Chapter 3: Settling Dust

  Dominic

  The smell of wet concrete and scorched steel filled the air

  Dominic stumbled through the unfinished high-rise floor, boots clanging against rebar and sheet metal, breath ragged in his throat. The early morning sun hadn’t yet burned through the fog clinging to the city, but the site was already alive with shouts, hammering, and the mechanical growl of machinery

  He barely heard it

  Everything felt... distant

  His fingers trembled as he wiped sweat from his brow. His hard hat was gone. His vest was ripped at the shoulder. No one had noticed

  Or maybe they had, and they just didn’t know what they were seeing

  His mind kept playing it—again and again

  The spark

  The silence

  The collapse

  Flash

  He was in the harness, guiding the beam into place. The tower crane’s line swung wide. Too wide. Then the snapping sound. Then the scream

  Flash

  He’d shoved Marcus. Marcus, the kid with two toddlers and a wedding in two weeks. Marcus had made it to the catwalk

  Dominic had not

  Flash

  Steel twisted around him. Concrete pouring like thunder. Something cracking in his spine

  But he hadn't died

  Now, days—or maybe hours—later, he moved like something else was carrying him. Something pulling him toward the heart of the site

  Toward it

  The hammer

  It stood upright in the dust, impossibly still among the chaos. The crew walked past it like it wasn’t there. Like it didn’t exist

  But Dominic saw it

  His name wasn’t on it

  But his blood was

  He reached out—and the world stopped breathing

  The moment his fingers brushed the hammer’s handle, the ground beneath him lurched—not like a tremor, but like a heartbeat skipping a beat. Then came the sound: a low, vibrating hum that deepened until it wasn’t sound at all, but pressure in his chest, behind his eyes

  Steel cables snapped somewhere above

  The sky darkened

  Then the shockwave hit

  A pulse erupted from the hammer—silent, but devastating. The concrete floor fractured outward in a perfect circle beneath Dominic’s feet. Scaffolding twisted like wet paper. Tools flew. Cranes groaned

  Every piece of machinery stopped. The earth below the site cracked open in a web of fault lines that hadn’t been there seconds before

  Men screamed

  And at the center of it all, Dominic stood—warhammer gripped in both hands, his eyes glowing faintly, breath calm as the dust rose around him like ash from a meteor strike

  He didn’t see the figure step through the settling haze

  Didn’t hear the quiet crunch of boots approaching over fractured ground

  But the stranger saw him

  And he nodded, once

  "Just breathe. You’re still here.

  Jason

  Jason stood a few feet back from the crumbling wall of frost, arms crossed, mind running a dozen simulations he knew wouldn’t matter. Lin was gone. The boy—Mike—was gone. And the city was starting to feel like a fuse waiting for someone to strike a match

  "We’re behind," he said, not looking at Leah or Jessie. "Way behind.

  Leah knelt near the edge of the icy blast radius, examining the melting structure with narrowed eyes. "She’s not going to stay hidden forever. Not with a trail like this.

  "She’s not trying to hide," Jessie muttered, holstering one of her pistols. "She’s daring us to follow.

  Jason finally turned. "And we’re going to. But not like this. We move smart. We don’t play her game.

  The tension hung like fog—thick, silent, pressing against skin

  "We’ve got ten on the board now," Jason added. "Four Will, three Skill, three Strength. Only two remain

  Leah looked up. "You think that was another one?

  Jason nodded. "Felt like something hit the planet from orbit. And if it’s who I think it is... we just lost the element of surprise.

  Jessie rolled her shoulders, cracking her neck. "Then maybe it’s time we stop waiting for fate to deal the cards—and start stacking the deck.

  Jason didn’t smile

  But for the first time, he looked determined

  "Let’s find the next one before they do

  Sarah

  Sarah stood in the penthouse's wide glass hallway, half-wrapped in her coat, her fingers lingering over the buttons as she glanced toward the elevator. Jake was already by the door, bag slung, keys in hand, face calm but taut

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  "You sure this is the right move?" she asked, her voice soft

  Jake glanced back, his eyes unreadable. "Lin’s going to need backup. You felt it—she’s moving fast. Too fast.

  Sarah nodded. "And we’re not far behind.

  She stepped forward, reaching for her gloves—and that’s when it hit

  Her knees buckled

  Not from pain

  From weight

  A soundless, seismic thrum shot through her body, dropping into her bones like a war drum too deep for ears. The air around her seemed to warp. The windows trembled

  "Jake—" she gasped

  He was already there, steadying her. "I felt it.

  Sarah’s hands clenched against her sides. Her gauntlets flickered to life beneath the sleeves of her coat

  "That was strength," she said breathlessly. "Real, grounded, violent. Like the earth itself groaned.

  Jake’s jaw was tight. "Another one.

  Sarah stood fully again, her breath sharp in her lungs. She looked toward the city lights blazing far below

  "Whoever that was... they didn’t just awaken. They landed."

  Jake was already reaching for the door, tossing the duffel over one shoulder.

  "Come on. Lin’s already running. Let’s not be the last ones to the storm."

  Sarah took one last look out the window before slipping on her gloves. Her fingers stopped shaking.

  She followed him out.

  The elevator chimed. And as the doors closed behind them, the penthouse fell silent—until the ripple of fate passed through the space they'd just left.

  The Stranger

  The dust was still dancing in the air when he knelt.

  Tall, lean, wrapped in the muted shadows of black cloth and hardened leather, the figure who’d approached Dominic was no stranger to silence. His movements made none. His breath was controlled. Everything about him radiated intent—measured, precise.

  He studied Dominic without speaking. The warhammer at the man’s side still hummed faintly, pulsing with power that neither of them fully understood. Not yet.

