The night sky over Eryndor burned. Not with fire, but with a shimmer that pulsed like a dying heart, threads of starlight fraying at the edges of the heavens. Lirien crouched on the frost-kissed ridge of Mount Vaelar, her breath misting in the chill air, her eyes fixed on the anomaly above. The Veil, the celestial tapestry that held the world together, was unraveling. She felt it in her bones—a discordant hum, like a lute string snapped mid-song. The stars were singing, and their song was one of warning.
At seventeen, Lirien was no stranger to the stars' voices. They had whispered to her since she was a child, soft murmurs that slipped into her dreams, guiding her through the labyrinthine streets of Solivane or warning her of storms before they broke. The mages of the Astral Conclave called her gift *Stellaris*, a rare affinity for the celestial currents that bound Eryndor to the cosmos. But tonight, the whispers were not gentle. They screamed.
She adjusted her cloak, the worn wool scratching against her neck, and pressed her palm to the cold stone of the ridge. The ground thrummed faintly, echoing the sky's unrest. Below, the valley sprawled in shadow, dotted with the dim glow of Solivane's lanterns. The city slept, oblivious to the fracture in the heavens. Lirien envied their ignorance.
"Lirien, you'll freeze up here," came a voice, rough but warm, from behind. She didn't turn. Kael, her brother's old friend and now her reluctant guardian, crunched through the snow to stand beside her. His broad frame blocked the wind, but not the weight of his concern. "You've been staring at the sky for hours. What's got you so spooked?"
"The Veil," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's breaking."
Kael snorted, his breath a white plume. "The Veil's been there since the gods wove it. It doesn't just *break*." He squinted upward, his scarred face catching the starlight. "Looks the same to me."
"It's not the same." Lirien pointed to a patch of sky where the stars seemed to blur, their edges smudging into a void-like haze. "There. The threads are thinning. The stars are… afraid."
Kael's skepticism faltered. He wasn't a mage, but he trusted Lirien's instincts more than he'd admit. "Afraid? Stars don't get afraid, girl. You're hearing things."
"They're not things. They're voices." She turned to him, her gray eyes sharp in the dim light. "Something's wrong, Kael. I felt it last night, too, in the Conclave's observatory. The orbs were flickering, and the star-charts showed anomalies no one could explain. Master Theryn dismissed it as my imagination, but I *know* what I heard."
Kael rubbed the stubble on his jaw, his sword-calloused hand catching on the rough skin. "Theryn's a fool, but he's not wrong about one thing—you're not a full mage yet. You sure this isn't just nerves? Your trials are in three days."
The trials. Lirien's stomach twisted. The Astral Conclave's initiation rites were brutal, designed to weed out the unworthy. Failure meant exile from Solivane's mage circles, a fate worse than death for someone who lived for the stars. But this wasn't nerves. This was something ancient, something vast.
"It's not the trials," she said, standing. Her boots crunched in the snow as she paced to the edge of the ridge. "The stars told me a spell was cast—a forbidden one. It's tearing the Veil apart."
Kael's eyes narrowed. "Forbidden magic? That's Conclave business. If they're ignoring it, what do you think *you* can do?"
"I don't know." Her voice cracked, betraying her fear. "But if the Veil falls, the Otherworld will spill through. You've heard the stories—creatures of shadow and hunger, things that don't belong here. I can't just sit in Solivane and wait for it to happen."
Kael grabbed her arm, gentle but firm. "You're not running off to play hero. Your brother made me swear to keep you safe, and I'm not breaking that vow because of some sky-songs."
Lirien pulled free, her jaw tight. "Toren's gone, Kael. He doesn't get to decide what I do anymore."
The mention of her brother stung, a raw wound neither of them touched often. Toren had vanished two years ago, chasing rumors of a rogue mage in the Wastes. Kael had been his sword-arm, his shield, until the day Toren didn't come back. Now Kael hovered over Lirien like a hawk, as if protecting her could redeem his failure.
Before Kael could argue, a pulse of light ripped across the sky. Lirien staggered, clutching her temples as the stars' voices surged into a cacophony. *Break. Shatter. Run.* The words weren't words, not in any language she knew, but their meaning seared into her mind. She gasped, her vision swimming with afterimages of light.
"Lirien!" Kael caught her as she swayed, his voice distant against the roar in her head.
The sky split.
A jagged tear, blacker than the void, yawned above Mount Vaelar. Starlight bled from its edges, dripping like liquid fire into the valley below. From within the tear came a sound—a low, guttural hum that vibrated in Lirien's chest. The air grew heavy, thick with the scent of ozone and something older, fouler.
"Gods above," Kael whispered, his hand on his sword hilt. "What is that?"
Lirien's heart pounded. She forced herself to stand, her eyes locked on the tear. Shadows writhed within it, formless but alive, their edges flickering with malice. The stars' screams faded to a single, desperate plea: *Find the Shard. Mend the Veil.*
"The Shard," she murmured. "They're telling me to find it."
"Find what?" Kael's voice was sharp, his blade half-drawn.
"I don't know. Something to fix this." She gestured at the tear, her hands trembling. "But we need to move. Now."
As if in answer, the tear pulsed again, and a shape emerged. It was no creature of flesh, but a mass of shadow and starlight, its form shifting between a clawed beast and a humanoid silhouette. Its eyes—too many, too bright—locked onto Lirien. A voice, not her stars but something colder, spoke in her mind: *You hear us. You will fall.*
Kael shoved her behind him, his sword flashing in the starlight. "Stay back!"
The creature lunged, faster than thought. Kael swung, his blade cutting through shadow but meeting no resistance. The thing laughed—a sound like glass shattering—and swiped at him. Claws of darkness raked his chest, tearing through leather and drawing blood. Kael grunted, stumbling but not falling.
Lirien acted on instinct. She thrust her hands forward, summoning the only spell she could wield without a focus. "*Luminar!*" Starlight flared from her palms, a weak burst compared to a trained mage's, but enough to make the creature recoil. It hissed, its form dissolving into the tear, which pulsed once more before shrinking, leaving the sky scarred but whole.
Kael dropped to one knee, clutching his chest. Blood seeped through his fingers, dark against his pale skin. "Damn it," he rasped. "What was that thing?"
"Something from the Otherworld." Lirien knelt beside him, tearing a strip from her cloak to press against his wound. Her hands shook, but her mind raced. The stars had spoken of a Shard, a key to mending the Veil. She didn't know what it was or where to find it, but she knew one thing: the Conclave wouldn't help. They'd dismissed her warnings, and now the proof was bleeding into the snow.
"We need to get you to a healer," she said, helping Kael stand. "Then I'm going to the archives. There has to be something about the Shard in the old texts."
Kael groaned but didn't argue. "You're going to get us both killed, you know that?"
"Better than letting the world end." She managed a weak smile, though fear gnawed at her. The stars were silent now, their voices drowned by the echo of the Otherworld's threat. *You will fall.*
As they stumbled down the ridge toward Solivane, the torn sky loomed above, a reminder that time was running out. Lirien didn't know what the Shard was or why the stars had chosen her, but she knew one thing: she couldn't ignore their call. Not when the Veil was breaking, and the shadows were already here.
The streets of Solivane were a maze of cobblestone and shadow, lit by lanterns that flickered like the stars above. Lirien supported Kael as they staggered through the city's lower district, his arm heavy across her shoulders. His blood soaked through the makeshift bandage she'd fashioned from her cloak, and his breaths came in shallow rasps. The tear in the sky had closed, but its afterimage lingered in her mind, a black wound pulsing with the Otherworld's malice. The stars were silent now, their voices snuffed out, leaving her with only the cryptic command: Find the Shard.
"We're almost there," Lirien said, more to herself than Kael. The healer's quarter was just beyond the market square, its crooked rooftops visible through the haze of chimney smoke. Solivane never slept, not truly—merchants haggled in the predawn gloom, and night patrols clanked past with swords at their hips—but tonight, the city felt alive in a way that set her nerves on edge. The air thrummed with a faint, unnatural hum, as if the Veil's fracture had left echoes in the mortal world.
