Whispers of the Lost

Chapter 29: Fractures

The silence in the church was deafening. It wrapped around us like a shroud, cold and suffocating, making it hard to breathe. My heart hammered in my chest, the weight of what had just happened settling heavily on my shoulders. Blaze... he had done it. He had faced the Hollow and destroyed it. But I couldn't shake the feeling that something had been broken beyond repair.

Blaze was on his knees, his hands clutching the floor as he breathed in shallow gasps. Sweat dotted his forehead, his skin pale, but his eyes were wide and empty, as if the fight had taken everything from him. He wasn't looking at me—didn't even seem to know I was there. His mind, his body, his very soul had been stretched to the breaking point, and now he was paying the price.

I crouched beside him, placing a hand gently on his shoulder. His body trembled under my touch, but there was no response.

"Blaze," I whispered, my voice shaky. "Blaze, can you hear me?"

Nothing.

I didn't know what to do. What could I do? I had never seen him like this—broken, lost in his own mind. This wasn't just about the Hollow anymore. It was about everything he had buried inside him, all the pain and grief that had been festering for so long. He had fought it, buried it, drowned it in anger and alcohol. And now that the Hollow was gone, he had nothing left to hold it all back.

I felt Ash's presence before I saw him. His shadow fell across us, and I looked up to see him standing there, his eyes sharp, calculating. He looked... disappointed, almost. Not in Blaze, but in the situation. Maybe in all of us.

"He's not okay," I said, my voice breaking. "He did everything we asked... and now he's..."

Ash said nothing, just watched us for a long moment. Then, with a sigh, he knelt down beside Blaze, his hands steady as he reached for Blaze's wrists, checking his pulse. The air seemed to grow heavier, the weight of the moment settling around us like the darkest storm clouds.

"He's not dead," Ash said finally, his voice low but firm. "But he's close. Too close."

I nodded numbly, not sure if I wanted to believe him. The Hollow was gone, but at what cost? The battle had been won, but Blaze was left a shattered version of himself. The price had been steep, too steep, and now we were all left to face the consequences.

"He needs help," I said, though the words tasted foreign on my tongue. Help? How could we help him when none of us had answers? I didn't know what he needed, but I knew that the boy who had stood with me in that church, who had fought beside me, wasn't the same person anymore. He was fractured, like a broken mirror, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't put the pieces back together.

Ash's eyes softened, just for a second. "I'll take care of him," he said. "We need to get out of here."

I didn't argue. The church felt too empty now, too hollow. The walls that had once seemed so imposing now felt like they were closing in on us, suffocating us in their weight. I helped Ash lift Blaze, and together, we made our way out into the night.

The world outside was quiet, too quiet. The streets were empty, the air heavy with the strange sense of peace that had settled in after the storm. It should have felt like victory. We had stopped the Hollow, ended the nightmare, but nothing felt like it was over. The fight wasn't won. Not really.

As we walked, I kept my eyes on Blaze, watching the way his body swayed slightly, as if he were walking in a daze. The expression on his face was unreadable—there was no anger left, no fire. It was as if all the emotion had drained out of him, leaving behind a shell. I wanted to shake him, to scream at him to come back to me, but I knew it wouldn't help. This wasn't something I could fix.

"What happens now?" I asked, the question falling from my lips before I could stop it.

Ash didn't answer right away. He walked beside me, his pace steady but slow, like he was carrying a weight that none of us could see. "Now," he said finally, "we figure out how to heal. How to move forward."

"How?" I whispered, the word catching in my throat.

"I don't know." His voice was quiet, and for the first time, I heard a crack in it. Ash, the ever-composed Ash, didn't have the answers. He didn't know how we would fix the mess we had made.

I felt the weight of his uncertainty settle over me. There was no plan. No guarantee that Blaze would be okay. No easy answers. The Hollow might be gone, but its scars would remain. I didn't know how to fix Blaze. I didn't know how to fix myself.

We found a small park on the outskirts of town, a place that felt oddly safe despite everything that had happened. The swings creaked in the wind, and the lights flickered overhead as if they were alive. The whole town seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for something, anything, to happen.

I helped Ash lay Blaze down on a bench, and we sat in silence, both of us lost in our own thoughts. I couldn't help but feel the weight of what we'd lost. Blaze had given everything. But what had we gained?

There were no answers. Not yet. Only the hollow ache of what had been lost and what might never return.

Suddenly, Blaze stirred. His eyes fluttered open, and he looked around, disoriented. His gaze settled on me, and for a moment, I saw a flicker of something. Something familiar.

"Are we... safe?" he asked, his voice hoarse, broken.

I didn't even try to hold it back anymore. The tears spilled over, hot and fast, as the relief washed over me. He was alive. He was here, with me. I didn't care how broken he was. I didn't care about the scars, the pain, the battle he had fought. He was here.

Blaze looked at me, confusion in his eyes, but it was enough. I didn't care if he didn't understand. I didn't care if I was being weak. All that mattered was that he was breathing, that he had made it through.

Before I could stop myself, I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug, not caring about anything but the fact that he was alive.

For a long moment, Blaze just sat there, rigid and unsure, before his arms slowly came around me. He didn't speak, but I felt the tension in his body loosen. And somehow, that was enough. He wasn't okay. Neither of us were. But in that moment, there was a fragile thread of hope between us, something that hadn't been there before.

He was alive. We were alive. And that had to count for something.

"I'm here," I whispered into his shoulder. "I'm not going anywhere."

And as I held him, I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, we could heal. Together.