The centipede shrieked—a warping, recursive sound like a cathedral organ devouring itself in reverse.
Its body writhed into fractal spirals, metal legs tapping out a rhythm older than speech. Mana-slick soil buckled beneath it. Shards of broken memory-glass hovered in the air around its segmented body, each fragment flashing images of places no longer real: a classroom burning; a sky stitched with moons; a mother holding a child that had no face.
Han didn't wait.
His right gauntlet snapped forward—Thread of Quiet Grief—spooling a web of silver light that shimmered like mourning silk. The threads anchored mid-air, then snapped taut with a gesture. A trap. A net made from whatever dead gods still dreamed in the spaces between magic and engineering.
But the centipede was fast.
Its midsection folded and unfolded like a puzzle trying to solve itself. It disappeared.
"Down!" I yelled, already diving as the monster reappeared above us—twenty feet of jagged movement arcing downward like a broken pendulum.
Han rolled sideways, one gauntlet pulling him with magnetic recoil. I lunged in the other direction, unsheathing Phantom Edge in one smooth, gliding motion.
The blade didn't hum this time.
It screamed.
Not out loud—no, not something the ears could catch. But the pressure inside my skull shifted. Like gravity had chosen a different direction just to watch me stumble.
I didn't.
I advanced.
The centipede landed between us, flattening a half-dozen tree stumps into splinters. Two of its rear legs twitched—severed from Han's earlier strike, twitching in echo-time like they still remembered a world where they weren't broken.
Han struck first this time. His gauntlets spun into place, orbiting his shoulders as he ran up the centipede's back like a war-saint mounting a dragon. One fist struck down, blasting a hole into the chitin.
I timed it perfectly.
As the creature twisted to throw Han off, I blink-stepped—one meter, two steps, zero drag—and drove Phantom Edge straight into its second eye.
Except there wasn't an eye there anymore.
Just more recursion.
It reached through itself and out a mirrored fold behind me.
"Back!" Han shouted.
I flipped sideways. Not fast enough.
The monster's leg raked across my shoulder, slicing the outer layers of my cloak and sending me skidding across wet leaves and half-dissolved mana roots. Phantom Edge tumbled once, twice—then righted itself mid-air, floating back to me with a hiss of bonded will.
The Mnemo-Eye shouted into my skull:
"Dimensional anchor required. Echo boundary is expanding."
Han was already moving again—his gauntlets reconfiguring. Now they were spinning disks, surrounded by hexaglyphs of reinforced tempo.
"Echo field's spreading," he said. "We'll lose linear time if we stay too long."
"Then end it fast."
He grinned. "Your call, Toji."
"Follow my rhythm."
That was all it took.
We moved again—not in unison, but like braided wires—opposing force vectors syncing in real-time. I slashed low while Han struck high. I slowed the centipede's outer limbs with magnetic counter-pressure; Han disabled its spatial anchors with impact-threaded loops.
But the centipede evolved.
Its shriek came again—this time breaking apart into seven distinct frequencies. Each note tore into a different part of the spectrum. Trees combusted. Stones bled. My thoughts scrambled like old film cut out of order.
For a second, I forgot what we were doing.
Forgot who I was.
Then Han shouted.
"Toji!"
The sound—just my name—cut clean through it. I re-centered.
Phantom Edge pulsed.
Time reset.
One slash cleaved the centipede's left flank—reality flickered. Han punched a collapsing pocket of space, shattering the echo-node generating recursive displacement. For the first time, the creature screamed like something that could die.
Its body convulsed, trying to unfold into another layer of existence.
I reached into my coat's lining and tore out a memory spike—a relic keyed to stillness, forged during the Siege of the Abstrates.
"Han! Get clear!"
He vaulted backwards, both gauntlets dragging him like tethered moons.
I hurled the spike.
It pierced the creature's center with a soundless detonation. A wave of silence followed—dense, oppressive, eternal.
Then—
Collapse.
Like a failing star folding into itself, the centipede crumpled. One leg twitched. Another tried to write a glyph in the dirt. But whatever mind had animated it—whatever forgotten thought made it real—was gone.
The jungle exhaled.
Han dropped to one knee, panting.
I stood, letting Phantom Edge dissolve back into sheath-form against my spine.
We locked eyes again. This time, no tension. Just quiet recognition.
"You're fast," he said between breaths.
"You're reckless," I replied.
"Worked out, didn't it?"
I glanced at the wreckage. "Barely."
We both let a grin creep on our faces—soft, sharp, alive.
——
Kaela sat with her back against a tree. Her hands were shaking. There was blood on her fingers, but she didn't know whose it was. The wind moved the tall grass in front of her, slow and steady, like nothing had happened.
Sen was still breathing. She checked every few minutes to be sure.
His stab wound had stopped bleeding. She'd used her belt and a strip from her undershirt to keep it tight. It wasn't clean. The skin was pale. The rest of him was burning up.
She touched his forehead. Still hot.
The other two students—Ro and Lian—were sitting across from her. Ro was coughing. Lian had a gash across her face. No one spoke much.
