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As she left, she heard the shard pulse again - once, sharp and certain - as though it had been listening.

Then it stopped.

15

The Flame in the Night

Eryssan looked worse by daylight than it had by storm. The fractured spire loomed against the pale sky, its scaffolded ribs trembling in the wind like a wounded bird trying to stay upright. Maia crossed the square toward the council chambers, summoned before she’d fully woken, the fragments’ restless hum still threading through her from the night before.

And under that, sharper than any of it, the memory of Caelith’s chamber. Whatever had passed between them in that moment, she had carried it out of the room and had not been able to put it down since.

By the time Maia reached the council chamber, the guards’ stares had already found her. She ignored them and stepped inside.

The council convened beneath the white dome of the chamber, candles flickering in the draughts that slipped through the high windows. Advisors and scribes lined the circular table, their quiet conversations hushed with tension.

The Fracture had always been a matter of study. Now it had become a matter of survival.

“The eastern spire remains standing only through luck,” one councillor said sharply. “The fractures beneath the cliffs are widening. As the closest city to the Fracture, our wards cannot sustain this indefinitely. Meridon will not send aid, and the Lost Villages have gone silent. We… we now stand alone.”

A map of the city lay spread across the table. Small crystal markers marked the locations of recovered fragments, their faint sigil echoes pulsing against the parchment.

Maia felt the familiar prickle beneath her skin. The fragments were listening, just like last night.

“We will deploy additional Umbralyn units to the fracture zones,” another councillor said. “Some will remain here to assist the scholars in stabilising the recovered shards. The rest will contain any incursions.”

Maia folded her hands tightly in her lap.

“The fragments have apparently changed. They speak differently than usual, and are harder to decipher since the last tremor. Therefore the scribes’ working hours will be extended until we understand these changes,” a third councillor went on.

“Every fragment hums,” she murmured, barely aware she had spoken.

Julen’s elbow nudged hers immediately. “Maia,” he muttered under his breath.

But she continued softly. “I’ve learned that some carry memories. Others… something else.”

The councillors looked at her, but they did not respond. They looked at her as someone disturbing the direction of their plans, not someone who could aid them. The discussion had already moved on.

She gritted her teeth, heat rising in her cheeks, anger tangled with embarrassment. How she’d been brought in for knowledge, yet treated like a variable.

The council session dragged well into the morning. When Maia finally stepped back into the rain-washed streets, the sky had darkened again. Thin threads of rain drifted between the rooftops, silver against the stone.

Julen walked beside her, his stride brisk.

“You shouldn’t speak like that in front of them,” he said quietly.

Maia sighed. “I’m only speaking the truth. Perhaps if they treated my observations as valid rather than a hindrance, we might be able to figure this out before another tremor takes us all out.”

“Your observations are valid, Maia. Must you always act in defiance of everything, though? They do not like that.”

“It’s not defiance, it’s what I know. I’ve seen the stones, I’ve been told what they are by someone who actually knows.”

Julen scoffed. “Him. Of course he has you falling for his stories. Just remember that’s what a lot of them are. Stories.”

“And you should remember to have your own mind and not just bleat out whatever your father tells you.”

He looked at her, shocked. He said nothing more as they made their way to the study hall, like he was deciding whether to argue back but chose against it.

They eventually got to their table, the now-familiar hum of the fragments sounding throughout the Archive. Their containment dishes glowed faintly in the dim light, each shard pulsing with its own uneven rhythm. Maia looked around for Caelith; she had a dozen questions about the memory stone, and his candle was still on her desk. But his chair was empty.