Kael grunted, his weight sagging against her. "You're… too stubborn for your own good."
"Save your strength," she snapped, though her voice softened with worry. "You're no use to me dead."
He managed a weak chuckle. "Toren said the same thing once. Didn't listen then, either."
The mention of her brother tightened her chest, but she pushed the pain aside. There was no time for grief, not with the Otherworld's claws reaching into Eryndor. They turned a corner into a narrow alley, where a faded sign swung above a door: Mira's Apothecary. The scent of herbs and burnt wax spilled out as Lirien kicked the door open, nearly dropping Kael in the process.
Inside, the shop was a clutter of shelves lined with vials, dried roots, and glowing crystals. A woman looked up from a workbench, her dark hair streaked with gray, her eyes sharp despite the late hour. Mira, the healer, was no mage, but her skill with potions rivaled the Conclave's best. She took one look at Kael's bloodied chest and pointed to a cot in the corner.
"Lay him there," Mira said, her voice clipped. "What did this? Bear? Blade?"
"Something worse," Lirien said, easing Kael onto the cot. "Shadow-thing. From the sky."
Mira's hands paused over a vial of green liquid, her gaze flicking to Lirien. "The sky, you say? You've been listening to those stars again, haven't you?"
Lirien bristled but didn't argue. Mira had known her since she was a child, had patched up Toren's scrapes and Lirien's bruises from climbing Solivane's rooftops. She trusted Mira, but explaining the Veil's fracture would take too long. "Just help him. Please."
Mira muttered something about reckless youths and set to work, cleaning Kael's wounds with a cloth and a pungent salve. Lirien hovered, her fingers twisting the hem of her cloak. The stars' silence gnawed at her, their absence a void in her mind. She needed answers, and the Conclave's archives were her best hope. The old texts, buried in the Starspire's vaults, might hold clues about the Shard—or the forbidden spell that had torn the Veil.
"I'm going to the archives," she said, stepping toward the door.
Kael's hand shot out, grabbing her wrist. "Not alone," he rasped. "Not after that thing."
"You can't even stand," Lirien said, pulling free. "I'll be quick. The Starspire's guarded, and I'm not helpless."
Mira snorted, dabbing salve on Kael's chest. "You're a novice mage with a knack for trouble. Take someone with you, or I'll tie you to a chair myself."
Lirien opened her mouth to protest, but a new voice cut through the room, sharp and amused. "She's not wrong, you know. Trouble follows you like a stray dog."
Lirien turned, her hand instinctively reaching for the dagger at her belt. A figure leaned in the doorway, cloaked in a tattered coat that shimmered faintly with alchemical residue. The man was young, barely older than Lirien, with tousled black hair and eyes that glinted like polished obsidian. A faint scar curved along his jaw, and a satchel slung across his chest clinked with glass vials. She recognized him instantly: Gavric, the rogue alchemist who'd been banned from Solivane's markets for selling volatile concoctions.
"Gavric," Lirien said, her tone wary. "What are you doing here?"
"Same as you, I'd wager." He stepped inside, ignoring Mira's scowl. "Heard about a tear in the sky. Felt it, too." He tapped his temple, his grin sharp. "The aether's all wrong tonight. Like someone stirred it with a cursed stick."
Lirien frowned. Gavric was no mage, but alchemists worked with aether, the raw essence of magic distilled from the world's veins. If he'd sensed the Veil's fracture, it meant the disturbance wasn't limited to the stars. "You felt it? How?"
"Let's just say my experiments are… sensitive." He patted his satchel, and a vial glowed faintly within. "Point is, you're not the only one chasing answers. I was headed to the Starspire myself when I saw you dragging this oaf through the streets."
Kael growled from the cot. "Watch it, potion-slinger."
Gavric smirked but didn't retort. Mira, however, slammed a mortar down on her workbench. "Out, all of you, if you're going to bicker. I've got work to do."
Lirien hesitated. Gavric was trouble—his banishment proved that—but his knowledge of aether might be useful. And Kael was in no shape to join her. "Fine," she said. "Come with me. But if you try anything, I'll burn you to ash."
Gavric raised his hands, mock-surrender. "Charming as ever, Lirien. Lead the way."
The Starspire loomed at the heart of Solivane, a tower of white stone that pierced the sky like a needle. Its peak glowed faintly, a beacon of starlight channeled through ancient runes. The Conclave's guards, clad in silver and blue, eyed Lirien and Gavric as they approached, but her novice sigil—a silver pendant shaped like a crescent moon—granted her passage. Gavric, lacking any such credential, muttered a quick incantation under his breath, and the guards' eyes glazed over, letting him slip through.
"Neat trick," Lirien whispered as they climbed the spiral stairs to the archives.
"Trade secret," Gavric replied, his grin unapologetic. "You're not the only one with talents."
The archives were a cavernous chamber lined with shelves that stretched to the vaulted ceiling. Tomes and scrolls glowed faintly, their bindings etched with runes to preserve ancient knowledge. Lirien's skin tingled as she stepped inside, the air thick with residual magic. A single figure stood among the shelves, his armor dented and dull, his graying hair pulled back in a tight braid. He turned, and Lirien's breath caught.
"Sir Drenvar," she said, bowing slightly. The disgraced knight was a legend in Solivane, though not for heroic reasons. Once a champion of the Conclave, he'd been stripped of his title after defying orders to hunt a rogue mage—rumored to be Toren. Now he haunted the archives, a shadow of his former glory.
"Lirien," Drenvar said, his voice gravelly but kind. His eyes flicked to Gavric, narrowing. "And you bring a criminal. Bold choice."
"Ex-criminal," Gavric said, leaning against a shelf. "I'm reformed. Mostly."
Lirien ignored him. "Sir Drenvar, I need your help. The Veil's breaking. I saw it on Mount Vaelar—a tear, and something came through. The stars spoke of a Shard, something to mend it. Do you know anything?"
Drenvar's face darkened. He set down the tome he'd been reading, its cover embossed with a starburst. "The Shard of Aeloria," he said softly. "An old legend. Said to be a fragment of the first star, forged by the gods to anchor the Veil. The Conclave denies its existence, but the old texts don't lie."
He led them to a locked case, muttering a word that made the runes flare and the lock click open. Inside was a scroll, its parchment brittle and yellowed. Drenvar unrolled it carefully, revealing a sketch of a glowing crystal, its facets refracting starlight. Below it, in faded script, were words in Old Eryndic: The Shard binds what is torn, but its price is blood and will.
"Blood and will," Lirien echoed, her stomach sinking. "What does that mean?"
"No one knows," Drenvar admitted. "The Shard vanished centuries ago, hidden after the last Veilbreak. Some say it's in the Wastes, others the Frostspine Peaks. But if the Veil's truly breaking, you'll need it—and fast."
Gavric leaned over the scroll, his eyes gleaming. "Sounds like a treasure hunt. Count me in. I could use a legendary artifact to spice up my brews."
Lirien shot him a glare. "This isn't a game. That thing on the mountain nearly killed Kael."
"And it'll kill more if you don't act," Drenvar said. "The Conclave won't help. They're too busy squabbling over power to notice the sky falling apart. But I'll come with you. I owe your brother that much."
Lirien's throat tightened at the mention of Toren, but she nodded. "Thank you. Where do we start?"
Before Drenvar could answer, the tower shook. Dust rained from the ceiling, and the air grew heavy with that same foul hum from the mountain. Lirien's head throbbed as the stars' voices flickered back to life, faint and panicked. It comes. Run.
The archives' windows shattered inward, glass spraying across the floor. Shadows poured through, not one creature but a swarm, their forms flickering between beast and nightmare. Their eyes glowed with the same malevolent light Lirien had seen on the ridge, and their voices hissed in her mind: You cannot hide.
Drenvar drew his sword, its blade etched with fading runes. "Get to the scroll!" he barked. "It's our only lead!"
