The glow of phantom lanterns hovered above the square like fading stars. Radit and Tamari sat against a crumbling wall, exhausted, their hands still entwined, the notebook clutched between them like a fragile lifeline.
For a brief moment, the city was quiet. The cracks in the ground had stopped spreading. The shadows had retreated, dissolving into the dark beyond the ruined market.
Tamari rested her head on Radit's shoulder, whispering, "I can't believe we held them back. Even for a second."
Radit swallowed hard. "We did more than that," he said softly. "We proved this city is still here. That its story isn't finished."
But as the phantom lanterns flickered overhead, Radit saw tiny fissures start to appear in the walls again — hairline cracks, pulsing with faint static.
"They're coming back," Tamari murmured. "It never stops, does it?"
Radit shook his head. "No. But neither do we."
Suddenly, a low rumble echoed through the square, rattling the broken stones. A tremor shook the ground, and in the distance, a massive crack tore through the remnants of the Old Market Street, swallowing what was left of the lantern stalls.
Tamari flinched. "Radit… something's wrong."
Radit stood, pulling her up with him. "Stay close," he breathed.
From the widening crack in the street, a shape began to rise — taller than the hollow figures, its edges shivering with darkness so dense it swallowed the dim light around it. Where the smaller shadows had been humanoid, this one was something else — a towering void, shifting and formless, with dozens of flickering eyes scattered across its body like dying stars.
Tamari squeezed his hand until it hurt. "It's… learning," she whispered. "It's using everything we said, everything we wrote… it's building itself from our words."
The giant shadow leaned forward, its many mouths opening and closing in silence. Then it spoke — not with a voice, but with hundreds of overlapping whispers echoing from every wall:
**We… remember… you.**
Radit felt his stomach turn to ice. The thing wasn't just mimicking them — it was collecting every word they'd spoken, every memory they'd offered. Using their own story to **undo** them.
He opened the notebook, flipping to a blank page, but his hands shook too much to write.
"Radit!" Tamari shouted, tears in her voice. "We have to do something!"
He looked at her, panic rising. "I don't know how to fight this," he gasped. "It… it knows everything we've said!"
Tamari grabbed his face, forcing him to look at her. "Then say something new," she whispered fiercely. "Something it can't predict. Something **only we** can give it."
Radit swallowed, staring into her eyes — bright and terrified, but burning with life. He took a shaky breath and raised his voice:
"This city… isn't just words on a page," he said, his voice trembling. "It's more than cracks and shadows. It's every fear, every hope, every love we've ever held onto. It's messy and real and **ours**."
The giant shadow howled, reeling back as though the words burned.
Radit kept going, louder. "We choose what stays. We choose what fades. And I choose this city. I choose Tamari. I choose to fight for every light in the dark!"
Tamari joined him, her voice raw. "We choose to **live**!"
The air pulsed with energy, and the phantom lanterns overhead burst into bright, real flame, casting warm light across the ruined square. The cracks in the ground paused, shivering, as though unsure.
The giant shadow shrieked, recoiling into the darkness — but not gone. Not yet.
Radit turned to Tamari, panting. "We can't hold it forever," he whispered. "We have to find the source — where this blankness begins."
Tamari nodded, gripping his hand. "Then let's finish this," she said. "Together."
And as the square shook with the hollow beast's rage, Radit flipped to a new page and began to write — ready to carve the final chapter of their story.