The Horizon of the Wasteland held on the edge.
Three silhouettes leaned over the sphere. Below, the black magical cocoon that had gripped one of the houses suddenly crumbled into dust.
“The hold has weakened,” the Ashen Shadow whispered.
The flame flared, pointing to a clear pattern.
“She left them alive?”
“Something does not add up,” the Stone Guardian said, his voice heavy like rolling boulders.
“I agree,” the Shadow murmured. “If her goal was destruction, she should have erased the foundation, but the Anchor remains intact.”
Silence hung in the hall. The behaviour of the power that had struck the house did not fit the logic of blind rage. Darkness struck, then retreated, leaving witnesses. It looked not like murder, but like clearing a path.
Stolen story; please report.
Space split soundlessly. From the void a fourth silhouette wove itself. It had no colour, no shadow — only pure, trembling distortion. The Ether.
“Did you see?” the Stone asked.
“The spectacle was convincing,” the Ether replied sharply. “The cage opened, but the birds have already flown.”
He approached the edge of the sphere and looked at the breach where the children had fallen.
“The rules are broken,” he continued. “The one who came to the house played her move and withdrew into shadow. Now the pieces on the board can move themselves.”
His outline began to thin, like smoke drawn up a chimney.
“Where are you going?” the Flame flared.
“Down. To where pawns turn into queens.”
“You cannot interfere,” the Shadow reminded.
“The law is known to me,” the Ether answered, disappearing into the funnel of transition. “I go to watch who among them reaches the end.”
The Ether vanished.
The three remaining closed the circle.
From that instant every move carried a price, and the first to pay it would be those already on the other side of the board.
— What moment hit you the hardest?
— Which character interested you the most?
— What do you think will happen next?
The story is only beginning.