Gavric flung a vial from his satchel, and it exploded in a burst of blue flame, scattering the shadows but not stopping them. Lirien grabbed the scroll, stuffing it into her cloak as she summoned another Luminar spell. Starlight flared, pushing the creatures back, but their numbers grew, spilling from the broken windows like ink.
"Out the back!" Drenvar shouted, cutting a path through the swarm. His sword glowed faintly, its runes sparking with old magic. Lirien followed, Gavric at her heels, his hands a blur as he tossed vials that erupted in smoke and fire.
They burst into a side corridor, the shadows shrieking behind them. The Starspire's alarms blared, and shouts echoed from the upper levels—mages finally waking to the threat. Lirien's heart raced as they sprinted down a stairwell, the scroll clutched tight. The Shard was real, and the Otherworld knew she was after it.
As they reached the tower's base, Gavric grabbed her arm, his grin gone. "This is bigger than us, Lirien. Those things—they're not just monsters. They're hunting you."
"I know," she said, herVOICE steady despite the fear clawing at her. "That's why we're not stopping."
Drenvar kicked open a door to the street, the night air cold against their faces. The sky above Solivane flickered, new tears forming like cracks in glass. The stars screamed again, their voices a desperate chant: Find the Shard. Mend the Veil.
Lirien tightened her grip on the scroll, her resolve hardening. The Wastes or the Frostspine—she didn't care. She'd find the Shard, no matter the cost. Because if she didn't, Eryndor would fall, and the stars would sing no more.
The streets of Solivane were a battlefield. Shadows spilled from the Starspire like ink from a spilled vial, their forms twisting between beast and nightmare as they swarmed the city. Lirien ran, her boots slipping on the wet cobblestones, the ancient scroll clutched to her chest. Drenvar led the way, his sword a flickering beacon in the predawn gloom, while Gavric flanked her, tossing alchemical vials that erupted in bursts of flame and smoke. The air thrummed with the Otherworld's hum, a relentless pulse that drowned out the stars' faint whispers.
"Keep moving!" Drenvar shouted, cutting down a shadow that lunged from an alley. His blade sparked with fading runes, barely holding the creature at bay. The knight's face was grim, his movements precise despite the years since his glory days. Lirien wondered, not for the first time, what he'd seen in the Wastes with her brother.
They veered into the market square, where merchants' stalls lay abandoned, their wares scattered across the ground. The sky above flickered, new tears in the Veil casting an eerie light over Solivane. Screams echoed from distant streets, mingled with the clatter of Conclave guards rallying too late. Lirien's heart pounded, her mind racing with the scroll's words: The Shard binds what is torn, but its price is blood and will. She didn't know what it meant, but the Otherworld's creatures were hunting her, and that was answer enough.
"Bridge is up ahead!" Gavric called, his voice strained as he lobbed another vial. The explosion scattered a pack of shadows, their hisses echoing in her mind: You cannot run. Lirien gritted her teeth, summoning a Luminar spell. Starlight flared from her hands, weak but enough to drive the creatures back. Her magic was untrained, her reserves low, but she couldn't stop—not now.
The bridge over the River Sylis was their escape from Solivane, leading to the wilds beyond the city's wards. But as they reached its stone arch, a figure blocked their path. Cloaked in gray, the stranger stood motionless, their face hidden beneath a hood. Lirien slowed, her instincts screaming danger. The air around the figure shimmered, like heat rising from desert stone, and the shadows behind them hesitated, as if wary.
"Who's that?" Gavric muttered, his hand hovering over his satchel.
"No friend of the Conclave," Drenvar said, raising his sword. "Identify yourself!"
The figure tilted their head, and Lirien caught a glimpse of eyes—golden, slitted, like a cat's. "You carry the scroll," they said, their voice low and melodic, neither male nor female. "And the stars' mark. They've chosen poorly."
Lirien's skin prickled. The stars' whispers surged, faint but urgent: Beware. Trust. Seek. She tightened her grip on the scroll. "You know about the Shard?"
The figure stepped closer, their cloak rippling as if made of liquid shadow. "I know many things, Star-Listener. The Shard of Aeloria is no trinket to be claimed lightly. Its path is cursed, and you're not ready."
Drenvar advanced, his blade steady. "Step aside, or I'll cut you down."
The stranger laughed, a sound like wind through reeds, and their form shimmered. In an instant, they were no longer human but a sleek, black-furred creature, panther-like but larger, with too many eyes glinting along its flanks. Lirien gasped, stepping back. A shape-shifter—rare, dangerous, and tied to the old magics of Eryndor, before the Conclave tamed the world's power.
The creature spoke, its voice unchanged. "You'll need me, knight. The Wastes are no place for steel alone."
"The Wastes?" Lirien said, her voice sharp. "You know where the Shard is?"
The shape-shifter's form flickered back to human, their hood falling to reveal a face that was both sharp and fluid, as if their features couldn't settle. "I know where to start. The scroll points to the Blackened Spire, a ruin in the Wastes. But the Otherworld hunts you, and they're faster than you think."
As if on cue, the shadows surged forward, their claws scraping the stone. Drenvar cursed, swinging his sword in a wide arc. Gavric tossed a vial that exploded in a cloud of choking mist, buying them moments. Lirien turned to the shape-shifter. "Why help us? What's in it for you?"
The stranger's golden eyes gleamed. "Let's just say I have debts to pay. Call me Sylas—for now."
Lirien didn't trust them, but the stars' whispers—Trust. Seek—echoed in her mind. She nodded. "Fine. Lead us to the bridge."
Sylas moved with unnatural grace, darting toward the bridge as the shadows closed in. Lirien followed, Drenvar and Gavric at her sides, their breaths ragged. The river gleamed below, its surface reflecting the fractured sky. As they crossed, Sylas raised a hand, and the air shimmered again. A wall of mist rose behind them, thick and impenetrable, slowing the shadows' pursuit.
"Neat trick," Gavric said, echoing his earlier quip, though his voice trembled.
"Keep up," Sylas replied, their form flickering between human and beast as they ran.
They reached the far side of the bridge, where the city's wards ended and the wilds began. The road stretched into a fog-choked forest, its trees gnarled and black. Lirien's chest tightened—she'd never left Solivane before, never ventured beyond the safety of its walls. But the scroll burned against her skin, and the stars' silence urged her forward.
"We can't stop," she said, glancing at Drenvar. "The Blackened Spire—how far?"
"Three days, if we don't rest," he said, wiping blood from his sword. "The Wastes are treacherous. Bandits, beasts, and worse. And if those things follow us…" He trailed off, eyeing Sylas.
"I can handle worse," Sylas said, their voice edged with amusement. "But you'll need more than steel and starlight. The Spire's guarded by old magic, and the Shard's not unguarded."
Gavric rummaged in his satchel, pulling out a vial that glowed faintly green. "Good thing I brought my own magic. This'll keep us awake for days—assuming it doesn't kill us."
Lirien shot him a look. "Not helping."
He grinned, unrepentant. "You'll thank me when we're not dead."
They pressed into the forest, the fog swallowing Solivane's lights behind them. Lirien unrolled the scroll as they walked, her eyes scanning the faded script by the faint glow of her Luminar spell. The text was fragmented, written in Old Eryndic, but she pieced together fragments: The Blackened Spire, where the first star fell… guarded by the Sentinels… blood to wake, will to bind. The sketch of the Shard—a crystal radiating starlight—seemed to pulse on the page, as if alive.
"What are the Sentinels?" she asked, looking at Sylas.
The shape-shifter's eyes flickered, their form briefly shifting to something avian before settling back to human. "Old things. Not of the Otherworld, but not of Eryndor either. They protect what's sacred—and they don't like intruders."
Drenvar's jaw tightened. "I've heard tales of the Spire. Mages who went seeking the Shard never returned. Your brother was one of them."
Lirien froze, the scroll crinkling in her grip. "Toren went to the Spire?"
Drenvar nodded, his eyes distant. "He thought he could find it. Said it was the key to something bigger—a war the Conclave was ignoring. I tried to stop him, but…" He shook his head. "He went alone."
