Chapter 17: Banners Over Broken Stone – Where Allies and Enemies Cross Paths for the First Time
The mist rolled like a living creature.
Thick tendrils snaked across the broken square of the Hollow Temple, swirling between shattered pillars and over cracked marble steps. In the faint twilight, everything shimmered, half-real, half-dream.
Zayan crouched behind a crumbled statue, his breath loud in his ears.
Blood dripped from a cut at his temple, warm and sticky against the cool air. His clothes clung damply to his body, torn from the desperate climb through the ruins.
The Breathstone pulsed in his palm— soft, rhythmic beats, like the heartbeat of something ancient waking up.
Zayan (muttering to himself): "Stay calm. Stay invisible. Think, Zayan, think..."
But the mist didn't listen. It parted.
And they came.
Three banners. Three factions. Three dooms.
They moved through the mist like predators through grass, each group distinct, each brimming with silent hostility.
First came the Ashen Exorcists.
A formation of shadow and smoldering flame, their armor darkened with soot and streaked with war-paint made of charred bone.
The leader strode ahead—a tall woman, her face half-hidden beneath a burned iron mask. Around her waist coiled a living whip, its barbs crackling faint sparks that made the ground hiss.
Their weapons glowed faintly red, etched with runes that pulsed in time with their hearts.
Each step left a scorched footprint on the marble.
Ashen Leader (snarling, voice rasping like burnt wood): "The Breathstone must be shattered before it rots another soul."
Ashen Disciple (whispering fiercely): "The Scroll's poison ends tonight."
Their mantra, painted in blood across their banner, read:
"Where Ash Falls, Light Must Rise."
From the east, almost unseen until they wished to be, drifted the Lotus Whisperers.
They moved not as soldiers, but as dancers, weaving their way through the mist with inhuman grace. Their robes shimmered with a soft iridescence, each thread seeming to hum with hidden music.
Soft flutes began to play—a hypnotic, eerie sound that seemed to reach past Zayan's ears and into his bones.
The leader floated at their front, eyes closed, hands weaving invisible patterns in the air. She wore a crown of woven lotuses, each petal dripping silver dew.
Lotus Matron (smiling sadly, voice a song of broken memories): "Poor fledgling. Trapped between worlds. Let us sing you free."
Her followers sang in low, haunting harmonies, a lullaby that made even the stones weep.
And then, like a storm of copper and brass, came the Sovereign Alchemists.
Armored in layered plates, each embossed with ancient script, they stomped forward, heavy and terrible. Their leader—a boy no older than Zayan himself—wore a cloak stitched from a dozen alchemical symbols.
Golden goggles covered his eyes, and strange mechanical tendrils writhed around his gloves.
Alchemist Heir (mocking, cruel laughter bubbling up): "Healers. Exorcists. Whisperers. You're all the past."
He lifted his hand. A burst of alchemical fire exploded skyward—red, blue, and green flames writhing like serpents.
Alchemist Heir (grinning like a predator): "The Scroll belongs to Science. And to me."
Behind him, his alchemists began constructing something—a device of gears and bone and blood.
A soul-net.
Zayan recognized it instantly from the Academy's forbidden archives. If they completed it, there would be no escape. His heart slammed against his ribs. Three armies. Three banners.
And him—alone.
But the Breathstone pulsed harder. Hotter.
A tiny whisper threaded through his mind: "You are not alone."
A shuffle behind him. Footsteps. Zayan whirled around, pulse hammering—
—and saw her.
The Girl from His Visions. Real. Solid. Breathing.
She was not what he had expected. No shimmering robes, no blinding aura. She wore simple traveling leathers, stained by mud and ash. Her hair was braided with feathers, some broken, some new.
A shard of cracked mirror hung from a chain around her throat, catching and reflecting faint light in strange, liquid patterns.
Her eyes— stormcloud gray, deep and ancient and far too sad for her age—locked onto his.
And she smiled.
Mystery Girl (grinning crookedly): "About time you woke up, Zayan."
He opened his mouth. No words came out.
Mystery Girl (jerking her head toward the banners): "Unless you plan to get dissected, burnt, or sung into oblivion, I'd suggest following me. Now."
Zayan (finally finding his voice, breathless):
"Who—who are you?!"
Mystery Girl (shrugging, already moving):
"Someone with very bad timing and a worse sense of self-preservation. Move!"
The factions were converging. Fast.
Ashen flames crackled at the edges of the mist.
Lotus music sharpened into razor-thin threads.
The Sovereign's device screamed into life, opening a vortex of sickly yellow light.
No choice.
Zayan grabbed the girl's outstretched hand—and ran.
The ground exploded beneath them.
Roots and vines, ancient and humming with breathlight, twisted from the earth, forming a swirling, living tunnel.
The girl leapt into the opening without hesitation, dragging Zayan behind her.
The world inverted. Colors smeared. Sound became a distant drumbeat.
They fell.
Down, down, down, through the crust of Nurghazira.
Inside the tunnel, the walls pulsed softly—living, breathing.
Luminescent symbols flickered in the vines, too fast to read but too beautiful to ignore.
Zayan stumbled, nearly falling, but the girl hauled him upright.
Zayan (gasping): "Where—where are we going?!"
Mystery Girl (laughing breathlessly): "Somewhere the factions can't follow. Yet."
Zayan (wheezing): "Great. Love the 'yet.' Very comforting."
Finally, they burst into a vast underground cavern. It was breathtaking.
Massive roots the size of buildings coiled through the air like sleeping serpents. Pools of silver water reflected constellations that didn't exist in the sky above.
And at the cavern's center floated the Mirror of Dust.
It was cracked down the middle, yet shimmered with an impossible depth.
Reflections moved inside it—but they were not the cavern.
They were scenes—
Other places. Other times. Maybe even...other fates.
The girl released his hand. Turned to face him. Her expression was solemn now, the humor burned away. "Zayan, you touched the First Breath. You woke up something that's been waiting a very, very long time."Mystery Girl quietly said.
Zayan (hoarse): "I don't understand. None of this makes sense."
Mystery Girl (softly): "It will. If you survive."
She knelt by the mirror. Brushed her fingers across its surface. The crack pulsed— and a map bloomed across the cavern floor. Not a map of places— A map of people.
Hidden healers. Buried guardians. Silent sentinels.
Each a key to the heart of Nurghazira.
Mystery Girl whispering: "You have to find them before the factions do."
"And if I fail?". Zayan tightening his fists, feeling the Breathstone burn hotter said
She looked up at him then, eyes shining. "Then the world dies. Slowly. Loudly. Alone." Mystery Girl softly said.
Above them, the earth trembled. The factions had found the entrance. The chase was only beginning.
And so was the war.
[End of Chapter 17]
Next Chapter Preview:
Chapter 18 – Dust and Breath – The First Trial of the Silent Map
(Where Zayan and the Girl race across the Broken Spine Canyons, pursued by factions and haunted by the Scroll's first awakenings!)