The ridge erupted in a storm of shattered stone and light.

  The Crimson Herald landed amid the debris like a verdict from the sky, its flickering form already knitting together from Kael’s defensive flare. Lesser hooded shapes swarmed behind it, spilling from the new tears like blood from fresh wounds.

  Toren roared and charged first, orange aura igniting into massive fists. He slammed into the nearest minion, cratering the ground and sending it dissolving into wisps. But the Herald was faster—too fast. It blurred forward, clawed hand piercing Toren’s shield as if it were paper.

  Orange light bled out in thick streams, sucked toward the Herald’s palm. Toren staggered, face going pale, veins dimming under his skin.

  “Toren!” Vel flickered in, knives flashing at the Herald’s side. The air warped around her—crimson interference dragging at her movement. She landed one cut, crimson ichor spraying, but the Herald backhanded her mid-flicker. She tumbled across the shale, arm twisted at a wrong angle, star sputtering weakly.

  Kael’s vision narrowed to a tunnel of cold rage. His star burned painful and hollow at once. Not them. Not here.

  He stepped forward, blue pillars surging up to block the Herald’s advance. The impact shook the ridge, cracks racing outward. Stone groaned and gave way beneath them.

  “Fall back!” Lark shouted, chains whipping out to bind two lesser shapes. “The ridge is collapsing—into the town, now!”

  The ground buckled. Kael grabbed Vel’s good arm, hauling her up as Toren lumbered after, one hand clamped over his leaking chest. They leaped the widening fissure as the overlook crumbled behind them, sliding down a scree slope into Ashveil’s outer streets.

  The town swallowed them—narrow alleys choked with overturned carts, doors hanging open on silent homes. Fresh blood trails streaked the dust. A child’s shoe lay alone in the middle of the lane. The air tasted of ash and recent screams.

  The whispers returned, louder in the ruins, threading through broken windows.

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  Welcome home, little star...

  This town burned so sweetly... join it...

  Kael’s star flared in answer, cold and defiant. He pushed the group deeper, toward the heart-square where the ward-stone had to be. If they could reach it—if they could overload it—they might still collapse the veil. Save what was left.

  The Herald’s voice boomed behind them, Veyra’s smug tone woven through the chorus.

  “You run deeper into our harvest. How fitting.”

  Minions poured from side streets. Lark’s chains lashed out, binding and crushing. Toren, breathing ragged, slammed fists into the ground, raising walls of stone to block paths. Vel flickered short bursts, wincing each time, drawing attention long enough for Kael to blast clear.

  But the Herald closed the distance relentlessly, shrugging off every hit. It caught Toren again in an open stretch, pinning him against a collapsed wall. Crimson drain poured from Toren’s chest, thick and greedy.

  Toren dropped to one knee, orange light guttering. “Can’t... hold...”

  Kael’s heart hammered. Not again. I won’t watch another light go out.

  He stepped between them, raising his open palm toward the crimson stream.

  Something snapped inside him—grief, rage, refusal.

  A cold blue swirl bloomed in front of his hand, perfect and depthless. The air warped inward with a low, hungry hum. The crimson drain distorted, stretched, then ripped backward—flowing into the void instead of the Herald.

  The Herald staggered, actually staggered, its form flickering violently. Wisps it had stolen tore free and vanished into the swirl.

  Toren gasped as the drain reversed, color returning to his face. A nearby small tear shrieked and collapsed inward, sealing with a crack like breaking ice.

  Kael’s eyes widened. The void pulsed in his palm, steady but heavy, like holding back a flood with his mind alone. Pain lanced behind his eyes—sharp, splitting—but he held it.

  The Herald’s fractured face twisted. “The deep one stirs... you dare pull against the sky?”

  Kael’s voice came out low, cold. “You don’t get to take any more.”

  He pushed forward, void swirl spinning faster. More crimson wisps ripped free from the Herald, from the lesser minions, from the veil itself. The air howled. Stone dust spiraled into the blue abyss.

  Lark’s chains took advantage, binding the Herald’s legs while it reeled. Toren rose with a roar, slamming a fist into its side. Vel flickered behind it, light blade sinking deep.

  For the first time, the Herald bled real light.

  But the veil pulsed in answer—stronger, angrier. The ground trembled. From the heart-square ahead, the main tear swelled, violet edges bleeding wider.

  And something massive stirred within it.

  Kael lowered his hand, void fading, head pounding like his skull might split. Blood—his own light—trickled from his nose.

  They weren’t done. Not even close.

  The Herald straightened, laughter echoing again.

  “Come deeper, little star. The harvest waits.”