The weight of his words settled over her. Toren had chased the Shard, and now she was following his path. The stars' whispers, the Otherworld's hunt—it all felt too large, too heavy for her alone. But she wasn't alone, not entirely. Drenvar's loyalty, Gavric's cunning, and Sylas's mysterious aid—they were her allies, for now.
The forest grew darker, the fog thicker. The hum of the Otherworld returned, faint but growing, and Lirien's skin prickled. She glanced at the sky, where new tears flickered, smaller but more numerous. The Veil was weakening, and the stars' silence was a warning of its own.
"Something's coming," Sylas said suddenly, their voice sharp. They shifted into a wolf-like form, hackles raised, eyes scanning the fog.
Before Lirien could respond, the ground shook. Trees cracked, their roots bursting from the earth as shadows erupted from the mist. These were larger than the ones in Solivane, their forms more defined—hulking figures with too many limbs, their eyes burning with starlight stolen from the Veil. Their voices roared in her mind: Give us the scroll.
"Run!" Drenvar bellowed, charging the nearest creature. His sword flared, cutting through shadow but not stopping it.
Gavric tossed a vial that exploded in a shower of sparks, illuminating the chaos. "I'm running low on these!" he shouted, dodging a claw that tore through his coat.
Lirien clutched the scroll, her Luminar spell flaring brighter. The starlight pushed the shadows back, but her strength was fading. Sylas lunged, their wolf-form tearing into a creature with claws and teeth, but more came, endless and relentless.
"We can't fight them all!" Lirien yelled, her voice cracking. The stars whispered again, faint but clear: Hide. Seek.
She scanned the forest, spotting a narrow ravine half-hidden by roots. "There!" she shouted, pointing. "Move!"
They sprinted for the ravine, Drenvar cutting a path, Gavric's vials lighting the way. Sylas shifted to a smaller, fox-like form, darting ahead to scout. The shadows pursued, their hum shaking the earth. Lirien's legs burned, her breath ragged, but she didn't stop. The ravine's entrance was tight, barely wide enough for Drenvar's broad shoulders. They squeezed through, the shadows' claws scraping the stone behind them.
Inside, the ravine was dark, its walls slick with moss. The hum faded, muffled by the stone, and the shadows' voices grew distant. Lirien collapsed against a wall, her chest heaving. The scroll was safe, but her hands trembled, the weight of their task sinking in.
"We can't keep running," she said, her voice hoarse. "They'll find us."
Sylas, human again, leaned against the opposite wall, their golden eyes gleaming in the dark. "They're drawn to you, Star-Listener. The stars marked you, and the Otherworld doesn't like witnesses."
"Why me?" Lirien asked, frustration spilling over. "I'm no one. A novice mage who can barely cast a spell."
"You hear them," Sylas said simply. "That's more than most."
Drenvar sheathed his sword, his face grim. "We need a plan. The Spire's days away, and these things won't stop. If Toren couldn't reach the Shard, what makes you think we can?"
Lirien met his gaze, her fear hardening into resolve. "Because I have to. The Veil's breaking, and the stars chose me. I don't know why, but I won't let them down."
Gavric snorted, pulling a cracked vial from his satchel. "Heroics will get us killed, but I'm in. Better than rotting in Solivane."
Sylas's lips curved, not quite a smile. "Then we move at dawn. The Spire's our only lead, but the Sentinels won't welcome us. Be ready for blood."
Lirien nodded, the scroll heavy in her hands. The stars were silent, but their earlier words echoed: Find the Shard. Mend the Veil. She didn't know what price the Shard demanded, or why the Otherworld hunted her, but she knew one thing: the path to the Blackened Spire was her only way forward, and she'd walk it, no matter what lay ahead.
The ravine's damp air clung to Lirien's skin as dawn broke, its pale light filtering through the fog above. The group huddled in the narrow crevice, their breaths visible in the chill. Lirien's fingers ached from clutching the scroll, its brittle parchment a lifeline to the Shard of Aeloria. The stars' whispers had faded again, leaving only the echo of their command: Find the Shard. Mend the Veil. But the Otherworld's hum lingered, a low throb that pulsed in her chest like a second heartbeat.
Drenvar leaned against the moss-slick wall, sharpening his sword with a whetstone. The rasp of steel filled the silence, his weathered face set in a grim mask. Gavric sat cross-legged, sorting through his dwindling supply of alchemical vials, muttering curses as he inspected cracked glass. Sylas, ever-shifting, paced in their human form, their golden eyes scanning the ravine's entrance. The shape-shifter's presence unsettled Lirien—those flickering forms, that cryptic talk of debts—but the stars had urged trust, and she had little choice.
"We can't stay here," Lirien said, breaking the quiet. "The shadows will find us again."
Drenvar didn't look up. "They're not shadows. They're Harrowkin. Old texts called them the Otherworld's scouts—mindless, but relentless. If they're hunting you, the Veil's weaker than I thought."
"Harrowkin," Gavric echoed, holding up a vial that glowed faintly purple. "Sounds like something my brews could handle. This one's aether-charged—might burn them to cinders."
Sylas snorted, their form briefly flickering to something serpentine before snapping back. "Your toys won't stop them for long. The Harrowkin are drawn to her." They nodded at Lirien. "The stars marked her, and the Otherworld doesn't like being seen."
Lirien's jaw tightened. "I didn't ask to be marked. I just want to fix this."
"Then we move," Drenvar said, sheathing his sword. "The Blackened Spire's in the Wastes, three days west if we avoid the main roads. The forest will slow us, but it's safer than open ground."
"Safer?" Gavric raised an eyebrow, gesturing at the fog beyond the ravine. "This place feels like a graveyard."
"It is," Sylas said, their voice low. "The Wastes were born from the first Veilbreak, when the gods sealed the Otherworld. The Spire's where the first star fell—where the Shard was forged. The land remembers."
Lirien shivered, the scroll's words flashing in her mind: Blood to wake, will to bind. She unrolled it again, tracing the sketch of the Shard—a crystal pulsing with starlight. The Old Eryndic script was fragmented, but a new phrase caught her eye: The Sentinels guard the fallen light, bound by oaths unbroken. The Sentinels again. Sylas had called them old things, neither of Eryndor nor the Otherworld. What were they, and why did the scroll demand blood?
"We need to understand this," she said, holding up the scroll. "The Sentinels, the price—what are we walking into?"
Drenvar's eyes darkened. "Toren asked the same questions. He thought the Shard could stop a war, but he never found it. Or if he did, it killed him."
The mention of her brother stung, but Lirien pushed it down. "Then we learn from his mistakes. Sylas, you know the Spire. What else aren't you telling us?"
The shape-shifter's lips curved, not quite a smile. "The Spire's a ruin, but it's alive in its own way. The Sentinels are its keepers—spirits, maybe, or something older. They test those who seek the Shard. Fail, and you don't walk away."
Gavric scoffed, but his hands trembled as he packed his vials. "Great. Ghostly judges and shadow monsters. Anything else?"
"Yes," Sylas said, their eyes locking on Lirien. "The Shard's not just a key. It's a weapon. Wielding it changes you. That's the price—blood and will."
Lirien's throat tightened. "Changes how?"
Sylas shrugged, their form flickering to something birdlike before settling. "No one knows. The last to touch it was Aeloria herself, and she's dust now. Ask the stars—they chose you."
The stars were silent, their absence a weight in Lirien's mind. She rolled the scroll and tucked it into her cloak. "Then we keep moving. The Spire's our only lead."
They emerged from the ravine into a forest cloaked in mist, the trees twisted into shapes that seemed to watch them. The air was thick, the Otherworld's hum a constant drone. Lirien led the way, her Luminar spell casting a faint glow to guide them. Drenvar took the rear, his sword ready, while Gavric muttered about the fog ruining his potions. Sylas scouted ahead, their form shifting between wolf and hawk, vanishing into the mist only to reappear with warnings of uneven ground or distant sounds.