Toji and the rest of her class were gone. They were out here alone.
She pressed her hand into the ground. The soil was damp. It was sticking to her palms. She wiped them on her pants.
A root twitched nearby. She looked up fast.
Just the wind.
Still, she reached for the flarecloth.
"Don't," Lian said quietly. "He said only if we see movement."
Kaela nodded. Her jaw felt tight.
She whispered, "I thought it was something."
Ro coughed again. "It's hard to breathe."
"Try to sit up straighter," Kaela said. "You're crushing your own lungs."
He moved, slowly. Winced.
Kaela shifted back. Her knees were stiff. She watched the tree line. There was sap drying on her boot. It was dark and sticky. She couldn't remember stepping in it.
Time passed. She didn't know how much.
Lian's voice cut through the quiet.
"You think the teachers coming back?"
Kaela didn't answer right away.
She looked at Niko again.
Then she said, "Yes."
She believed it. Not because it made sense, but because she had to.
Then the sound came.
Not a scream. Not metal. Just footsteps. Too light to be Toji. Too steady to be a beast.
Kaela stood.
She held the flarecloth in one hand. Her other hand held a short blade. It wasn't sharp. It was all she had.
"Lian," she said. "Watch right. I've got front."
Ro tried to sit up more.
They waited.
The footsteps came closer.
Then a figure stepped through the brush.
Kaela almost threw the flare—then stopped.
It was a girl.
She looked about their age. Long black hair, tied back. Her robes were torn. She was barefoot.
Kaela didn't lower the blade.
The girl raised her hands. "I'm not with them."
"Who are you?"
"My name's Sera."
"From where?"
"I don't know."
Lian moved closer to Sen. Kaela didn't blink.
"What do you mean you don't know?"
Sera looked at the ground. "I woke up in the Echo Field two days ago. There were bones. I ran."
Kaela looked at her face. There were no sigils. No gear. Her skin was scratched and dirty.
She looked tired.
Kaela lowered the blade an inch. "You alone?"
Sera nodded.
"You have any food?"
"No."
"Water?"
"A little."
Kaela looked at Ro and Lian. Then she stepped forward.
"One wrong move and I cut your throat."
Sera nodded again.
Kaela led her closer. Ro stared at her like she was a ghost.
Lian handed over a small cloth-wrapped biscuit. "Here."
Sera took it. Ate fast.
Kaela asked, "Why'd you come toward us?"
"I saw light."
"There's no light here."
"I saw it anyway."
Kaela didn't like that answer. But she didn't press.
For now.
.
.
.
Kaela sat across from the new girl.
Sera had finished eating. Her hands were still shaking. Not from fear. From hunger.
Kaela kept her blade nearby. Just in reach.
Ro had drifted off. Not asleep. Just half-aware. His eyes opened and closed without focus.
Lian didn't talk much either. She was watching the trees again.
Kaela leaned forward. "So. You ran from bones."
Sera nodded. "There was a pit."
"What kind?"
Sera looked up. "A memory pit."
Kaela didn't speak. That wasn't a normal answer.
"Describe it," she said.
"There were sounds coming from the pit. But no wind. No animals. Just pieces of people. Some still moving."
Kaela's grip on the blade tightened.
"Did they follow you?"
Sera shook her head. "I don't think so."
"How did you get past the barrier?"
"I didn't see one."
That didn't make sense. There was always a barrier around Echo Field zones. That's how containment worked.
Kaela stood.
Sera watched her, but didn't flinch.
"You lied," Kaela said. "No one just walks into a locked field."
"I'm not lying."
Kaela stepped forward. Sera didn't back away.
"Then explain."
"I woke up near the pit. I don't remember anything before that."
"That's not good enough."
"I know," Sera said. "But it's all I have."
Kaela felt the pressure building in her chest. Like a clock was ticking too loud inside her ribs.
"You're not marked. No badge. No call-sign. Not even a glyph."
"I know."
"So why should I trust you?"
"You shouldn't."
Kaela didn't expect that.
Sera looked down. "But I didn't hurt anyone. I didn't touch your things. I didn't run when I saw you had weapons."
"That doesn't mean you're safe."
"I know."
They stood like that for a long minute. No movement. Just breathing.
Lian finally spoke. "Kaela. She's not armed. If she was part of the thing that attacked us, she wouldn't show up alone."
Kaela didn't take her eyes off Sera. "We've seen worse."
"I know."
Ro stirred again. "Can't sleep. The trees are whispering."
Kaela turned her head.
They were.
It was faint. A soft scraping sound. Like dry leaves rubbing against each other. But none of the trees were moving.
Kaela stepped back. "We need to shift camp."
Lian looked tired. "Where?"
"Up the slope. Back toward the ridge. We can use the dry root structure. Better visibility."
Ro grunted. "Can't walk."
Kaela looked at Sera. "You want to prove yourself? Help carry him."
Sera didn't hesitate.
She moved to Ro's side, helped lift one arm over her shoulder. He groaned but stayed conscious.
Kaela watched her. Looking for hesitation. There wasn't any.
Still didn't mean anything. But it was a star