Chapter 1591: Story 1591: Chains of Flesh and Echo
The earth trembled beneath them as though the storm’s laugh had sunk into its bones. From the fissures seeped molten light in thin rivers, winding outward like veins of a growing body. Every pulse matched the boy’s shallow breaths.
Kael paced along the edge, scars flickering, fists clenched until blood dripped from his palms. “It’s tethering again. Every crack, every star-fall—it’s looking for a vessel. If we don’t act now, the boy won’t resist the next pull.”
Elara’s grip on her son tightened, her arms raw and blistered. She kissed his damp hair, her voice fraying at the edges. “You hear me, my love? They will not take you again. You are mine, not its marrow.”
The widow rose shakily, palms still bleeding, her lips moving without sound. She traced patterns into the dust with her blood, symbols jagged and broken. The earth quivered beneath them as if straining to understand. Her eyes, hollow yet fierce, lifted to Kael: The ground will hold what we cannot.
The scarred woman leaned on her splintered haft, teeth bared in a grin smeared with blood. “Then let’s chain it. Chains break, but so do we. Question is—who breaks first?”
The farmer, trembling, lifted his drum into his lap. His fingers barely obeyed him, skin split to the bone, but he struck a rhythm anyway. Not steady, not clean—jagged beats that stumbled like broken footsteps. The sound wove through the fissures, twisting with the widow’s blood-sigil.
The air shuddered. The molten veins slowed, their glow stuttering with each discordant strike.
Kael seized the moment. He crouched beside the fissure, pressing both hands into the trembling ground. His scars flared brighter, searing through his skin until he roared in pain. “Take my fire with your chains—burn it into the root!”
Light lanced from his body into the cracks, spreading like molten iron poured into a mold. The sigils the widow carved flared alive, fed by his scars.
Above them, the sky recoiled. The bleeding wound shuddered, and the laughter faltered, replaced by a groan vast and furious.
The boy stirred in Elara’s arms, his small voice trembling through cracked lips. “It doesn’t like it… but it pulls harder.” His glow pulsed wildly, threads of light crawling up his skin like vines.
Elara pressed her forehead to his, tears hissing as they hit the burning glow. “Then fight it, my son. Let us be its chains. Don’t bear it alone.”
The scarred woman raised her broken haft high and slammed it down into one of the writhing veins. The weapon disintegrated, but the vein fractured, spilling sparks instead of binding light. She laughed, ragged and wild. “See? It bleeds!”
The fissures roared, spitting molten shards. The storm above howled in defiance, its voice spreading in every direction:
“You bind nothing. You chain yourselves. My breath is your marrow. My roots are in your blood.”
And yet, for a heartbeat, the glowing veins froze—held by scars, blood, and broken rhythm.
Kael lifted his blistered face toward the sky, voice hoarse but unyielding. “Then we’ll chain you with every drop we have left.”
The laugh returned, fractured but louder. The storm pressed harder. And the binding began to tear.