The forest stretched endlessly, its silence broken only by the crunch of leaves and the occasional snap of a twig. Lirien's thoughts churned—her brother's fate, the Shard's price, the Harrowkin's pursuit. She was no hero, just a novice mage who heard stars. Why her? The question gnawed, but she had no answers, only the scroll's cryptic words and the Veil's fractures spreading like cracks in ice.
By midday, the forest thinned, giving way to a barren plain that marked the edge of the Wastes. The ground was cracked, the earth scorched as if burned centuries ago. In the distance, a jagged silhouette loomed—the Blackened Spire, its peak piercing the sky like a broken fang. Lirien's heart quickened. They were closer, but the hum grew louder, vibrating in her bones.
"Too quiet," Drenvar said, his hand on his sword. "The Wastes don't stay empty for long."
Sylas, in wolf-form, growled low. "It's not empty now."
The ground shuddered, and the mist parted. Harrowkin emerged, larger than before, their forms solidifying into grotesque parodies of human shapes—limbs too long, faces split with glowing eyes. Their voices roared in Lirien's mind: The scroll is ours. You are ours.
"Form up!" Drenvar shouted, stepping in front of Lirien. His sword flared, its runes glowing brighter than before. Gavric hurled a vial, its explosion scattering shards of light that burned the Harrowkin's edges. Sylas shifted to a massive, bear-like form, claws raking through the nearest creature.
Lirien summoned Luminar, her starlight flaring to push the Harrowkin back, but her strength faltered. The spell flickered, her vision swimming. She wasn't trained for this—her magic was raw, unpolished. A Harrowkin lunged, its claws grazing her arm. Pain seared through her, and she stumbled, the scroll slipping from her grasp.
"No!" she cried, diving for it. Sylas intercepted the creature, their bear-form roaring as they tore it apart. Drenvar grabbed the scroll, thrusting it back into her hands.
"Stay focused!" he barked, parrying another Harrowkin.
Gavric's vials were nearly spent, his face pale. "We can't keep this up!"
Lirien's mind raced. The stars were silent, but the scroll's words echoed: Blood to wake. She didn't know what it meant, but desperation drove her. She pressed her bleeding arm to the scroll, smearing crimson across the parchment. The runes glowed, and a pulse of light erupted, blinding in its intensity. The Harrowkin shrieked, their forms dissolving into ash as the light swept through them.
Lirien collapsed, her breath ragged. The scroll was warm in her hands, its glow fading. Drenvar knelt beside her, his face grim. "What did you do?"
"I… don't know," she gasped. "The scroll—it reacted."
Sylas, human again, studied her with narrowed eyes. "Blood to wake. You're bound to it now. The Shard will know you."
"Know me?" Lirien's voice trembled. "What does that mean?"
"It means you're not just a seeker anymore," Sylas said. "You're part of this, whether you like it or not."
Gavric wiped sweat from his brow, his grin shaky. "Well, that was dramatic. Anyone else feel like we're in over our heads?"
Drenvar ignored him, helping Lirien stand. "We need to keep moving. That light might've scared them off, but it'll draw others. The Spire's close."
They pressed on, the Wastes stretching before them. The Blackened Spire loomed larger, its stone scorched and jagged, radiating a faint, unnatural heat. Lirien's arm throbbed, her blood still wet on the scroll. The stars remained silent, but a new sensation stirred—a pull, like a thread tugging her toward the Spire. The Shard was there, she was sure of it, but so were the Sentinels, and the price Sylas had warned of.
As night fell, they made camp in a hollow of cracked earth, the Spire a dark silhouette against the fractured sky. Lirien sat apart, studying the scroll by her Luminar's glow. A new fragment of text had appeared, revealed by her blood: The Shard demands the heart's truth. To mend the Veil, one must break.
"What does that mean?" she whispered, fear coiling in her gut.
Sylas, perched on a rock in their human form, answered without looking. "It means the Shard isn't just a tool. It tests you—your will, your soul. Aeloria wielded it and lost herself. Your brother tried and failed. You ready for that?"
Lirien didn't answer. She thought of Toren, of his reckless courage, of the stars that had chosen her for reasons she couldn't grasp. The Veil was breaking, the Harrowkin were hunting, and the Spire waited. She wasn't ready, but she had no choice.
Drenvar joined her, his expression softer than usual. "Toren believed in you. Said you'd outshine him one day. Don't let this break you."
She nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. "I won't."
But as she looked at the Spire, its shadow swallowing the stars, she wasn't sure she believed it. The Harrowkin's voices lingered in her mind, a promise and a threat: You are ours. And somewhere, deep within, she felt the Shard calling, its light both a beacon and a warning.
The Blackened Spire loomed like a scar against the dawn, its jagged silhouette swallowing the faint light of the Wastes. Lirien's boots crunched on the scorched earth, each step heavier than the last. The scroll, tucked inside her cloak, pulsed faintly, as if her blood had awakened something within it. The stars were silent, their voices drowned by the Otherworld's hum, now a constant drone that vibrated in her teeth. The Shard of Aeloria was close—she felt it, a tug in her chest like a hook pulling her toward the Spire. But the scroll's warning echoed in her mind: The Shard demands the heart's truth. To mend the Veil, one must break.
Drenvar led the group, his sword drawn, his eyes scanning the barren landscape. The Wastes stretched endlessly, a wasteland of cracked earth and twisted stone, relics of the first Veilbreak centuries ago. Gavric trailed behind, his satchel lighter after the Harrowkin attack, his usual bravado replaced by a tense silence. Sylas scouted ahead, their form shifting between hawk and wolf, their golden eyes catching the light as they searched for threats. Lirien watched them, still wary of their motives. The shape-shifter's talk of debts and their cryptic knowledge of the Spire raised more questions than answers.
"We're exposed out here," Drenvar said, his voice low. "The Spire's half a day's walk, but the Harrowkin won't wait that long."
"They're not the only problem," Sylas called, their hawk-form swooping low before shifting back to human. "The Sentinels are waking. I feel them—old magic, stirring in the Spire."
Lirien's stomach churned. The scroll described the Sentinels as guardians of the Shard, bound by oaths unbroken. Sylas had called them spirits, or something older. Whatever they were, they weren't friendly. "What do they want?" she asked.
Sylas's lips twitched, not quite a smile. "To test you. The Shard's not given freely. They'll want proof you're worthy—or they'll kill you."
"Comforting," Gavric muttered, clutching a vial that glowed faintly blue. "Any chance they're open to bribes? I've got a decent smoke bomb left."
Drenvar shot him a look. "Focus, alchemist. We're not here to barter."
Lirien ignored their bickering, her gaze fixed on the Spire. Its stone was blackened, as if burned by a fire that never died, and its peak shimmered with a faint, unnatural light. The pull in her chest grew stronger, almost painful. "The Shard's there," she said, more to herself than the others. "I can feel it."
Sylas's eyes narrowed. "Careful, Star-Listener. It feels you, too."
The group pressed on, the Wastes growing harsher with each mile. The air was dry, the ground littered with bones—animal, human, or something else, Lirien couldn't tell. The Otherworld's hum intensified, and the sky flickered with new tears, smaller but more frequent, like cracks spreading across glass. Lirien's arm still throbbed where the Harrowkin's claw had grazed her, the wound wrapped in a strip of Gavric's coat. Her blood had awakened the scroll, binding her to the Shard's fate. She didn't know what that meant, but the weight of it pressed on her, heavier than the Spire's shadow.
By midday, the terrain shifted. The cracked earth gave way to a field of jagged obsidian, its edges sharp enough to cut through leather. The Spire was closer now, its base ringed by ruins—crumbled towers and arches, remnants of a city lost to the first Veilbreak. Lirien's Luminar spell flickered, her magic strained from the previous night's fight. She needed rest, training, time—none of which she had.
"Stop," Sylas said suddenly, their form shifting to a panther, hackles raised. "We're not alone."
The air grew heavy, the hum rising to a screech. Lirien's head throbbed as the stars' whispers returned, faint and frantic: They come. Stand. The obsidian field shimmered, and figures emerged—not Harrowkin, but something else. They were tall, their forms made of light and shadow, their faces featureless yet radiating intent. Their presence pressed against Lirien's mind, a weight of judgment that made her knees buckle.