  But he understood one thing: the man had survived.

  "Just breathe. You’re still here."

  The words weren’t a command. They were a lifeline.

  Dominic blinked through the haze. His fingers twitched around the grip of the hammer, as if it might vanish if he let go.

  "Who... who the hell are you?" he rasped.

  The stranger stood.

  He didn’t give his name. Not yet.

  Instead, he looked to the skyline—what little could be seen through the rising smoke—and then back to Dominic.

  "Your name’s going to mean something soon. You should start getting used to it."

  Dominic exhaled slowly. He didn’t know why, but the words grounded him. Not in comfort—but in purpose.

  And as the sirens wailed in the distance, and the building groaned like a wounded giant beneath them, the stranger extended a hand.

  "Come on. There’s more coming. And you don’t want to be here when they arrive."

  Dominic hesitated only a moment longer before grasping the outstretched hand. The moment their palms touched, a jolt—not of pain, but of certainty—shot through him.

  The stranger helped him to his feet, eyes never straying from the rising dust.

  "Name’s Tommy," he said simply. "I’ve been waiting for you."

  Lin

  The van creaked as it rolled to a stop behind the shadowed remains of a church on the edge of the city. Lin killed the engine and sat there, hands on the wheel, listening to the ticking of the metal and the distant moan of sirens. This part of town had been abandoned for years—boarded shops, cracked sidewalks, whispers of ghosts in the walls.

  But the church? It felt older than the silence. And more hollow.

  She stepped out, closing the van door gently, glancing around before moving to the rear doors. Mike was still unconscious, strapped in and wrapped in blankets. His breathing was steady. The rise and fall of a survivor.

  She wheeled him up the crooked walkway, through a rusted service door hanging half-off its hinges. Inside, it looked like a storm had torn through. Pews scattered and overturned. The podium broken, laying face-down in a sea of torn hymn pages. The baptismal font was cracked, dry, the cover tossed aside.

  And in the back corner, a statue of the Virgin Mary stared blankly down—her stone cheeks stained red.

  Lin swallowed hard.

  A hole gaped in the roof above the altar, letting moonlight spill onto the floor. Scattered across the dais were three massive white feathers, each one longer than her arm.

  She guided the wheelchair into the shadows behind the broken altar, hidden from every window.

  Safe, for now.

  She sat down against the wall, pulled her knees to her chest, and waited.

  "Come on, Sarah," she whispered. "Find me."

  The wind slipped through the broken church, carrying dust, silence… and the promise that the storm wasn’t over.

  Richard

  Somewhere beyond time, beyond the rusted bones of cities and the bloodied roots of memory, Richard stood at the Loom.

  His hands hovered inches above the threads—twelve, now active, tangled, glowing, struggling. They fought each other. They reached. They ran. They awoke.

  He didn't pull them.

  He guided them.

  A single ripple passed through the weave. A subtle one, but not weak.

  The thread that had always frayed at the edges—marked with ice and obsession—tugged toward a place he had not touched in a long time.

  The church.

  He turned his gaze to it.

  Smoke still curled from the shattered roof. The altar glowed faintly—residual energy from a breach long sealed.

  He felt the moment Lin passed through. He didn’t need to see her.

  "Another one finds the doorway," he said aloud.

  A second voice rose behind him. Smooth. Measured. Mortal.

  Mine.

  "That altar is more than a doorway. It’s the gateway to the Archives."

  Richard didn’t look back. "It wasn’t supposed to reopen."

  I stepped beside him.

  "None of this was."

  The threads trembled.

  He returned his hand to the weave, and the Loom responded—not with light, but with shadow.

  "Then we watch. We listen. And we prepare."

  "Until the last one walks through," I whispered.

  The threads pulsed like a heartbeat.

  And the altar, far below, began to breathe.

  Richard’s fingers twitched above the thread.

  Down in the ruined church, Lin rose to her feet. She didn’t know why. Her gaze had locked onto the altar—onto the way it pulsed in time with her own breath, faint and flickering like something waiting to be remembered. She stepped toward it.

  One step. Then another.

  Richard’s fingers began to curl.

  I grabbed his wrist.

  "Don’t."

  His head whipped toward me, eyes blazing. "You dare interfere with my game?"

  "They’re not ready. Not yet. You know what happens if she opens it now."

  Below, Lin stood inches from the altar. Her hand lifted—shaking slightly—fingertips outstretched.

  Then light.

  A single beam, sharp and golden, pierced the broken window overhead and struck the altar. It wasn’t divine. It wasn’t fate. It was timing—just enough to make her pause.

  She lowered her hand.

  She stepped back.

  Richard turned back to the Loom, jaw clenched.

  "This delay will cost us."

  I let go of his arm. "Better a delay than destruction."

  The altar’s breath faded again. Dormant. Waiting.

  And above it all, the Loom shuddered once more.

  From somewhere far away—but somehow inside the Loom’s hum—a voice echoed. Soft. Focused. Familiar.

  "We’re almost there, Lin. Just hold on."

  Sarah’s voice.

  Richard looked toward the sound, eyes narrowing.

  I smiled faintly.

  "She’s coming."

  End of Chapter 3

  ?? After Message

  If this chapter moved you, whispered to you, or left you with a spark in your chest… tell me.What line stuck with you?What part made you pause?

  And if you’re one of the Fatebound or Archivebreakers…Your name will soon live in this world as more than a reader.

  Chapter 2 will rise soon.

  Until then…Forge onward.

  ??? In the flicker between chapters, the flame still burns…If the Archives have stirred something in you—if you’ve walked with the Holders and want more—step deeper into the weave.

  Early access, alternate paths, whispered lore, and a place by the fire await.

  ??

  — Azrael Drayven ??