Breach
It began with the candles.
One by one, their flames went out—not by wind or motion, but as if the darkness itself had drawn a breath and snuffed them out. Shadows spilled across the stone walls like ink blooming in water, swallowing warmth and light with quiet finality.
Isabela stood at the center of the great hall, one gloved hand resting on the hilt of her blade. She didn't move. Didn't speak. But something deep in her bones shifted.
Something was wrong.
Not beyond the Circle's walls.
Inside.
She turned sharply. "Where's Cuco?"
The question sliced through the silence.
No one answered.
Across the chamber, Nox was already moving. Her boots echoed in the vast chamber as she approached one of the arched doors. She stopped short when she saw what waited.
The runes along the threshold—ancient glyphs, meant to seal and guard—had been altered.
Not shattered.
Rewritten.
Slashed through with surgical precision. Rearranged into something wrong. Familiar lines inverted, protections unraveled from within.
Tariq stepped up beside her, his face pale. "That's… a breach symbol," he whispered. "A reverse bind."
Nox's voice was low. "Someone opened the gate. Not fully. Just enough."
A breath. A chill. A tremor beneath their feet.
"Enough to let something in."
Then—behind them—a sound.
Soft. Low.
A humming.
They turned.
Lira stood at the center of the Circle. Her eyes were closed. Her expression slack and strange. Both hands shimmered with black, viscous light. She hummed an old melody—broken and off-key. A lullaby from nowhere.
Isabela moved to step forward—
—but Tariq caught her wrist.
"Wait," he whispered. Fear sharpened his voice.
Because Lira wasn't alone.
In the farthest shadows of the chamber, barely visible beyond the curve of flickering light, something watched.
A figure.
Faceless. Motionless.
Not part of the world as it was.
It stood like a tear in reality—wrong in shape, wrong in weight.
And then—it spoke.
The words hissed through the air like ash scraping over stone:
> "They don't belong here, Lira.
But you… you remember the stars."
Lira's lips curved—not into a smile.
Something hollower. Deeper.
"Let them dream," she murmured. "Let them all dream."
Then she screamed.
The sound split the air like lightning.
A shockwave erupted from beneath her feet—dark energy exploding outward, cracking the marble floor and throwing everyone off their feet. The Circle trembled. The ceiling groaned. Dust rained in choking clouds.
The flame runes died.
And then—
Laughter.
Not Lira's.
From below.
From beneath the Circle.
From the Hollow Ones.
They rose through the ruptured stone like rot in water—limbs made of twisted flesh, hands stitched together, too many mouths whispering lullabies in voices that didn't belong.
One climbed the wall like a spider—slow and deliberate.
Another cooed in the voice of someone's dead mother.
The Dreamers moved fast.
Nox was already slicing through the first Hollow One, blades glowing silver.
Echo stepped forward and opened his mouth—no words, just resonance—and three of the creatures collapsed, black blood spilling from their ears.
Tariq yanked Isabela out of the way as a stone throne shattered beside them.
But then—
Lira turned.
Her eyes were black voids now.
Her sigil blazed on her skin like a burning constellation.
She was no longer Lira.
> "The Dreamer's gate is open," she intoned.
"And the fire you buried… is waking up."
Her voice wasn't just sound—it was force.
Another pulse of dark energy surged outward, shaking the Circle to its roots.
And then—
A new presence.
From the archway—
Cuco.
Dust-covered. Wild-eyed.
He clutched the Rootbound Tome in both arms like a lifeline.
His gaze swept the ruin—the broken Circle, the Hollow Ones, the shattered runes—
And then… Lira.
His friend.
His ally.
She looked at him through void-black eyes.
And smiled.
With sorrow.
Then she whispered, as the ground cracked again beneath her feet:
> "You're too late."