"The Sentinels," Drenvar whispered, his sword raised. "Gods help us."
The figures spoke, their voices a chorus that echoed in her skull: You seek the Shard. Prove your worth.
Lirien stepped forward, her heart pounding. "I'm Lirien, marked by the stars. The Veil's breaking, and I need the Shard to mend it."
The Sentinels' forms flickered, their voices cold. The Shard demands truth. What do you offer?
"Offer?" Lirien's voice wavered. The scroll's words—blood and will, the heart's truth—flashed in her mind. "I'll give whatever it takes to save Eryndor."
The Sentinels tilted their heads, as if weighing her words. Words are not enough. Show us.
Before she could respond, the ground shook, and Harrowkin burst from the obsidian, their forms more solid, their eyes blazing with stolen starlight. The Sentinels didn't move, watching as the creatures charged. Lirien's group formed a tight circle, Drenvar's sword flaring, Gavric's vials ready, Sylas shifting to a massive, clawed beast.
"Stay close!" Drenvar shouted, cutting down a Harrowkin. Its form dissolved, but more came, their claws raking the air.
Gavric tossed a vial, its explosion scattering shards of light that burned the creatures. "I'm down to three!" he yelled, dodging a swipe. "Make this quick!"
Lirien summoned Luminar, her starlight flaring to push the Harrowkin back, but the Sentinels' presence drained her. Their voices pressed harder: Show us your truth. She staggered, her spell faltering. The scroll pulsed in her cloak, warm against her skin. Blood had awakened it—maybe blood would satisfy the Sentinels.
She drew her dagger, slicing her palm. Pain flared, and she pressed her bleeding hand to the scroll. Its runes glowed, and a wave of light erupted, stronger than before. The Harrowkin shrieked, their forms crumbling, but the Sentinels remained, their forms brighter, their voices sharper.
Blood is given. Now the will.
Lirien's vision swam, her strength ebbing. "What do you want?" she gasped.
Your heart's truth. Face it, or fall.
The world shifted. The Wastes vanished, replaced by a void of starlight and shadow. Lirien stood alone, the scroll gone, her allies nowhere in sight. Before her was Toren—her brother, his face gaunt, his eyes haunted. "Lirien," he said, his voice breaking. "You shouldn't have come."
"Toren?" She reached for him, but he dissolved, replaced by a memory—her brother leaving Solivane, his cloak billowing as he promised to return. Then another: his laughter, his lessons, the way he'd taught her to listen to the stars. Pain stabbed her chest, guilt and grief she'd buried since his disappearance.
"You failed me," Toren's voice said, though he was gone. "You'll fail them all."
"No!" Lirien shouted, tears burning her eyes. "I'm trying. I'll fix this!"
The void shifted again, and she saw the Veil—fractured, bleeding starlight into the Otherworld. Harrowkin poured through, their forms endless, consuming Eryndor. She saw Solivane in flames, Kael's body broken, Mira's shop reduced to ash. Her fault. Her failure.
Face your truth, the Sentinels said. Or break.
Lirien clenched her fists, her nails digging into her wounded palm. "I'm not enough," she whispered. "I'm not a hero. I'm just… me. But I won't stop. I'll fight, even if it kills me."
The void shattered, and she was back in the obsidian field, gasping, her allies staring. The Sentinels' forms softened, their voices quieter. Truth accepted. The path opens.
A rumble shook the ground, and the Spire's base split, revealing a staircase descending into darkness. The Harrowkin were gone, their ashes scattered across the obsidian. Lirien's hand bled freely, her body trembling, but she stood tall. The Sentinels vanished, their presence lingering like a fading echo.
"What happened?" Drenvar asked, his sword still raised.
"They tested me," Lirien said, her voice hoarse. "I passed. I think."
Gavric whistled, his grin returning. "You're full of surprises, star-girl."
Sylas, in human form, studied her with unreadable eyes. "You gave blood and will. The Shard's close, but the real test is inside. Be ready."
Lirien nodded, her gaze fixed on the staircase. The Spire's darkness beckoned, its air heavy with old magic. The Shard was there—she felt it, stronger now, a pulse that matched her own. But the Sentinels' words, and Toren's ghostly face, haunted her. To mend the Veil, one must break. She didn't know what it meant, but the truth she'd faced—her fear, her inadequacy—felt like a fracture of its own.
Drenvar placed a hand on her shoulder. "You're not alone in this. Toren would be proud."
She managed a weak smile, though doubt gnawed at her. "Let's go. The Shard's waiting."
They descended the staircase, the Spire's walls closing around them. The Otherworld's hum was faint now, but the stars' silence was louder, a void that promised answers—or ruin. Lirien gripped the scroll, its glow a faint guide in the dark. The Shard was close, but so was the price, and she wasn't sure she was ready to pay it.
The Blackened Spire's staircase spiraled into darkness, its walls slick with an unnatural sheen that swallowed Lirien's Luminar spell. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of ancient stone and something sharper, like burnt aether. Each step echoed, the sound swallowed by the Spire's oppressive silence. Lirien led the way, the scroll clutched in her bleeding hand, its faint glow her only guide. The Shard of Aeloria's pull was stronger now, a pulse in her chest that matched her heartbeat, urging her deeper. But the Sentinels' warning—To mend the Veil, one must break—clung to her like damp cloth, chilling her resolve.
Drenvar followed close behind, his sword drawn, its runes flickering in the dark. Gavric muttered curses, his remaining vials clinking in his satchel as he navigated the uneven steps. Sylas brought up the rear, their form shifting between human and shadow, their golden eyes catching the scroll's light. Lirien glanced back at the shape-shifter, her unease growing. Sylas had led them to the Spire, but their cryptic talk of debts and their ease with old magic raised questions she couldn't ignore. The stars had urged trust, but trust was a fragile thing in a place like this.
"How far does this go?" Gavric whispered, his voice tight. "Feels like we're walking into the Otherworld itself."
"Not far from the truth," Sylas replied, their tone clipped. "The Spire's a nexus—where Eryndor and the Otherworld touch. The Shard's here, but so are things that don't want us to take it."
Drenvar's grip tightened on his sword. "Like the Sentinels?"
Sylas's eyes flickered, birdlike for a moment. "The Sentinels were the gatekeepers. What's deeper… is worse."
Lirien's stomach twisted, but she pressed on, the scroll's warmth guiding her. The staircase ended abruptly, opening into a vast chamber. Its ceiling was lost in shadow, its walls carved with runes that pulsed with faint starlight. At the center stood a pedestal, and on it, a crystal—the Shard of Aeloria. It was smaller than she'd imagined, no larger than her fist, but its facets radiated a light that shifted between silver and void-black, as if it held both the stars and the darkness between them. The pull in her chest surged, almost painful, and the stars' whispers returned, faint but clear: Take it. Break.
"There it is," she breathed, stepping forward. The air grew heavier, the Otherworld's hum rising to a low roar.
Drenvar grabbed her arm. "Careful. Nothing this easy comes without a cost."
"He's right," Sylas said, their form stabilizing as human, though their eyes glowed brighter. "The Shard's bound to the Spire. Touch it, and you'll face its guardian."
"Another Sentinel?" Gavric asked, pulling a vial from his satchel. "Because I'm not sure I've got enough left for that."
Sylas shook their head. "Not a Sentinel. Something older. The Spire's heart."
Before Lirien could ask more, the chamber shook. The runes on the walls flared, and the floor cracked, revealing a pool of liquid shadow. From it rose a figure—not a Harrowkin, but something worse. Its form was humanoid but wrong, its limbs too long, its face a mask of shifting starlight. Eyes—hundreds, thousands—opened across its body, each one burning with the same malice Lirien had felt on Mount Vaelar. Its voice was a chorus, deafening in her mind: You will not take it.
"The Spire's heart," Sylas hissed, shifting to a massive, clawed beast. "Stay back!"
