The smell of blood still hung in the air like iron chains. Deep beneath the canopy of twisted trees and ancient stone, Kian sat in silence, his sword across his knees, eyes fixed on the glowing cracks in the dungeon wall. Arlen moved with quiet efficiency beside him, wrapping a fresh bandage around her wrist where a hunter-beast had grazed her.
"You sure you're not hurt worse than that?" she asked, her voice soft.
Kian didn't look at her. "It's nothing."
He'd taken a slash across the side, but it was shallow. What troubled him wasn't the injury. It was the whisper he'd heard in the echo of the dungeon. A pulse, faint but unmistakable. A soul-signature he knew by instinct alone.
Arlen's eyes narrowed slightly as she noticed something glinting near his collarbone. A small charm, tucked beneath the edge of his cloak — woven from red thread, shaped like a crescent moon.
"Is that from someone important?" she asked.
Kian's hand rose to touch it, almost unconsciously. His voice, when it came, was low.
"My sister made it. Before I left."
Arlen stilled. "I didn't know you had family."
"I don't," he said sharply, then added, "Not really. Just her."
He shifted, the weight of silence pressing heavier now. "Nyla. She's fourteen. Soulbound — unawakened, but gifted. She can feel things… not just in people, but places. Memories left behind. Emotional echoes."
Arlen tilted her head, intrigued. "That's rare. Powerful, too."
"That's why I keep her hidden," Kian said, his voice darkening. "She's the only thing I have left."
The fire crackled. Shadows danced along the cracked stone as Kian leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
"My father died in a raid near the Wastes. A failed dungeon breach. My mother… she was taken. Not by monsters. By people who wanted to control soulbound. She believed factions were experimenting on us. Trying to rewrite what it means to awaken. One night, she didn't come home."
Arlen's expression softened. "And Nyla?"
"She's alive. Hidden under another name, far from the capital. I haven't seen her in months."
He looked up at Arlen now, eyes sharp like drawn steel. "Because if I do… I'll lead them to her. I can't take that risk."
There was something terrifying in his calm. Not rage, but obsession. The cold conviction of someone who had already imagined a hundred different ways his sister might be taken from him—and who had promised the gods none of them would come to pass.
"You fight like a man with something to protect," Arlen said quietly.
"I fight like a man with nothing left to lose," Kian answered.
"No," Arlen replied, almost gently. "You fight like someone who would kill the world to save one girl."
He didn't deny it. Instead, he said, "I've bled for her. Killed for her. Everything I've become, every breath I draw in this cursed place — it's so that when the day comes, no one will be able to touch her. Not even fate."
They sat in silence again, the air around them thick with unspoken truths. Then the dungeon trembled.
A low vibration thrummed through the floor, a subtle quake like a heartbeat out of rhythm. Arlen's head snapped up. "That was no aftershock."
Kian rose instantly, sword in hand. The walls pulsed with a pale green glow — a signal of shifting energy. Then it came again: a ripple of power brushing across Kian's soul.
Not foreign.
Familiar.
He froze.
Arlen looked at him sharply. "You felt it?"
He didn't respond.
Arlen pressed. "Kian, what did you feel?"
He turned toward the pulse, voice ice-cold. "Her."
Arlen's breath caught. "You think… Nyla's here?"
"No," Kian growled. "She's not. She can't be. But that was her echo. Or someone mimicking it."
The temperature seemed to drop as he stepped toward the source of the energy, his jaw clenched.
"They're reaching for her. Tracking her, maybe through me."
Arlen moved to follow. "If someone's using her signature, we have to find out how. Together."
Kian stopped and turned, eyes burning like coals. "No. You don't understand."
He pointed to the charm on his chest.
"This? This is not just a keepsake. It's a vow. That no matter how deep I fall, she stays above it all. Untouched. Unknown. You want to help? Stay out of my way."
Arlen stepped closer, defiant. "If someone's after her, Kian, you'll need more than a blade and a vendetta. You'll need someone who understands soul-signatures. That's me."
He looked at her for a long moment. Not with anger, but the intensity of someone measuring trust against the weight of everything he had to lose.
Finally, he nodded once. "You stay close. One mistake, and this whole dungeon becomes your tomb."
They moved together through the crumbling hall, following the pulse. As they descended deeper into the dark, the walls whispered. Names. Faces. Emotions. Kian's steps grew heavier with each level — not from fear, but fury. If someone had touched Nyla's soulprint…
"I will break them," he said aloud.
Arlen heard him. Said nothing.
But in her own heart, she felt it too.
Kian Veyr had crossed a line.
And gods help whoever stood on the other side.
End Of Chapter 7