Torvin opened his eyes to white.

  Not the white of light or walls or sky, just white. Formless, endless, pressing in from all sides. He stood on nothing, surrounded by nothing, and for one terrible moment he thought he'd died.

  Then the voice spoke again, but different now. Not a whisper. A statement.

  Welcome, fragment. You have returned.

  Torvin's hand went to his chest. The broken sigil was still there, still warm. But something felt different. Fuller. Like pieces of himself he hadn't known were missing had just clicked into place.

  "Where am I?"

  Between. The Threshold. The Waiting Place. It has many names. A pause. You have questions. Ask.

  Torvin's mind raced. Cairn. Leah. The town. The thing in the tunnels. "My brother. Is he safe? Did he make it out?"

  The one who ran? Yes. He reached the surface. He lives.

  Relief hit him so hard his knees nearly buckled. He sucked in a breath, steadying himself.

  "The thing in the tunnel. The nightmare. What was it?"

  A fragment. A piece of what waits beyond the door. Sent through the crack to find you.

  "Find me? Why?"

  Silence. Then the voice spoke again, and for the first time, Torvin heard something beneath the ancient weight. Exhaustion. Desperation.

  Because you are the only one who can stop what's coming. Or the only one who can finish it. We don't know which yet. That's why you're here.

  Torvin's blood chilled. "Stop what? Finish what?"

  Images flooded his mind.

  A war, four hundred years ago. Awakeners in glowing armor fighting against shadows that consumed everything they touched. The shadows were winning, until they weren't. Until the Wardens, desperate and out of options, created a weapon. A vessel that could absorb the shadows without becoming one.

  The vessel worked. Barely. The shadows were broken, scattered, sealed in dungeons across the world.

  But the vessel was never meant to survive. It was meant to be a sacrifice.

  Instead, it did survive. Broken, scattered, its memories lost. It became... something else. Someone else.

  It became him.

  Torvin stumbled back, the weight of the revelation crushing him. "I can't be… I had a life. A family. Parents. I remember—"

  Fragments. Echoes. The vessel absorbed memories along with skills. The life you remember is real, but it belonged to others. People the vessel touched before you woke.

  Torvin thought of Cairn. Of Leah. Of every moment that had shaped him, every laugh, every argument, every quiet night in their cramped little house.

  "They're not mine," he whispered. "None of it's mine."

  They are yours now. You earned them. You lived them. The origin doesn't matter, only the choices you make with what you've been given.

  Torvin's hands clenched into fists. "Then tell me what to do. Tell me how to protect them. How to keep my brother and sister safe from whatever's coming."

  Train. Grow. Find the other fragments before the Reapers do. Absorb them, make them part of yourself. And when the door opens fully, as it will, soon, walk through and face what waits.

  "And if I fail?"

  Silence stretched, heavy as stone.

  Then everyone you love dies. The Reapers reunite. And the world burns.

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  Torvin opened his eyes to stone.

  Not white. Real stone. A ceiling he recognized, cracked plaster, water stains, a patch where the roof had leaked. His cot creaked beneath him. His boots sat by the door.

  He was back in his room.

  For one wild, desperate moment, he thought it had all been a dream. The mine, the nightmare, the voice, none of it real.

  Then he looked down.

  The broken sigil was still in his hand.

  He sat up slowly, his body aching like he'd run a hundred miles. Morning light filtered through the thin curtains. Voices drifted up from the street, normal voices, people going about normal days.

  The door burst open.

  Cairn stood there, pale as death, eyes wild. "Tor. Tor, you're awake. Thank the gods, you're awake."

  Torvin was on his feet before he realized he'd moved, crossing the room and pulling his brother into a hug so tight Cairn squeaked.

  "Hey, hey, what—"

  "You're alive." Torvin's voice cracked. "You're alive."