Drenvar charged, his sword blazing with runes. The blade struck the creature, but it passed through, the shadow reforming instantly. Gavric hurled a vial, its explosion scattering light that burned the creature's edges, but it only laughed—a sound like glass shattering across the void.
Lirien's heart raced. She summoned Luminar, her starlight flaring, but the creature absorbed it, its eyes glowing brighter. The scroll pulsed in her hand, its runes searing her skin. Blood to wake, will to bind. She'd given blood already—her palm still bled—but will? The Sentinels had demanded her truth, and she'd faced it. What more did the Shard want?
"Get to the pedestal!" Drenvar shouted, dodging a swipe from the creature's claws. "We'll hold it off!"
Sylas roared, their beast-form tearing into the shadow, though their claws did little. Gavric tossed another vial, its green fire slowing the creature but not stopping it. Lirien sprinted for the pedestal, her breath ragged, the Shard's light blinding. She reached out, her fingers brushing the crystal. It was warm, alive, and the moment she touched it, the world dissolved.
She stood in a void, the Spire gone, her allies vanished. The Shard floated before her, its light pulsing in time with her heart. The stars' voices surged, a chorus of light and pain: Take it. Break. But another voice joined them, colder, older, from the crystal itself: You are not enough. You will shatter.
Lirien's knees buckled, but she held her ground. "I don't care," she said, her voice trembling but firm. "The Veil's breaking. Eryndor's dying. I'll do whatever it takes."
The Shard's light flared, and pain seared through her, as if her blood were burning. She saw flashes—her brother, Toren, reaching for the same crystal, his face twisting in agony; Aeloria, the ancient mage, wielding the Shard as the Veil formed, her body crumbling to dust; and herself, holding the Shard, her eyes glowing with starlight, her humanity fading. The heart's truth, the Sentinels had said. To mend the Veil, one must break.
"No," she whispered, tears streaming down her face. "I won't lose myself."
Then you will lose all, the Shard replied.
The void shattered, and she was back in the chamber, her hand on the Shard. The creature lunged, its claws inches from her throat. Sylas tackled it, their form shifting rapidly—wolf, bear, serpent—buying her seconds. Drenvar's sword struck again, uselessly, while Gavric's last vial exploded in a cloud of smoke.
"Lirien!" Drenvar roared. "Do something!"
She gripped the Shard, its light searing her palm. The scroll fell from her cloak, its runes blazing as it hit the floor. Will to bind. She didn't know the spell, didn't have the training, but the stars' whispers guided her, their voices merging with the Shard's pulse. She closed her eyes, focusing on the truth she'd faced—her fear, her guilt, her resolve to save Eryndor, even if it cost her everything.
"Bind!" she shouted, the word tearing from her throat. Starlight erupted from the Shard, flooding the chamber. The creature screamed, its form dissolving into ash. The runes on the walls dimmed, and the Spire's hum faded, replaced by a stillness that felt like the calm after a storm.
Lirien collapsed, the Shard clutched in her hand, its light now steady, warm. Her allies stood around her, battered but alive. Drenvar's armor was scratched, Gavric's coat torn, Sylas's form flickering as they struggled to hold their human shape.
"You did it," Gavric said, his voice hoarse. "You actually did it."
"Not yet," Lirien said, struggling to her feet. "The Veil's still breaking. The Shard's only part of it."
Sylas's eyes narrowed, their form stabilizing. "You felt it, didn't you? The Shard's price."
Lirien nodded, her throat tight. "It showed me… me, but not me. Like I'd become something else."
"That's what it does," Sylas said, their voice softer now. "Aeloria used it to seal the Veil, and it burned her soul to ash. Your brother tried and failed. You're stronger than he was, but you're not safe."
Drenvar's face darkened. "You knew this and didn't tell us?"
Sylas met his gaze, unflinching. "I owed a debt to Toren. He saved me once, in the Wastes. I swore to protect his sister, but I won't lie—the Shard's dangerous. It's why I'm here."
Lirien's chest tightened. "You knew Toren?"
Sylas nodded, their eyes distant. "He was chasing the Shard, like you. He found the Spire, faced the guardian, but he wasn't ready. The Shard rejected him."
"Rejected him?" Lirien's voice cracked. "What happened to him?"
Sylas hesitated, their form flickering. "He's gone, Lirien. The Spire took him. I'm sorry."
The words hit like a blow, but Lirien pushed the grief down. She couldn't afford to break, not now. The Shard was warm in her hand, its light steady but heavy, as if it carried the weight of her brother's failure. "Then I'll finish what he started," she said, her voice steady despite the tears in her eyes. "How do I use it to mend the Veil?"
Sylas pointed to the scroll, still glowing on the floor. "The runes. They're a ritual, but it needs a nexus—a place where the Veil's thinnest. The Frostspine Peaks, north of here. That's where Aeloria sealed it last time."
Drenvar sheathed his sword, his face grim. "The Peaks are a week's journey, and the Harrowkin won't stop. Neither will the Conclave, once they realize we've got the Shard."
Gavric groaned, slumping against the pedestal. "Great. More running, more monsters. Anyone got a plan that doesn't end with us dead?"
Lirien ignored him, picking up the scroll. Its runes had shifted, new words forming: The Frostspine calls. The Veil's heart waits. She didn't know the ritual, but the Shard's pull was stronger now, guiding her north. The stars' whispers returned, faint but urgent: Go. Mend.
"We head for the Peaks," she said, tucking the Shard into her cloak beside the scroll. "We don't have a choice."
As they climbed the staircase back to the surface, the Spire's walls seemed to watch them, their runes dim but alive. The Wastes greeted them with a cold wind, the sky above fractured with new tears. The Otherworld's hum was quieter, but Lirien felt its eyes on her, waiting. The Shard was hers, but so was its price, and the vision of herself—eyes glowing, humanity fading—lingered in her mind.
Sylas walked beside her, their form human but unsteady. "You're not Toren," they said quietly. "You're stronger, but the Shard will test you again. Be ready."
Lirien nodded, her hand brushing the Shard's warmth. "I will."
But as they set out for the Frostspine Peaks, the stars' silence grew heavier, and the Otherworld's hum promised more than Harrowkin. Something bigger was coming, and the Shard knew it. Lirien wasn't sure she was ready, but she'd face it—for Toren, for Eryndor, for the stars that had chosen her.
The Wastes stretched like a wound across Eryndor, their scorched earth unyielding beneath Lirien's boots. The Blackened Spire faded into the haze behind them, its shadow a memory of the Shard's searing light now tucked inside her cloak. The crystal's warmth pulsed against her chest, a second heartbeat that both comforted and unnerved her. The stars' whispers had grown faint, their voices fragmented—Go. Mend. Break.—but the Otherworld's hum was ever-present, a low growl that followed them like a predator stalking its prey.
Lirien walked at the head of the group, her hand brushing the scroll and Shard, their combined glow a faint beacon in the dusk. Drenvar trailed close, his sword sheathed but his eyes scanning the horizon. Gavric lagged behind, his satchel nearly empty, his usual quips replaced by a weary silence. Sylas scouted ahead, their form flickering between wolf and hawk, their golden eyes catching the fading light. The shape-shifter's revelation about Toren's fate weighed on Lirien, a fresh grief she buried beneath her resolve. The Frostspine Peaks were a week away, and the Shard's price—blood and will, the heart's truth—loomed larger with every step.
The Wastes were merciless. The air was dry, the ground cracked, and the wind carried a faint ash that stung their eyes. Ruins dotted the landscape—crumbled towers, shattered statues—remnants of a civilization lost to the first Veilbreak. Lirien's wound from the Harrowkin's claw throbbed, a reminder of her blood's bond to the scroll. The Shard's pull was stronger now, guiding her north, but it came with visions: flashes of herself with glowing eyes, her humanity slipping away, and Toren's face, twisted in pain as he reached for the same crystal.
"We need to rest," Drenvar said, breaking the silence. His voice was gruff, his armor scratched from the Spire's battle. "We've been moving since dawn. You're no good to anyone exhausted."
