The sun rose like a bleeding wound over the horizon, casting a dull amber light over the dusty bones of Gravesend. It did not warm Umbra's skin. Light no longer clung to him. It flinched from his presence, as though the world itself feared what he was becoming.
He stood on the rooftop of the inn, alone.
Beneath his feet, shadows moved of their own accord — silent tendrils dancing like serpents in an invisible wind. His reflection, faintly mirrored in a shattered windowpane, no longer looked like Sunny. That name belonged to a boy who smiled. A boy who felt.
Now, he was Umbra.
Something deeper. Something... darker.
The first orb — the Orb of Silence — pulsed faintly against his chest. It whispered lullabies of void and vengeance. In its presence, even the air dared not speak too loudly.
Footsteps approached.
Sunny — no, Lysara — climbed the rickety ladder behind him. Her boots thudded softly on the planks.
"You're up early," she said, shielding her eyes against the pale dawn.
"I never sleep anymore," Umbra replied. His voice had changed—lower, colder, yet melodic in a haunting way.
She looked at him carefully, but said nothing about it.
"We gathered the supplies," she continued. "And the map. There's a route through the Singing Wastes. It leads to the ruins of the Hollow Choir."
"The Orb of Echoes is there," he said, as if he already knew.
Lysara hesitated. "...They say the Choir once sang the world into stillness. That they found a song that could stop a heart or unravel a mind."
Umbra turned to her. "Then I'll find it. And I'll listen."
Before she could respond, another voice rang out behind them.
"You're talking like you're not afraid anymore," said Sunny, climbing up beside them. "You should be. I've seen what that first orb is doing to you."
Umbra didn't flinch. "Fear is a luxury for the weak. I don't have that luxury."
The three stood in silence for a time. Below them, Gravesend was beginning to stir — unaware that its quietest guest was preparing to descend deeper into the abyss.
"Why now?" Sunny asked. "Why chase the next orb so soon?"
Umbra looked at the sun, already fading behind a veil of dusty wind.
"Because the light can't follow me where I'm going."
He turned, cloak whipping behind him as the shadows curled tighter around his limbs. Each step toward the ladder seemed to pull him deeper into something unseen.
As the trio descended the watchtower and began their march toward the Wastes, Umbra cast one final look over his shoulder.
For a heartbeat, he imagined the sun blessing his skin again.
But that boy was gone.
Only the shadow remained