror clawed at him, but then—
That’s it!
His eyes widened. The idea hit him like a thunderstrike.
"We don’t attack," Kian muttered, more to himself at first. "We just... don’t do anything."
Zeyk glanced at him, confused, his hand still tight around the reins. “What?”
Kian’s voice gained strength, his mind working faster now, piecing it all together.
“We don’t attack it. We just—don’t. If we don’t make a move, then it can’t make one against us.”
He turned to his companions, urgency in his voice. “We don’t touch it. No strikes, no magic. We do nothing, and it won’t be able to do anything to us.”
For a brief moment, the silence around them was louder than the wind, the weight of his words hanging in the air.
Then Zeyk’s brow furrowed. “That... sounds too simple to work.”
“We’re backed into a cliff, Zeyk. If this works, it buys us time—time to think, to get away. We have to try.”
Nahl’s eyes darted between Kian and the unmoving figure of the Herald, her expression unreadable. She didn’t speak for a long moment. Finally, she nodded.
“We don’t have a choice.”
They backed away slowly, inching toward the donkey, trying to keep every movement deliberate, careful.
Then the wind shifted.
A ripple moved through the square — not a gust, not anything physical. It was deeper, more primal. Like a memory stirring awake.
Zeyk staggered mid-step, clutching his head with a groan.
"N-no... that's not real," he gasped, eyes wide with horror, staring at something Kian couldn’t see.
Nahl dropped to one knee, breathing hard, her face bloodless. She looked like she was drowning in a nightmare only she could see.
Kian whipped around — and froze.
The Herald had raised its hand, fingers splayed toward them. It wasn’t striking their bodies. It was reaching for their souls.
Their past was the weapon now.
Their regrets. Their guilt. Their karmic wounds, ripped open and bleeding fresh.
Kian stood there, untouched.
Balanced.
Immune.
No time to think.
He bolted toward Zeyk, grabbing his shoulder and shaking him hard.
"Zeyk! Zeyk, snap out of it!"
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Zeyk flinched back, eyes wild, staring into empty space.
"Kian? Kian, look! No—no! Stay away from me! Kian, run!"
Kian's heart hammered.
What do I do? What do I do?
Shit.
Emotion.
He focused, drawing deep. The ring on his finger seared with heat as he reached out, weaving raw Emotion into the space between them and the Herald.
Fear.
Despair.
Joy.
Hope.
Anything to shake it. Anything to make it feel.
But the Herald just stood there.
Hollow-eyed.
Untouched.
"It's empty," Kian whispered hoarsely. "There's nothing inside it."
Kian’s heart pounded against his ribs, harder than any drumbeat he'd ever played.
Then —
A soft, golden light pulsed from his pack.
Kian spun toward the cart.
The donkey — poor thing — stood trembling, foam flecking its mouth, eyes wild and rolling back in terror. It felt it too. The crushing weight of guilt. Of memory.
Kian forced his legs to move, stumbling past the stunned Herald, past the empty fear that clawed at the edges of his mind.
He tore open the pack.
Inside, buried under scattered supplies, the dagger pulsed with golden light — soft, insistent.
Waiting.
No time to think.
Only action.
Kian grabbed the dagger with both hands. The hilt was too big, too heavy, awkward in his untrained grip.
But somehow, he knew.
This was what he was meant to do.
He turned back toward the Herald.
It didn’t react.
Didn’t even seem to see him.
Kian’s heart hammered in his ears. Sweat blurred his vision.
He stepped closer.
Closer still.
He raised the dagger — and swung.
The blade cut harmlessly through air.
Again — a wild, clumsy hack — nothing.
Panic flared in his chest.
But then—
Thunk.
A sensation. A pull.
As if the dagger had caught on something invisible — a cord strung tight between worlds.
Gritting his teeth, Kian leaned in, pushed harder.
The invisible tether snapped.
A ripple spread through the square.
The Herald’s cloak crumpled to the ground, as empty as a shed skin.
Around him, Nahl and Zeyk collapsed, groaning weakly, freed from their unseen torments.
Kian just stood there, dagger still raised, breathing hard, sweat pouring down his face.
The dagger flickered — and dissolved into shimmering dust that vanished into the air.
He lowered his arms slowly, his body trembling from exhaustion, his mind spinning.
Before Kian could catch his breath,
pain speared into his skull.
He cried out and collapsed to one knee, clutching his head as the world spun into red noise
"Kian!" Nahl's voice rang out, hoarse and panicked.
She staggered toward him, still weak, but moving.
But Kian couldn’t hear her.
Couldn’t hear anything.
Only rage.
A voice — vast, ancient, furious — roared through the emptiness of his mind.
"You lowly creature!!
I warned you not to interfere.
Any semblance of respect I had for you is gone, Child of Balance.
You shall not be spared!"
Kian's body convulsed. His eyes glazed over, bloodshot and wild.
Nahl reached him, grabbing his shoulders.
"Kian! Kian, listen to me—!"
But he didn’t seem to see her.
Didn’t seem to see anything.
Without thinking, Nahl slapped him — hard.
The crack echoed through the broken square.
Kian sagged instantly, collapsing unconscious into her arms.
The weight of Vikarma’s fury lifted — leaving only silence.
A terrible, waiting silence.
