Chapter Fourteen:

  “The Bridge of Breath”

  It began as a twitch in the air.

  No sound. No surge. Just a tremble.

  RW was the first to notice.

  She paused mid-step, ears flattening, eyes narrowing at the open space above them. Her voice came quiet.

  "The air's changing," RW said.

  They all looked up.

  At first, there was nothing.

  Then the shimmer took shape—a single line of light descending from nowhere. It rippled like water, trailing through the dark. Glowing faintly.

  Rai stepped forward. “What is that?”

  RW didn’t blink. “A tether. Someone said Roland’s name.”

  Roland stiffened.

  John turned. “What do you mean?”

  RW didn’t answer at first. She watched the thread as it stretched down, brushing the edge of the platform.

  Then she said, “It’s called the Bridge of Breath. It only comes when someone in the living world remembers a soul. And means it.”

  The thread touched stone, and expanded.

  A bridge formed, thin and glassy, stretching out into the dark.

  John stepped to the edge. “It leads out?”

  “It leads up,” RW said. “If it holds.”

  Dorian stared at the bridge. "Doesn't look like it was made for more than one."

  RW’s tail flicked once. “Then we’ll have to move like it was.”

  The bridge quivered beneath them, narrow as a whisper, wide enough for two feet side by side—and nothing more.

  John tested it with a cautious step.

  The surface held, but it flexed underfoot, thin and creaking like ice ready to break.

  Rai moved up behind him, frowning. "Not a reassuring sound, is it?"

  "Means it's still holding," RW said, padding lightly to the edge. Her voice was steady, but her tail lashed once, sharply, betraying her strain. "Better a bridge that groans than one that stays quiet. It's the silent ones that betray you."

  Helen stepped closer, squinting into the dark expanse. "What's the catch?"

  RW looked at her. "You can't look back."

  Silence fell.

  "If you look," RW continued, "you break the thread. No second chances. No hesitation. You go forward, or you fall back into the Void."

  Dorian blew out a breath, flexing his hands. "Seems simple enough. I know I don't ever want to see this place again."

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  John scanned the group. "We stay close. Tight as we can. No stops. No talking unless we have to."

  RW nodded. "Fear. Doubt. Regret. It feeds the Void. We must all lose it."

  Roland's eyes stayed fixed on the line of light ahead. "Someone... is talking about me?"

  John took a moment before speaking. "People speak your name hundreds of years after you... after you fell. You were the hope of an entire realm."

  "No pressure than." Roland forced a smile.

  "We'll move fast," John said. "One step at a time. No looking back."

  They stepped forward together.

  And the bridge held.

  For now.

  The first few steps were the worst.

  Each footfall sent a thin shudder across the bridge that ran ahead of them and vanished into the dark.

  John led, blades sheathed, shoulders stiff.

  Rai followed. Then Helen. Then Dorian. RW loped along the side, lighter than all of them. Roland came last, moving carefully but without hesitation.

  The bridge flexed beneath their weight but did not break.

  They moved without speaking. Without looking anywhere but forward.

  The silence of the Void pressed tighter with every step.

  Then something moved ahead.

  A figure.

  It stood in the center of the bridge, just far enough that details blurred.

  John slowed.

  The others tightened instinctively behind him.

  The figure didn’t approach. It simply waited.

  As they drew closer, it resolved—a man, but not. His form shifted at the edges, leaking black mist like steam. His face was too smooth, too blank.

  When he spoke, the voice was neither deep nor high. It was a sound made for no ears.

  "Why should he live," the figure said, "when so many still linger?"

  The bridge groaned beneath them.

  Roland froze.

  John clenched his fists. "Because everyone remembers him."

  The figure tilted its head.

  "And you think memory is enough?"

  Helen spoke next. "It's never about enough. It's about fighting for something even when it's easier to leave it buried."

  The figure said nothing.

  The bridge shook again—harder this time. Cracks of light spiderwebbed under their feet.

  Dorian muttered, "Little less philosophy, little more moving."

  The figure remained still.

  It was doubt.

  John took another step forward.

  "We chose him. Just like someone once chose us."

  Roland spoke for himself. “I choose to go back. To be what’s needed. Not for myself, but for everyone who once counted on me. They deserve another chance."

  The figure smiled.

  And then it was gone.

  The bridge steadied, but only barely.

  Ahead, the way remained open.

  They moved forward again.

  Faster now.

  The bridge narrowed.

  No warning. No reason.

  It squeezed down to a thread just wide enough for a single footfall at a time.

  John slowed, arms out for balance. He didn’t dare look back, but he felt the others tighten their line behind him.

  Roland stumbled.

  Not badly. Just enough.

  Enough to send a sharp tremor through the fragile thread.

  The bridge groaned. Cracks of light raced outward, and for a heartbeat, the entire structure sagged.

  John gritted his teeth so hard it hurt. “Keep moving!”

  Roland hesitated.

  He swayed. Half-turned.

  The Void sighed around them, a long, slow exhale that smelled like cold iron and burned air.

  “Roland!” Rai’s voice was sharp, cutting through the growing hum. “Don’t look back!”

  Roland froze mid-motion.

  Rai’s voice softened. Not shouting now. Almost pleading.

  “You gave up once. You don’t get to do it again.”

  The bridge cracked under Roland’s feet.

  John risked a glance—not a full turn, just enough to see Roland’s shoulders rise and fall in a heavy breath.

  Then Roland stepped forward.

  The bridge surged beneath them, flexing but holding.

  John led again. Step by step. Breath by breath.

  And the way ahead brightened.

  The bridge stretched ahead, narrow and trembling, but the end was finally visible, a thin arch of light suspended in the dark.

  John kept his eyes forward.

  He could feel the others behind him, breathing, moving, surviving.

  The Void pressed harder now. Each step forward felt heavier than the last. The bridge flexed with every movement, groaning under the strain.

  Dorian muttered under his breath, "Almost there."

  Helen’s face was set, jaw tight, sword sheathed but fingers twitching like she wanted to fight the dark itself.

  RW stayed close to Roland, her presence sharp and grounding.

  Rai’s voice came low, steady. "Don’t stop. Don’t even think about it."

  Roland stumbled once more, but this time he caught himself.

  The light at the end widened. The air grew warmer, cleaner.

  John stepped into the arch.

  One by one, the others followed.

  The moment they all crossed, the bridge behind them shattered—not with a crash, but with a sigh, like a story ending.

  They stumbled forward onto solid ground.

  Real, living earth. Cracked and dry beneath their boots, but real.

  Above them, the sky stretched above them.

  They had made it.

  John turned to Roland.

  "You’re out," he said quietly.

  Roland looked up at the sky.

  And for the first time since they found him, he smiled.