  "Of course I'm alive. I ran like you told me." Cairn pulled back, searching his face. "Tor, what happened down there? After I left? The foreman sent a rescue team but they couldn't find you. Said the tunnel had... changed. Shifted. They searched for three days and then gave you up for dead."

  Three days. Torvin had been gone three days.

  "I don't remember much," he said carefully. "Got lost in the dark. Found another way out." He held up the sigil. "Found this."

  Cairn stared at it. "That's a Warden's sigil. How did you—"

  "The man who died. The one pinned under the rubble. He gave it to me before..." Torvin trailed off.

  Cairn was quiet for a long moment. Then he nodded slowly. "Okay. Okay, we'll figure this out. But first Leah. She's been beside herself. You need to see her."

  Leah.

  Torvin's heart clenched. His sister. The one who'd raised them after their parents died. The one who'd worked double shifts at the tavern so they could eat. The one who'd held him when he cried and never once complained about the weight of it all.

  "She's here?"

  "She never left. Been sleeping in your chair." Cairn stepped back, letting the door swing open. "Go. I'll make breakfast."

  Torvin walked down the short hallway on legs that didn't feel like his own.

  Leah was asleep in the worn armchair by the window, curled sideways, her dark hair spilling across the armrest. She looked younger in sleep. Softer. The worry lines that creased her face when she was awake had smoothed away.

  Torvin knelt beside her and gently touched her shoulder.

  "Lee. Wake up."

  Her eyes flew open. For one breath, she just stared at him. Then she lunged forward and wrapped her arms around his neck, holding on like he might disappear.

  "You idiot," she sobbed into his shoulder. "You absolute idiot. Three days. Three days."

  "I know. I'm sorry."

  "Don't you ever do that again. Don't you ever leave me like that again."

  Torvin held her and said nothing. Because he couldn't promise that. Whatever was coming, whatever waited beyond the door, he would have to leave again. Probably soon. Probably for good.

  But not today.

  Today, he held his sister and let her cry.

  Later, they sat around the small kitchen table. Cairn had made porridge, the same thing they ate every morning, because it was cheap and filling. Torvin ate mechanically, his mind elsewhere.

  "We need to talk," he said finally. "Both of you. About what happened in the mine."

  Leah's spoon paused halfway to her mouth. "Cairn told me about the bodies. The Wardens. But he said you didn't see much."

  "I didn't. Not then." Torvin set down his spoon. "But I saw something after. Something I can't explain." He told them. Not everything—he left out the voice, the door, the revelation about what he was. But he told them about the nightmare creature, the light that had burst from his hand, the strange knowledge that had flooded his mind.

  When he finished, they stared at him in silence.

  Finally, Leah spoke. "You're serious."

  "Dead serious."

  "And you think... you think more of those things are coming?"

  Torvin thought of the voice. The crack in the door. The other fragments scattered across the world, waiting to be found.

  "Yes," he said. "I do."

  Cairn leaned forward. "Then what do we do?"

  Torvin met his brother's eyes. "We prepare. We get strong. And we hope it's enough."

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out the broken sigil, setting it on the table between them. It pulsed faintly, golden light flickering through the cracks.

  "This is a class sigil. Broken, but still... active. It gave me abilities I didn't have before. If I can learn to use them, really use them, maybe I can protect you. Protect everyone."

  Leah reached out, almost touching it, then pulled back. "And if you can't?"

  Torvin looked at his family. At the two people who mattered more than anything in the world.

  "Then I die trying," he said quietly. "Because the alternative—losing you—isn't an option."

  Cairn reached across the table and gripped his arm. Leah's eyes shone with unshed tears.

  "You're not dying," she said firmly. "None of us are. We're going to figure this out together, like we always do."

  Torvin wanted to believe her. Wanted to believe that love and stubbornness would be enough against ancient horrors and impossible odds.

  But he'd felt the weight of what waited beyond that door. Heard the hunger in its voice.

  Love wouldn't be enough.

  But it was all he had.