Todos los capítulos de Fractured: Capítulo 111 - Capítulo 117

SeleneThe air didn’t go back to normal.Not completely.Even after Ronan’s body hit the nexus stone and he dragged in a lungful of real night, the clearing still held a wrongness that clung to the edges of everything—like smoke that refused to disperse, like a taste on the tongue that didn’t belong.Selene couldn’t stop staring at her hands.Empty.She kept flexing her fingers as if she could convince her skin to remember the feel of the Moonpetal Bloom, the warm pulse of it, the way it used to sharpen her magic until it felt like clean silver cut into shape.Now there was only phantom ache. The sort you get after a wound closes and your body hasn’t accepted it yet.She wanted to be grateful Ronan was back. She was. Relief hit her in heavy waves, the kind that made you feel a little sick after. But beneath that was something sharper—an awareness that the entity hadn’t simply tested them.It had measured them.Selene lifted her gaze and saw the clearing shifting again. Not physically.

MirraThe entity didn’t shout.It didn’t need to.Its voice became the environment—rustling, dying leaves, the groan of splintered wood, the sound of a forest breaking under its own weight. It wrapped around Mirra’s ears until she couldn’t tell what was real and what was being fed into her skull.“See, Mirra?” it crooned, and the words carried the sickening texture of rot. “The earth’s fury, unleashed. You felt its pain. Its betrayal. This is what it means to be truly of the earth. Let go of your gentleness. Your compassion. Become the earthquake. The storm. The unstoppable force that reshapes the world through destruction.”Mirra’s reflection stood ahead of her like a threat made flesh—eyes cold, hands slick with an emerald corruption that didn’t belong to any living soil. Tendrils of light snapped and lashed like whips. The Heartwood Grove, in the background, looked like something that had been murdered slowly. Trees bent the wrong way. Bark split and blackened. Leaves curled tight

RonanThe silence after the illusions faded wasn’t peaceful.It felt like the breath held between lightning and thunder.Ronan didn’t move right away. His gaze stayed fixed on the place where his reflection had dissolved, as if the darkness might seep back into the clearing if he looked away too quickly.He could still feel it.The pressure.The cold weight of the abyss pressing in from every direction, the echo of water in his lungs, the helpless pull of something vast and indifferent. The entity had shown him the worst version of his fear—power without connection, strength without direction, an ocean with no shore to crash against.And the worst part was how familiar it had felt.He remembered the first time he’d realized how easily he could lose control. How the tides inside him never truly rested. How leadership meant standing alone more often than anyone ever admitted. He remembered nights on empty cliffs, staring at violent water and wondering if the storm understood him better

SeleneThe oppressive atmosphere that had clung to the clearing like a shroud finally began to dissipate. It wasn’t a sudden vanishing act—no triumphant flare of light, no dramatic snap of banishment—just a slow, reluctant retreat, like a tide dragging itself backward after realizing the shore wouldn’t break.Selene drew a shaky breath and tasted pine, damp soil, and something faintly metallic—residual magic, still sharp at the back of her throat. Her palm throbbed with a phantom ache where the Moonpetal Bloom used to rest. She kept flexing her fingers as if she could convince her body it hadn’t lost anything.But her hand stayed empty.Mirra stood beside her, no longer swaying. The woman’s posture remained composed, but Selene could feel the thinness in her aura—like the earth’s song had been lowered to a distant hum. Ronan was quiet too. Not haunted, exactly. Still. Like someone who had stared down a depth that wanted to swallow him and came back with a new respect for what he carri