The dawn broke over Eldermoor with a hesitant light, the sky streaked with pale pinks and golds as if unsure whether to fully embrace the day. Clara hadn't slept. She sat at her kitchen table, the orb in front of her, its crack now a jagged line that split nearly halfway across its surface. The hum within it was louder, more insistent, as if it knew the time for action was near. The visions from the Rite of Communion replayed in her mind-the endless cycle of the fractures, the sacrifices of the chosen ones, and the two paths forward: a temporary reprieve or a final, costly end. Harrow arrived early, his face lined with worry but his resolve unshaken. Thom was with him, his slingshot tucked into his belt, his young eyes bright with determination. "The village is ready to help, Clara," Harrow said, setting his book on the table. "They know what's at stake now. Whatever you decide, we're with you." Clara nodded, her throat tight. She'd spent the night wrestling with her choice, but the orb's whispers had guided her to the truth. The fractures would never stop-not unless she ended them for good. And that meant giving everything, just as Lila had. She looked at Harrow and Thom, their faces full of trust, and knew she couldn't let them down. "We're going back to the shrine," she said, her voice steady. "I'm going to seal the fractures-permanently." The climb to Harrow's Hill was silent, the weight of the moment pressing down on them. The village had gathered at the base of the hill, their faces a mix of fear and hope as they watched Clara ascend. Mrs. Tully clutched a handkerchief, her eyes red but resolute, while others whispered prayers for her safety. Clara carried the orb, its glow brighter now, the crack spreading with every step. The air grew heavy as they neared the shrine, a faint tremor rippling through the ground-a warning that the fractures were stirring again. Inside the shrine, the stone altar glowed faintly, the symbols etched into its surface reacting to the orb's presence. Clara placed it in the center, her hands trembling slightly as the light within flared. The hum turned into a low, resonant chant, the voices of the chosen ones echoing around her. *"You are the last,"* they whispered. *"End the cycle."* Harrow stood by her side, his book open to the final page of the prophecy. "There's a chant to complete the sealing," he said, his voice steady. "It'll bind the echo's power to the fractures, close them for good. But Clara... you know what it'll cost." "I know," she said softly, her eyes on the orb. "I'm ready." Thom stepped forward, his voice small but fierce. "You don't have to do this, Clara. We can find another way." Clara knelt to his level, placing a hand on his shoulder. "There is no other way, Thom. But you'll be here to rebuild, to make sure Eldermoor thrives. That's what matters." She stood, turning back to the altar, and began the chant Harrow had taught her, the words flowing like a river, ancient and powerful. The orb's light exploded, filling the shrine with a blinding blue glow. The ground shook violently, and a deafening roar filled the air as the fractures fought against the sealing. Clara felt their resistance, their malice, but she pressed on, her voice unwavering. The symbols on the altar burned brighter, their light merging with the orb's, and the crack on its surface finally split it in two. A wave of energy surged from the orb, rippling out across Eldermoor. Clara saw flashes of the fractures' history-the pain, the destruction, the endless cycle of suffering. But she also saw the chosen ones, their sacrifices, their strength, and she drew on that legacy as she poured everything into the chant. The energy pulsed through her, draining her strength, her life, just as it had with Lila. The roar of the fractures faded, replaced by a profound silence. The ground stilled, the symbols on the altar dimmed, and the orb's light extinguished, its halves turning to dust. Clara collapsed, her vision fading, but she felt a deep peace settle over her. The fractures were gone-truly gone. Eldermoor was safe. Harrow caught her as she fell, his voice choked with emotion. "You did it, Clara. You ended it." She managed a faint smile, her eyes fluttering closed. "Take care... of them," she whispered, her last breath carrying the weight of her sacrifice. The village mourned Clara Hensley, their guardian, their savior. They buried her beneath the oak tree in the square, a monument to her bravery. The river flowed gently once more, the village rebuilt, and Thom grew up with her memory as a guiding light, ensuring Eldermoor would never forget the woman who gave everything to break the cycle. And in the quiet moments, when the wind whispered through the hills, some swore they could hear a faint hum-a final echo of Clara's courage, watching over them always.
