A Banner Torn (Book 1 Complete)

Kaelid:

The air in the deep places tasted of wet stone and something else, something that reminded him of the quiet hum in the air just before a lightning storm. It was a taste of old power, and it made the hairs on his arms stand up. He walked with one hand resting on his pack, feeling the steady, reassuring warmth of Curio nestled inside. The little slime had been so still and quiet, playing his part perfectly, but Kaelid could feel a gentle, alert thrumming coming from him through the fabric, a silent conversation that said I am here. I am watching.

Ahead of them, Skitter moved with a nervous energy, her head twitching side to side as she sniffed at the air and cocked her head to listen. Her earlier confidence was gone, replaced by a skittish fear that made Kaelid's own stomach feel tight and wobbly. The news that changed-mind humans had been this deep was a poison that had seeped into their small group, making everyone look over their shoulders and watch each other with suspicious eyes.

Marta whispered something, her voice barely a sound in the vast, echoing silence. "How could they get so far?" She was trying to be the leader, trying to be brave for everyone, but Kaelid could see the fear pinching the corners of her eyes.

Kael stood beside her, his hand never straying far from the hilt of his sword. He didn't say much, but his gaze was constantly moving, scanning every shadow, every crack in the stone.

He was like a coiled spring, ready to leap into action at any moment.

The walls of the tunnel here were incredible. The flowing script he had seen before was everywhere, covering every surface in intricate, glowing patterns. It pulsed with a soft, blue-green light, the same colors as Curio, and the light shifted and moved as they walked past, as if the walls were alive and watching them. His enhanced perception was buzzing, the core shards in his chest humming in tune with the energy of this place. The information from the walls wasn't just a map anymore.

It was more like whispers, feelings, and pictures that flashed in his mind when he wasn't expecting them. He saw images of strange, tall beings with glowing eyes carving the tunnels, and he felt a deep, old sadness that seemed to cling to the very stones.

They were not alone in these passages. The deeper they went, the more people they saw. Small groups of refugees were huddled in side chambers, their faces pale and drawn in the dim light. There were delver gremlins from other tribes, humans who were huddled and scared, and even a few Petrakahrn who had lost their connection to their conclave. They were all running from the same enemy, but there was no comfort in their shared fear. Instead, there was suspicion.

Everyone eyed their group as they passed, their gazes lingering on Kaelid and Rannek.

Big Jim's warning echoed in Kaelid's head. Look like normal people, but consciousness twisted. How were they supposed to know who was real and who was a puppet for the Praxis? It felt like a nightmare game where you couldn't trust anyone, not even the people who were supposed to be on your side.

Marta's voice cut through his worried thoughts. "We need to find a place to rest. The rescued gremlins are exhausted."

The one riding in her pack had fallen asleep, its small head lolling against her shoulder. Even the young Petrakahrn, who usually seemed tireless, were moving slower, their crystalline features duller than before.

Skitter led them to a side cavern that was already occupied by a dozen other refugees. A small fire crackled in the center, casting long, dancing shadows on the walls. The people gathered there looked up as they entered, their faces a mixture of weariness and distrust.

An old man with a long grey beard watched them with sharp, bird-like eyes, while a young woman clutched a small child to her chest, turning away as if to shield her from their sight.

The old man spoke first, his voice raspy. "There is room. But we share what little we have. What do you bring?"

Kael replied grimly, "We bring more mouths to feed and more trouble at our backs." But he unslung his own pack and took out a share of their dried rations, placing it near the fire.

They settled in a corner of the cavern, trying to make themselves as small as possible. Rannek sat with his back against the wall, his eyes closed, but Kaelid knew he wasn't sleeping. He could feel his friend's enhanced senses reaching out, trying to get a feel for the people around them. It was exhausting work, trying to constantly be on guard.

Kaelid closed his own eyes and tried to focus. He let his perception expand, not looking for tunnels this time, but for people. He tried to feel their thoughts, their consciousness, the way Theron had taught them.

