Julius slowly sat up into the cold, grey morning. Rocks and dust stretched out, looking gloomy in the weak light. His whole body ached from the jump, the climb, and emptiness in his stomach. He clutched the bulky map scroll under his tunic. It felt solid and real, unlike the swirling mess of his thoughts.
He had escaped House Vorlag. He had the map.
But the escape felt hollow. The Scriptorium… the warm stone… the other boy. That face, so like his own but twisted with sudden anger, burned behind his eyelids. It wasn't just a memory; it felt like a fresh wound.
Charon's voice echoed in his mind, no longer just a sad farewell, but an urgent command. Find the mirrored fragments! The key… it's not whole! Scattered… like reflections!
Reflections.
He looked down at his dirty hands. Was that other boy a reflection? A fragment? Like him? If so, why the hostility? Why the look that felt like a curse?
Then came the Echo Witch's terrified cry: Demon-marked! You carry their broken shadow! Fragments… starlight falling into darkness… And the Hunter… the Glass Knight… following the void…
The pieces clicked together in his mind, clumsy and terrifying. He wasn't just an emptiness, an absence. He was a piece of something shattered. The stone in the Scriptorium was another piece. And the angry boy in that strange, bright world… maybe another. They were scattered, just as Charon said. Mirrored, perhaps, across… worlds?
The thought was dizzying, too large for the small, hunted boy shivering behind a rock. But it settled something inside him. The quiet emptiness, the Animus Vacuus, still felt vast and cold, but the ripples from touching the stone hadn't faded. They pulsed with a new, fragile understanding.
He wasn't just running from the Trackers and the Knight anymore. He had to run towards something. Towards the other fragments.
Why?
Survival, partly. Charon had died protecting him, believing these fragments were important. The Knight hunted him relentlessly, drawn to the void he carried. Maybe understanding the fragments, finding them, was the only way to understand the hunt, perhaps even end it.
But it was more than just survival now. It was the look on that other boy's face. The anger. The fear. It was the confusion stirring inside him, the flashes of impossible things behind his eyes – the glowing rectangle, the strange lights. He needed answers. He needed to know what he was. What had the Starborn been? What was this Void they feared and seemed drawn to? What did it mean to be a fragment of something broken?
Power? Charon spoke of the Starborn's immense power. Did the fragments hold that? Julius shivered, not entirely from cold. He didn't want power like that. He just wanted… not to be hunted. Not to be feared. Not to be this dangerous anomaly. But maybe understanding the power was part of understanding the danger.
He pulled out the heavy map. It was old parchment with worn edges. The thick, black ink lines were faded, showing its great age. He unrolled it slowly, weighting the corners with small stones. It showed jagged mountains, winding valleys, symbols he didn't understand. Faint tracks marked paths through desolate lands.
His eyes searched for the landmarks Charon might have pointed to, the area near the Sundered Peaks. He traced a line with a grimy finger, feeling the rough texture of the old map.
The image flickered again for a moment. The scroll vanished, replaced by that smooth, dark shape. Glowing lines shifted on it like water. It seemed to show the same area, but clearer, sharper, marked with symbols that felt both alien and somehow familiar. Then, it was gone. It disappeared quickly. Julius blinked, confused. Only the dusty map was there.
"It's real," he whispered hoarsely to the wind. Those flashes weren't just dreams or visions from hunger. They were linked together. Linked to the fragments, that other place, and the other Julius. These strange thoughts were sticking to him.
He forced his attention back to the physical map. The Sundered Peaks dominated one edge. The faint pull inside him, the subtle resonance in the void, seemed to agree. That was the direction. That was the first step.
But the journey felt heavier now. Touching the stone in the Scriptorium hadn't just stirred him. It had felt loud. The tremor, the sudden alarm… it wasn't just House Vorlag guards he had alerted. He remembered the Soulforged Knight, its cold, emotionless pursuit. It hadn't needed guards or alarm bells. It had felt him. Had touching the fragment amplified his signature? Made the beacon Charon warned of shine brighter, visible from further away?
The Knight would come. Others like it, maybe. The Echo Witch feared him; others like her might hunt him too, seeing him as poison, a lure for darkness.
He looked towards the distant, jagged line of the mountains. They seemed impossibly far, separated from him by endless miles of hostile territory and unseen dangers. The task felt too big. Find scattered fragments across a dying world, maybe across other worlds, while being hunted by relentless, powerful enemies.
He was just one boy. Small. Alone.
But Charon had believed. He had given his life for this chance. His parents… he pushed the raw ache away again. He had to live. He had to understand.
A new feeling settled over him, pushing back the exhaustion and the fear, just a little. It wasn't hope, not exactly. It was resolve. Hard, cold, and necessary, like the stones around him. Find the fragments. Find the answers. Survive.
He carefully rolled the map, tucking it securely back into his tunic. The feeling drawing him to the Sundered Peaks was clearer now, like a thin string pulling him forward. He got to his feet, his bruised ankles hurting. He paid no attention to them. He didn't listen to his hunger or the fear around him.
One step. Then another. He started walking towards the mountains, towards the first echo, carrying the weight of a shattered past and an unknown, terrifying future. The hunt was on, fiercer than ever, but now, so was he.