Whisper Of The Soulbound

Smoke curled from the dying campfire as the ruins settled into uneasy silence. The battle had passed, but its echoes remained. Emelai sat alone on a cracked stone, hugging her knees, the glow from her soulmark pulsing dimly through her sleeve like a flickering heartbeat.

Elira hovered near the fire, her form dim and weary.

"She's listening," Elira said softly.

Asher looked up. "To what?"

"The thing inside her. The spark. The voice."

Liaen stepped in from the outer hall, cloak wet with rain. "I scouted. No signs of pursuit. But the veil is thin here. I saw spirits wandering."

Asher nodded grimly. "We need to move soon. But not yet."

He walked over to Emelai, crouching beside her.

"You heard something, didn't you?" he asked.

She hesitated. "It wasn't words. Not really. Just… pressure. Like something old was waiting for me to notice it."

Elira floated beside her, gazing into the girl's flickering soulmark.

"That ruin wasn't just a base," Elira said. "It was a whispering post."

Asher raised a brow. "For who?"

"The Cult. Or something worse. Something older."

Later that night, Emelai dreamed.

She stood beneath a burning sky. The stars were bleeding, and towers rose like bones from the earth. In the center stood a black altar of soulstone, and behind it—a figure in rags, with no face, only a crown of eyes.

"You are marked," it said. "A soul unchained."

"I don't want this," Emelai whispered.

The figure pointed toward her chest. "You were born for it."

"I'm just a girl—"

"You are a gate."

The dream shattered.

She awoke screaming, and Elira immediately surged beside her, casting soullight to suppress the lingering fragments of the nightmare.

Asher was already there, steadying her.

"What did you see?" he asked.

She clutched her chest, shivering. "A… crown of eyes. A voice. It knew me."

Elira's form flickered. "That's a name. One of the Forgotten."

Asher stood slowly. "Then the Cult isn't just summoning monsters."

"No," Elira said. "They're digging through the Veil to pull the Old Names back into the world."

At dawn, they began to move again. Liaen led the way through the fog-drenched hills, navigating hidden paths. Emelai walked quietly between Asher and Elira, her face pale, but her step firm.

They passed a scorched tree where strange glyphs had been carved in blood. Asher touched one, and a sharp pain stabbed through his mind.

"Trap sigils," Liaen warned. "They broadcast emotion. Like beacons."

"They're looking for her," Elira said, glancing at Emelai.

Asher drew his sword. "Then let them come. I'm done hiding."

That night, they camped in the ruins of an old soul-keeper's shrine—its relics long gone, but its heart still faintly warded. Emelai sat at the edge, sketching the figure from her dream. Liaen watched quietly before sitting beside her.

"You're scared," he said.

She nodded. "Aren't you?"

"All the time. But we keep moving. Because the moment you stop, fear wins."

She looked at him. "Do you think I'm… dangerous?"

He paused, then smiled faintly. "Everything powerful is. Even fire. But it also gives warmth."

Asher and Elira sat together under the shrine's dome.

"She's changing," Elira said. "Faster than I expected."

"She's stronger than she knows," Asher murmured. "But strength attracts shadows."

Elira didn't reply.

Instead, she rested her head against his shoulder—more memory than touch.

"I don't have much left," she said.

"You'll make it," he whispered.

"You don't know that."

"No," he said. "But I believe it."

And outside, under the starlit sky, Emelai's drawing glowed faintly in the firelight—its eyes watching from the page.

The whispers beneath the flame had only just begun.