Most of the minds in the cavern felt like flickering candles, some brighter, some dimmer, all of them flickering with fear and worry. They felt messy and chaotic, like a room full of people all talking at once.

But then he felt something else.

It was one mind, different from the others. It wasn't messy or chaotic. It was still and sharp, like a perfectly polished piece of glass. It felt hollow. It felt wrong. It reminded him of the horrible, vacant feeling of the enhanced agents in the mine.

His eyes snapped open, and he scanned the faces around the fire. The old man with the beard? The woman with the child? One of the quiet delver gremlins sitting in the shadows? He couldn't tell.

The feeling was just there, a void in the warmth of the cavern, a silent predator hiding among the sheep.

He felt a gentle pulse from his pack. Curio had sensed it too. The slime's presence was a comfort, a small anchor in the sea of fear.

Kaelid leaned close to Marta, whispering so no one else could hear. "Something's wrong. There's someone here. One of them."

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Marta's eyes widened, and she subtly moved her hand closer to the spear resting beside her. "Are you sure?"

"I can feel it. It's like... like there's a hole where a person should be."

It was a clumsy way to describe it, but it was the only way he could think of. The changed-mind human didn't feel like a person. They felt like a thing pretending to be a person.

The challenge was that there was nothing to see. The person, whoever they were, acted just like everyone else. They ate their share of the meager food, they huddled by the fire for warmth, they spoke in hushed, tired tones. Kaelid watched them all, trying to match the hollow feeling with a face, but it was impossible.

The infiltrator was a perfect actor.

As the hours passed, the tension in the cavern grew thicker. The refugees began to talk, sharing stories of their escape. They spoke of Praxis patrols, of friends and family who had been captured, of the horrors they had witnessed. The old man, whose name was Joric, told a story of how his village had been "pacified." Praxis agents had come, offering food and security.

Then they had started testing everyone, taking away those with "potential."

Joric's voice trembled with a mixture of anger and grief. "They offered a better life. But the ones they took... they never came back. Or if they did, they weren't the same. Empty eyes. Following orders without question."

As he spoke, Kaelid focused his perception again, trying to pinpoint the source of the wrongness. He let his mind drift, following the threads of consciousness in the room. And then he felt a flicker. The hollow mind wasn't just sitting there.

It was... watching. It was observing the reactions of the others, cataloging their fear, their anger. It was gathering information.

The feeling was strongest when the young woman with the child spoke. Her name was Elara, and her voice was soft and full of sorrow. She told them how her husband had been taken, and how she had fled with their daughter, Lyra, in the middle of the night. As she spoke of her husband, her emotions were a raw, open wound.

And the empty mind focused on that wound with an intense, analytical curiosity.

Kaelid's gaze snapped to a man sitting across the fire. He was young, not much older than Theron, with a plain, forgettable face. He hadn't said a word the entire time, just listened with a look of quiet sympathy. But as Elara cried, Kaelid saw it. For a split second, the man's expression was completely blank.

There was no sympathy, no sadness. There was only the detached interest of a scientist studying an insect. Then, just as quickly, the mask of empathy was back in place.

It was him.

Kaelid's heart hammered against his ribs. What was he supposed to do? If he shouted, the man would know he'd been discovered. He might attack. He might have weapons or abilities Kaelid didn't know about. The other refugees might panic, or worse, they might not believe him.

He felt another pulse from Curio, this one more insistent. It felt like a nudge, a quiet encouragement through the fabric of his pack. You are not alone. Use what the walls have given you.

The walls. The energy patterns. The core shards in his chest were connected to this place. He remembered the feeling of the walls giving him the map, of the ancient systems trying to communicate.

Maybe... maybe they could do more.

