The moonlight bathed Harrow's Hill in a silver glow as Clara descended, the orb cradled carefully in her hands. The tiny crack on its surface seemed to pulse faintly, a reminder that the peace she'd fought for was fragile. The storm had fully cleared, and the air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of wet earth and pine. Below, the floodwaters in Eldermoor were receding, the river retreating to its banks as if the fractures' grip on the village had finally loosened. But Clara's chest tightened with every step-she knew this wasn't over. Harrow met her halfway down the hill, his cane sinking into the muddy ground, his face etched with exhaustion but bright with relief. "You did it, Clara," he said, his voice hoarse. "I saw the light from the shrine-felt the ground steady. The fractures... they're sealed?" "For now," Clara replied, holding up the orb so he could see the crack. "But it's not done with me. I heard it tap, just like the egg did. There's more to this, Harrow." His expression darkened as he studied the orb, his fingers brushing the crack. "You're right," he said quietly. "The echo's power isn't spent. When Lila sealed the fractures, the egg she held turned to dust-its purpose fulfilled. If this one's still active..." He trailed off, his eyes meeting hers. "It means the fractures aren't fully closed. They're dormant, but they'll wake again." Clara's stomach twisted. She'd hoped the battle in the shrine would be the end of it, that she could return to her quiet life of baking bread and tending her hens. But the orb's warmth in her hands, the faint hum it emitted, told her otherwise. "What do I do now?" she asked, her voice small against the weight of the task. Harrow adjusted his grip on his cane, his jaw tightening. "We need to understand the echo better-what it's holding, what it wants. My book mentions a ritual, a way to commune with the echo directly. It's risky, but it might give us answers." He paused, his gaze softening. "You don't have to do this alone, Clara. The village will stand with you." She nodded, though the thought of involving the villagers made her uneasy. They'd already suffered enough-flooded homes, ruined livelihoods. She didn't want to drag them into whatever came next. But as they reached the base of the hill, she saw Thom running toward them, his face smudged with mud but lit with a determined grin. "Clara! You're okay!" he shouted, skidding to a stop in front of her. "I got everyone to the hills like you said. They're safe-Mrs. Tully, the Carvers, everyone. They saw the light from the shrine. They're saying you saved us!" Clara managed a small smile, though the orb's crack weighed heavily on her mind. "I'm glad they're safe, Thom," she said. "But we're not out of this yet." Thom's grin faltered, his eyes flicking to the orb. "What's that crack mean?" he asked, his voice quieter now. "It means we've got more work to do," Harrow answered for her, clapping a hand on Thom's shoulder. "But for tonight, let's get back to the village. Clara needs rest, and I need to dig deeper into that ritual." They made their way back to Eldermoor, the streets still slick with water but no longer submerged. The villagers had begun to return, their faces a mix of relief and weariness as they assessed the damage. Mrs. Tully rushed over when she saw Clara, pulling her into a tight hug. "I knew you'd come through, girl," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "You're a Hensley through and through." Clara hugged her back, the orb tucked safely in her coat pocket. "I just did what I had to," she said, pulling away. "But it's not over. There's more coming-I can feel it." Mrs. Tully's expression sobered, but she nodded. "Whatever it is, we'll face it together. You're not alone, Clara." The words echoed Harrow's, and Clara felt a flicker of warmth despite the uncertainty. She excused herself, heading toward her small cottage at the edge of the village. The windowsill where she'd first found the egg was empty now, but the memory of that morning felt like a lifetime ago. Inside, she placed the orb on her kitchen table, its faint glow casting a soft light across the room. She sat, staring at it, the crack seeming to grow slightly larger as she watched. Harrow arrived a short while later, his book tucked under his arm. He spread it open on the table, pointing to a page filled with intricate symbols and a detailed description of the ritual. "This is the Rite of Communion," he said. "It'll let you connect with the echo-see what it's holding, what it needs you to do. But it's not without risk. You'll be opening yourself to the past, to the fractures' memories. If you're not careful, they could overwhelm you." Clara traced the symbols with her finger, her resolve hardening. "I've already faced their illusions once," she said. "I can do it again. What do I need to do?" Harrow listed the steps: a circle of salt for protection, a drop of her blood to bind her to the echo, and a chant to awaken its memories. They gathered the materials quickly-salt from her pantry, a small knife for the blood, and a candle to light the way. Clara drew the circle around the table, her hands steady despite the growing unease in her gut. She pricked her finger, letting a single drop of blood fall onto the orb, and began the chant Harrow had taught her, the words strange and ancient on her tongue. The orb's glow intensified, the crack splitting further as the light within swirled faster. Clara's vision blurred, and the kitchen faded away, replaced by a void of endless blue. She was floating, weightless, the orb's whispers now a roaring chorus around her. Faces appeared in the light-Lila's, and others Clara didn't recognize, all women with features eerily similar to her own. They were the chosen ones, the ones who'd faced the fractures before her, their voices merging into one. *"The fractures are eternal,"* they said, their tone both a warning and a plea. *"They cannot be destroyed, only held at bay. You are the guardian now, Clara Hensley. The echo is your burden-and your weapon."* Clara reached out, her hand brushing the light, and a flood of memories rushed through her-centuries of battles against the fractures, each chosen one sacrificing something to keep them at bay. She saw Lila's final moments, the egg turning to dust as she collapsed, her life given to save Eldermoor. She saw others, their faces etched with determination and sorrow, each passing the burden to the next. The vision shifted, and Clara saw the future-or a possible future. The fractures waking again, stronger this time, the shadowy creatures multiplying until they overwhelmed the village. But there was another path: Clara, standing at the heart of Eldermoor, the orb in her hands, its light sealing the fractures for good. The cost, though, was clear-she'd have to give everything, just as Lila had. The vision faded, and Clara gasped, back in her kitchen, the orb's light dimming to a soft glow. Harrow was watching her, his face tense. "What did you see?" he asked. Clara's voice trembled as she answered. "I'm the guardian now. The fractures... they'll never stop. Not unless I end them for good. But if I do..." She trailed off, the weight of the choice settling on her shoulders. Harrow's expression softened. "You don't have to decide tonight, Clara. Rest. We'll figure this out together." She nodded, but as she lay in bed that night, the orb on her bedside table, its crack glowing faintly, she knew sleep wouldn't come. The echo's burden was hers now, and the fractures were waiting.
