Thread of the Unbroken

My flames lash against the immovable darkness, thrashing at Thalrindor’s depths; a barrier light cannot penetrate. The darkness presses in on the Mimic, smothering its fire beneath waves of dust-ridden air. The flame chokes and sputters, its brilliance torn apart by the void until not even an ember of power remains.

The air thickens, turning to ash against my skin; clinging, suffocating, alive. Each breath drags in dust and despair — heavy, cold. The silence that follows is not peace; it is absence. Absolute. Consuming. Even thought feels foreign here, dulled by the weight of the dark.

In the stillness, I hear only the echo of my dying flame; faint, fragile, fading into nothing. Yet somewhere beneath the ruin, something stirs. A memory. A pulse. The whisper of a will that refuses to die.

The wind changes. A ripple runs through the air; brief, but familiar. It brushes my cheek; soft as memory, warm as breath. I look behind, certain I feel her there.

But I see nothing.

I feel it once more, softer this time, more distant. It lingers in the air before dying out, strangled by the cold. In the darkness, I cannot see; but I can feel her trail. It is not illuminated by light, but something deeper; a thread of destiny, unseen yet unbroken, pulling me toward her through the dark.

I take a moment in the black, to recall the feeling of her presence. Warmth crackles below the surface, radiating through my body, falling to rest on my mind. Even here, even now; I feel hope rise to the surface like a beast that cannot be chained.

I sheath the Mimic beneath my cloak, grip Gloomsheer tighter, and begin to walk — carving a path through the shadow.

My thoughts race with each step; half expecting to fall down a staircase, walk off a balcony, or gods forbid into another body of water.

My footsteps bounce off the walls like water on stone, drenching the silence in sound. Every movement deafening. Every sound disorienting. The noise becomes all I can hear. Terror grips me as I realise I can no longer hear the approach of enemies, or creatures. My heart thumps in my ears, a pounding drum that only makes it worse.

I feel a pulse rush through Gloomsheer. Urgent. Startling. It pulses again. Faster. Stronger. Desperate. Then my arm moves on its own, snapping upward; a flash of lightning in the dark.

A force slams into the blade. Before I can brace, I’m hurled backward; skidding to a halt across rubble and dust. Panic grips me. My worst fears realised. I rise quickly, somehow unscathed.

Gloomsheer still pulses desperately in my grip. I steady myself, both hands tightening around the hilt. The pulse softens; then, all at once, energy floods from the steel. Light breaks through the black haze; my cheek flaring with violet fire. Wisps of dark magic rise from its etching once more; but this time, there is no pain.

The blade’s resonance courses through me, a vibration syncing with my heartbeat. The scorched rune mark crackles softly with energy; the sensation climbs into my left eye. Then, from that eye, pulses burst outward from the blade — not of light, but of sound. Sound becomes sight: the echoes sketching crumbling walls, collapsed doorways, shattered shields.

The resonance washes over the creature, revealing a dark silhouette crouched low, moving slowly, trying to hide in the black. It creeps forward, each footstep delicate and precise. It stands no taller than five feet, but easily two men wide; built for strength. It’s almost absurd to see such bulk move with such silence and grace. Yet the thing still thinks I cannot see it. I use that. I look around blankly, feigning to listen, not to look, keeping it at the edge of my vision and letting it close for a killing strike.

As it nears, its features begin to take shape.

The violet pulse rolls over it, sketching its form in brief, trembling outlines. A hulking mass crouched low, shoulders bunched high like a beast ready to spring. Its arms drag close to the ground, thick as fallen pillars, ending in blunt, stone-like claws meant for crushing rather than cutting. The creature’s skin absorbs the resonance instead of reflecting it, matte black so absolute that the sound seems to vanish inside it, devoured whole.

Another pulse breaks across its body, and more details emerge. Its torso is barrel-wide, muscles coiled tight beneath heavy plates of shadow-hardened flesh. Where eyes should be, there are only two shallow dents, smooth and empty, as though sight was a luxury it abandoned long ago.

Yet it moves with unsettling precision; each step placed gently, toes splayed to distribute weight. Silent. Intentional. A predator taught by the dark itself.

It tilts its head as it closes in, sniffing the air, shoulders rising and falling in small, controlled motions. It thinks I’m blind. It thinks the darkness hides it. And in truth, without Gloomsheer’s resonance, it would have been right.

The next pulse crashes outward, revealing just how close it’s gotten; no more than a few strides away. Its massive frame tenses, muscles coiling like ropes pulled too tight, preparing to strike.

I keep my gaze unfocused, my breathing ragged on purpose, my stance loose.

I let it believe the lie.

And as the creature lowers itself for the killing leap, I shift my grip on Gloomsheer; just enough to let the blade feel my intent. In response, it hums softly in my grip.

The creature leaps.

I still cannot hear its movement… but I can see it.

Its thick trunk of an arm arcs overhead, claw poised to crush. But I’m ready. I sidestep, slipping past its descending strike. This time, I hear its presence, the moment it impacts the stone. The claw slams into the floor with such force the ground trembles, the ringing crack echoing into the dark.

But this is not my first fight in the black.

And now, I can see the creature’s world through one eye.

I snap into motion, giving it no chance to recover.

A lateral sweep; Gloomsheer slices the air with ruthless speed. In my violet vision, the blade’s black flames drag behind it in a perfect horizontal arc. The edge connects with the creature’s neck, severing the head in a single clean stroke.

The massive body wobbles on its feet like a teetering pillar… then collapses onto its back with a heavy, final thud. All but the final tremors of death escape its body.

The destruction it left behind catches my eye. The stone where its claw struck is cracked and caved in, a crater of fractured rock and pulverised dust. If I’d taken that hit directly, I wouldn’t just be dead; I’d be a puddle smeared across the floor, draining away between the broken stone.

That strike wasn’t meant to kill.

It was meant to erase me.

I step closer, studying the ruin, my breath steadying as the violet pulses fade into stillness. The creature’s bulk, its silence, its precision… something like this doesn’t attack by chance.

It was protecting something in here.

But what?

Does a beast like this have young?

A den?

Or worse — is it someone’s servant?

Something’s guardian?

The thought settles in my chest like a stone dropped into deep water. A shiver runs up my spine, and my grip tightens on Gloomsheer before I even realise it.

I’m okay… I can do this.

Another soft pulse rises through Gloomsheer, followed a heartbeat later by an answering thrum from the sheathed Mimic.

The souls within these blades are with me.

I am not alone.