CHAPTER 107: THE VESSEL FRACTURES.

The blade fell.

Not like steel to steel, not like flesh torn by iron, but like a verdict written into the marrow of the world. It carved the air in silence, a sweep of black flame too heavy for sound, too inevitable for resistance. My arms raised out of instinct, ash blade lifted to meet it—yet I knew before the clash that it would not hold.

When they met, the sound was the scream of glass breaking under the weight of mountains. The ash blade splintered in my grip, shards bursting outward only to dissolve into smoke before they struck the ground.

The impact hurled me to my knees. My bones rattled like hollow reeds, my breath ripped from me as if torn by unseen hands. Ash swirled in choking clouds around me, heavy, suffocating.

And he stood there.

The commander.

Not broken and scarred as he had been in the duel, not the dying relic whose blood had mingled with mine. Here, in this labyrinth of ash and fire, he was whole. His frame towered, forged in the image of strength itself—armor black as obsidian, traced with veins of molten light. His face, once ruined, was restored—strong jaw, proud brow, my own features mirrored in brutal perfection. His eyes burned molten gold, too bright to look upon, too terrible to look away from.

"You resist still," he said. His voice was not sound, not merely air; it was weight, it was judgment. It filled the labyrinth, echoing in every wall, every corridor, every particle of ash. "But resistance is weakness. To fight yourself is to bleed yourself. Yield, and the vessel will be made whole."

The labyrinth walls pulsed as if they breathed. Faces stretched from them—faces I knew. Garron. Selene. The men who had followed me into the South. The villagers I had failed to protect. The dead. All of them. Their lips moved, whispers weaving into a storm:

"You are him."

"He is you."

"The vessel breaks."

My hands trembled against the ash floor. My lungs burned as though fire had been poured into them. "I am not—you."

The commander crouched, the black blade resting across his knees like an executioner’s tool. He studied me as though I were no more than prey. Then he reached forward, fingers curling toward my chest.

When they touched, agony ignited.

It was not touch. It was penetration. His hand slipped through flesh, through ribs, straight into the cavity of my chest. Fire exploded outward from the point of contact, searing every nerve. My back arched, my scream torn from me, raw and broken. It felt as if he had thrust his hand into the core of me—not my heart, but the marrow of my being.

"Yes," he whispered, and the word wasn’t only sound—it was thought, it was presence, it was inside me. "Let me in. Let me finish what you began."

The labyrinth shifted. The walls twisted and folded like cloth, corridors bending in impossible angles. The ash beneath me rose in waves, churning, dragging me down. The faces on the walls screamed now, their mouths wide, their teeth jagged.

"You are cursed!"

"You killed us!"

"You doomed us all!"

The commander’s grip deepened. Fire spread through me, filling me, burning me alive from the inside out. His laughter cracked the air, split the walls, shook the ash sky.

And in the midst of it—

"RYON!"

The voice tore through everything—through fire, through ash, through madness. Not a whisper. A command. Garron.

The labyrinth shivered. A crack split the wall, light bleeding through like dawn over ruins. The commander’s molten eyes narrowed, fury sparking.

"He chains you to weakness," he snarled. "He anchors you to flesh, to fear. Cast him aside. He is nothing. You are me."

The fire in my chest surged, threatening to devour me. My mind reeled. Between the commander’s hand and Garron’s voice, I was being torn apart.

"I..." The word shredded my throat. My hands pushed against the commander’s chest—against my own chest. "I am not you."

"You are only ash."

"I am not ash!"

The labyrinth cracked.

The walls ruptured, collapsing into rivers of molten fire and storms of choking dust. The faces melted into streaks of smoke, their screams fading into wails. The commander’s form flickered, breaking at the edges, faces shifting across his features—mine, Garron’s, the commander’s own, the dead, a thousand others, all twisted.

"All vessels break," the voices hissed, layered into a chorus.

My scream was not despair—it was defiance. I thrust both hands deeper into the fire burning in my chest. White pain blinded me, scorched me, but I pulled. I dragged the blaze out of me, tearing it free.

The fire erupted. It blasted outward, tearing the commander into shards of ember and shadow that scattered into the void. His roar filled the labyrinth, half fury, half triumph.

"I am not gone. I am within you still. Vessels break!"

And then silence.

The labyrinth dissolved.

I gasped awake.

The cot shook beneath me as my body convulsed, soaked in sweat. My chest heaved, bandages soaked in blood and resin. The healers’ chants broke into cries of alarm, their hands fumbling, bowls spilling. Garron’s shadow fell over me, and then his arms locked me down with the weight of iron.

"Breathe," he snarled, his face inches from mine. "Breathe, damn you. Do not let it take you."

Air tore into my lungs in ragged gasps. The tent swam around me—walls rippling like heat haze, the brazier smoke stinging my eyes. Real. Tangible. I clung to it like driftwood in a storm.

But outside—

The voices.

Not whispers. Shouts.

"He’s cursed!"

"He carries the North’s fire!"

"He’ll damn us all!"

"Kill him before he kills us!"

The camp roared like a mob at the edge of mutiny. Shields beat in rhythm, steel striking steel. Fear curdled into violence.

Garron’s grip crushed tighter, pinning me down. His eyes locked mine, hard, unflinching. His voice dropped to a growl, meant for me alone.

"You are still Ryon," he said. "Do not forget it."

But the fire still smoldered in my ribs. And in the hollow of my chest, I heard it—faint, coiling, the commander’s voice, whispering like smoke from embers.

"Vessels break."

I closed my eyes, chest heaving, sweat dripping into the bandages. My body was whole, but inside, something still cracked.

Not broken yet.

But breaking.