Page 111 of Echoes From the Void
Matteo and his mother work in perfect sync at the center of it all, their combined power creating a beacon in the chaos. Where Dr. Sharma’s hands glow with healing energy—soft gold like sunrise through leaves—Matteo’s new fangs flash obsidian as he draws corruption from the beasts’ essence. It’s beautiful and terrifying—like watching a predator perform surgery. Each beastthat approaches them leaves changed, shadows flowing smooth and purposeful instead of jagged with pain.
“The pattern’s changing,” Bishop calls from his Guardian post near the astronomy tower. His marks pulse blue-white as he tracks the energy flows, one hand pressed to the ancient stones as he monitors the campus wards. “They’re not just running anymore. They’re...”
“Asking for help,” Dorian finishes. His frost patterns spread across broken pillars, analyzing each new arrival. I catch his slight wince as particularly corrupted beast stumbles through a rift, its form so twisted it barely looks solid. “Look at their forms—they’re deliberately approaching Matteo. They recognize what he can do.”
He’s right. The latest group of beasts—at least a dozen strong—doesn’t attack or flee. They approach Matteo with something like supplication, their corrupted forms lowering in ancient gesture of submission. Through our pack bonds, I feel his surprise as he recognizes the behavior, feel the predator in him respond to their trust.
“Like they remember,” Matteo’s voice carries that new predator edge as a particularly massive beast kneels before him. Its corrupted form towers over him even kneeling, shadows writhing with veins of void-purple. “Remember what they were before corruption. Before the void.”
Dr. Sharma’s hands move in precise patterns over the beast’s writhing form. Golden light traces ancient meridian lines through its essence. “The corruption isn’t just physical,” she observes, her clinical tone hiding deeper emotion. “It’s like their very essence has been... twisted. Forced into shapes they were never meant to take.”
“Like what Valerie tried to do to us,” I say quietly, remembering Frankie’s description of the breeding programs. Of children twisted into weapons. Through our stretched-thinbond, I feel an echo of her fierce protection. Wherever she is in that impossible void, she’s still fighting for those who can’t fight for themselves.
The beast under Dr. Sharma’s hands shudders as Matteo begins drawing out its corruption. Dark tendrils flow toward his fangs like iron filings to a magnet. But something’s different this time. Instead of just absorbing the twisted essence, he’s... transforming it. His own shadows wrap around the corruption, breaking it down and rebuilding it into something clean. Like he finally understands what his new abilities are for.
“Mother,” he says suddenly, fangs gleaming in the pre-dawn light. “The healing patterns you taught me—the meridian points for energy flow. What if we...”
She catches his meaning instantly. Her hands shift, matching his movements as they work together on the beast’s form. Where she channels healing energy along ancient pathways, he draws out corruption like venom from a wound. Where her light soothes ravaged essence, his shadows cleanse the very fabric of the beast’s being. Together, they create something I’ve never seen before—healing that doesn’t just fix, but transforms.
The beast’s form ripples, void-purple corruption fragmenting and dissolving under their combined power. Its shadows stabilize into something new. Something balanced. Where before its form was all jagged angles and writhing darkness, now it flows like liquid night, purpose in every movement.
“It’s working,” Dorian breathes. His frost patterns track the transformation with crystalline precision, spreading across the broken ground to analyze every change. “They’re not just healing them. They’re...”
“Restoring them,” Bishop finishes. He moves closer, Guardian marks pulsing as he maps the energy flows. “To what they were before the void corrupted them.”
The transformed beast rises slowly, its form easily twice my height but no longer threatening. In the pre-dawn light filtering through the rifts, I can finally see what these creatures were meant to be. Its shadows ripple like silk in wind, carrying hints of starlight in their depths. Intelligence burns in its ancient eyes—not the feral hunger of corruption, but something wise. Something remembered.
Through our pack bonds, I feel Matteo’s fierce satisfaction mix with his mother’s healer’s pride. They’ve created something new here—a way to heal what was broken, to restore what was lost. Bishop’s tactical mind is already calculating how to expand this healing to others, while Dorian’s academic distance cracks with wonder at witnessing something unprecedented.
“More coming,” Bishop warns as another wave of beasts emerges from the largest rift. This group—maybe twenty strong—moves differently than the earlier ones. More coordinated, like they’re spreading word through whatever passes for communication among their kind. Their corrupted forms weave between broken pillars and crumbling walls with purpose.
A smaller beast breaks away from the group, approaching with uncertain steps. Its corruption runs so deep its form barely holds together, void-purple light bleeding through gaps in its essence. It reminds me painfully of my sisters when their powers first manifested—scared, uncertain, desperate for someone to understand. Before I can think better of it, I’m moving closer, leaving my perch on the broken column.
“Leo,” Matteo growls in warning, but I feel his protective instincts war with his trust in me. His new fangs flash as he takes half a step forward, then forces himself to wait.
“It’s okay,” I say softly, both to him and to the trembling beast. My voice carries the same gentle tone I use with frightened children. “Look at it, Teo. Really look.”
He stills, new predator senses taking in what I’ve noticed. The beast’s corrupted essence pulses with a rhythm I know in my bones—the same cadence I’ve felt in every shadow shifter child I’ve helped through their first manifestation. Even with corruption eating at its edges, the pattern is unmistakable.
“It’s young,” Dr. Sharma realizes, her healer’s insight catching up. She takes a step forward, golden light illuminating the beast’s unstable form. “Recently corrupted. That’s why its form is so unstable. The void hasn’t had time to fully twist its original nature.”
The young beast edges closer to me, drawn perhaps by whatever part of my essence still holds sunshine despite everything. Its shadows reach tentatively for mine like seeking fingers, reminding me so much of Liliana during her first power surge that my heart aches. Void-purple corruption makes its movements jerky, uncertain, but there’s a desperate hope in its approach.
“Hey there, little one,” I murmur, keeping my voice steady and warm. My shadows drift forward without sharp edges or sudden movements, offering comfort rather than challenge. “Rough day, huh? Yeah, me too. But we’ve got you now.”
Through our bond, I feel Matteo’s protective tension ease as he understands what I’m doing. What I’ve always done—find the scared ones, the lost ones, help them feel safe enough to heal. His predator nature settles into something more focused as he moves to my side, new fangs no longer flashing with threat.
“Like you did for me,” he says quietly, his voice carrying years of shared history. “When I first came here. When the shadows were too much.”
I remember those days—watching this fierce, beautiful boy try to contain power he didn’t understand. Watching him fight his nature until I could convince him that some battles aren’t meant to be won alone. Bishop steps closer, his Guardianmarks pulsing with recognition as he remembers too—how many students we’ve helped through their first manifestations together.
“Think we can help this one?” I ask, though I already know his answer. Matteo’s never been able to resist protecting the vulnerable, no matter what form they take. Dorian’s frost patterns spread across the ground between us and the beast, ready to contain any unstable energy.
Matteo’s hand finds my shoulder as his mother steps up on my other side, her healing energy already reaching out to assess the young beast’s condition. “Together,” he says, and I hear the echo of all our shared years in that word. “Like always.”
The young beast trembles as we surround it, but doesn’t flee. Doesn’t fight. Just waits with desperate hope as Matteo and his mother begin their combined healing. Corruption swirls off its form in purple-black tendrils as they work, each strand caught and cleansed by Matteo’s new abilities.
I keep talking, the way I always have when helping scared children through their first brush with power. My voice stays gentle, steady, while my shadows offer constant comfort. “You’re doing great, little shadow. That’s it. Let them help. Let them show you what you really are.”