He closed his eyes, ignoring the scared voice in his head that was screaming at him to run. He reached out with his mind, not to the people, but to the stones around him. He focused on the glowing script, on the hum of ancient energy that filled the cavern. He didn't try to control it. He just... asked for help. He pictured the empty-minded man in his head, and he pushed the feeling of wrongness, of hollow emptiness, into his connection with the walls.

For a moment, nothing happened.

He felt a surge of despair, thinking it was a stupid, childish idea.

Then, the cavern changed.

The soft, blue-green light from the script on the walls began to brighten. The rhythmic pulse of energy grew stronger, faster. The air grew thick and heavy, crackling with power. The refugees all stopped talking, looking around in confusion and fear.

The light wasn't shining everywhere. It was concentrating, focusing on one spot in the cavern. It coalesced around the quiet, sympathetic young man, bathing him in an accusing glow. The script on the wall behind him flared brightly, the ancient symbols seeming to writhe and twist in anger.

The man looked down at the light surrounding him, his face a mask of confusion. "What is this? What's happening?"

But his voice was flat, emotionless. The act was starting to fail under the pressure.

Kaelid opened his eyes. He felt a strange sense of calm settle over him. The fear was still there, but it was smaller now, pushed into a corner by the power of the Old Ways flowing through him.

"It's you," Kaelid said, his voice small but clear in the sudden silence. "You're the one who feels wrong."

The man's head snapped toward him. The mask of sympathy vanished completely, replaced by a look of pure calculation. His eyes, which had seemed so ordinary before, now looked like chips of ice.

"The resonance is strong in this one," the man said, his voice changing, losing its human inflection and becoming clipped and mechanical. "Uncontrolled, but powerful. A prime candidate for acquisition."

He started to rise, his movements fluid and unnaturally fast. Kael reacted instantly, shoving Marta and Rannek behind him as he drew his sword, the metal singing in the charged air. The other refugees scrambled back, screaming and shouting in panic.

But before the infiltrator could take a single step, the young woman, Elara, moved. She had been sitting closest to him, her daughter still clutched in her arms. With a cry of pure, animal rage, she lunged forward, not with a weapon, but with the heavy stone bowl she had been eating from.

She brought it down on the side of the changed-mind's head with a sickening crack.

The man stumbled, his perfect, machine-like movements faltering for the first time. He raised a hand to his head, his icy eyes showing not pain, but surprise. It was an unexpected variable.

A grieving mother's rage was not something his programming had prepared him for.

That single moment of hesitation was all Kael needed. He moved without thinking, a soldier's instincts taking over. He wasn't aiming to kill, but to disable. His sword swept out in a low arc, striking the back of the infiltrator's knee.

The changed-mind human collapsed, his leg buckling beneath him. The perfect weapon was broken.

The cavern erupted into chaos. Joric and the other men surged forward, overwhelming the downed infiltrator before he could recover.

Kaelid stood shaking, his legs feeling like water. He hadn't fought. He had just pointed. The walls had listened. And a mother's love had done the rest. He looked at Elara, who was now being comforted by Marta, her body wracked with sobs. She had protected them all.

He felt a deep, profound exhaustion wash over him, the cost of channeling the energy of the Old Ways. He stumbled back and leaned against the cavern wall, sliding down to the floor. The glowing script pulsed gently against his back, like a reassuring hand.

In his pack, Curio shifted, a warm, comforting weight. The feeling that reached him was one of quiet pride and encouragement, transmitted through the gentle vibrations against his back.

But as the adrenaline faded, a new, deeper fear began to creep in. The infiltrator had been a symptom, not the disease. The Praxis knew about these tunnels. They had people hidden here. And the agent had called him a "prime candidate." They weren't just hunting him.

They wanted him. They wanted what was inside him.

The victory felt hollow. They had won this small battle, but Kaelid now understood the terrifying truth of their situation. There was nowhere to hide. The war had followed them into the dark, and the very walls that were protecting them now also marked him as a target. The ancient power of the Old Ways, his greatest ally, had just painted a giant bullseye on his back.