Lirien shook her head, her jaw tight. "We can't stop. The Harrowkin are still out there, and the Veil's getting worse." She glanced at the sky, where new tears flickered, their edges bleeding starlight. The Otherworld's hum pulsed in her bones, a warning of what was coming.
"She's right," Sylas said, materializing from the dusk in their human form. "The Harrowkin are regrouping. I scented them an hour back—stronger now, more focused. They know you have the Shard."
Gavric groaned, slumping against a broken pillar. "Fantastic. Any chance we can trade the shiny rock for a nice, quiet life?"
Lirien shot him a look. "You can leave, Gavric. No one's forcing you to stay."
He smirked, though it lacked his usual fire. "And miss the chance to be a legend? Not likely. Besides, someone's gotta keep you lot alive with my genius."
Drenvar snorted. "Your genius is down to two vials. Try conserving it."
Gavric clutched his satchel, mock-offended. "These are masterpieces, knight. Show some respect."
Sylas ignored them, their eyes on Lirien. "The Shard's changing you. You feel it, don't you? The pull, the visions."
Lirien's hand tightened on the Shard's warmth. "I see… things. Me, but not me. Toren, failing. Aeloria, burning out. It's like the Shard's showing me what it'll cost."
Sylas nodded, their form flickering briefly to something reptilian. "It's testing you, even now. The closer we get to the Frostspine, the stronger it'll be. Be careful, Star-Listener. It wants more than your blood."
Drenvar's eyes narrowed. "You talk like you know it personally, shape-shifter. What aren't you telling us?"
Sylas's lips curved, not quite a smile. "I told you—I owed Toren a debt. He saved me from the Wastes, from things like the Harrowkin. I swore to protect his sister, but the Shard's older than me, older than the Spire. Its secrets aren't mine to share."
Lirien's chest tightened. "Then whose are they? The stars? They're barely speaking now."
Sylas's gaze softened, almost pitying. "The stars chose you because you listen. But they don't control the Shard. It's a piece of the first star, tied to the Veil's creation. It's alive, in its own way, and it's choosing you, too."
"Choosing me for what?" Lirien's voice cracked, frustration spilling over. "To die like Aeloria? To fail like Toren?"
Sylas didn't answer, their form shifting to a hawk as they took to the air, scouting ahead. Lirien's hands shook, the Shard's warmth both a comfort and a threat. She wanted to scream, to demand answers, but the Wastes offered only silence.
They made camp in the ruins of a crumbled temple, its walls etched with faded star-runes. Drenvar built a small fire, its light barely piercing the dusk. Gavric sorted his remaining vials—one blue, one green—muttering about needing a proper lab. Lirien sat apart, the scroll unrolled before her. Its runes had shifted again, her blood revealing new words: The Frostspine's heart holds the Veil's wound. The Shard's light seals, but the bearer breaks.
"More cryptic nonsense," she muttered, tracing the runes. The Shard pulsed in response, its light flaring briefly, casting shadows across the ruins. A vision flickered—herself, standing atop a frozen peak, the Shard blazing as the Veil knit together, her eyes glowing, her body crumbling like ash. She gasped, the image fading, but the fear lingered.
Drenvar noticed, kneeling beside her. "What did you see?"
She hesitated, then told him—her vision, the Shard's warnings, the cost. His face darkened, his hand resting on her shoulder. "Toren saw something similar. He thought he could cheat the price. Don't make his mistake."
"I'm not him," Lirien said, her voice sharper than intended. "But I don't know how to do this without breaking."
"You don't have to," Drenvar said. "We're here. You're not alone."
His words warmed her, but doubt gnawed at her. The Shard's pull was stronger, its light seeping into her dreams, her thoughts. She wasn't sure how much of herself would remain by the time they reached the Frostspine.
Sylas returned, landing silently in human form. "The path's clear for now, but the Harrowkin are closing in. We need to move faster."
Gavric groaned, lying back on the ground. "Faster? I'm barely keeping up as it is."
"Then stay behind," Sylas said, their tone cold. "You're a liability if you can't fight."
Gavric sat up, his grin sharp. "Oh, I can fight, shape-shifter. Just wait till I mix something special for you."
"Enough," Lirien snapped, standing. "We're not fighting each other. The Frostspine's our goal. We move at first light."
But as night deepened, the Otherworld's hum grew louder, and the stars' whispers returned, fragmented and urgent: Betrayed. Run. Lirien's eyes snapped open, her hand on the Shard. The fire had died, the ruins cloaked in shadow. Drenvar slept, his sword across his lap. Gavric snored softly, his satchel clutched like a pillow. Sylas was gone.
"Sylas?" she whispered, her voice echoing in the silence.
A rustle came from the ruins' edge, and Sylas appeared, their form human but unsteady, their eyes glowing too bright. "You should've stayed in Solivane," they said, their voice low, almost regretful.
Lirien's heart sank. "What are you doing?"
Sylas stepped closer, their form flickering—wolf, serpent, human. "I owed Toren a debt, but I owe others, too. The Shard's too dangerous for you, Lirien. Give it to me."
Drenvar stirred, his hand on his sword. "Back off, shape-shifter."
Gavric woke, scrambling for a vial. "Knew you were trouble," he muttered, his voice shaking.
Lirien stood, the Shard's warmth burning against her chest. "You led us to the Spire. You helped us. Why betray us now?"
Sylas's eyes flickered, pain crossing their face. "I didn't want this. But the Otherworld… it speaks to me, too. They promised to free me if I deliver the Shard."
"Free you?" Lirien's voice hardened. "From what?"
Sylas's form stabilized, their human face raw with guilt. "I'm bound to them. A curse, from long ago. Toren tried to break it, but he failed. The Shard's my only way out."
The stars' whispers surged: Betrayed. Fight. Lirien drew her dagger, her hand trembling. "I trusted you."
"I know," Sylas said, their voice breaking. "I'm sorry."
They lunged, their form shifting to a clawed beast. Drenvar met them, his sword clashing against claws that sparked like steel. Gavric hurled his blue vial, its explosion filling the ruins with choking mist. Lirien dodged, the Shard's light flaring as she summoned Luminar. The starlight pushed Sylas back, their beast-form snarling but hesitating.
"Don't make me kill you!" Lirien shouted, her voice cracking.
Sylas shifted back to human, their eyes pleading. "You don't understand. They'll take everything if I don't—"
The ground shook, cutting them off. Harrowkin burst from the earth, their forms massive, their eyes blazing with stolen starlight. Their voices roared in Lirien's mind: The Shard is ours. Sylas froze, their form flickering, torn between their curse and their debt to Toren.
"Fight with us!" Lirien yelled, her starlight flaring again. "You're not theirs yet!"
Sylas hesitated, then shifted to a massive bear, roaring as they tore into the Harrowkin. Drenvar fought beside them, his sword a blur. Gavric's last vial—green and glowing—exploded in a burst of acid that melted a Harrowkin's form. Lirien gripped the Shard, its light merging with her spell, driving the creatures back. The scroll glowed in her cloak, its runes pulsing as if guiding her.
The Harrowkin fell, their ashes scattering, but more came, endless and relentless. Sylas staggered, their form flickering, blood dripping from a wound in their side. "I can't… hold them," they gasped, shifting back to human.
Lirien knelt beside them, the Shard blazing in her hand. "You don't have to. Stay with us."
Sylas's eyes met hers, filled with pain and resolve. "I'll try. For Toren."
The stars whispered again: Forgive. Mend. Lirien nodded, helping Sylas stand. The Harrowkin retreated, their hum fading, but the sky above cracked wider, starlight bleeding into the void. The Frostspine was their only hope, but Sylas's betrayal had shaken her. The Shard's weight was heavier now, its light both a guide and a threat.
"We move now," Lirien said, her voice steady despite her fear. "No more delays."
Drenvar nodded, his gaze on Sylas. "You step out of line again, I'll end you."
Sylas smirked, weak but defiant. "Noted, knight."
Gavric slung his empty satchel over his shoulder. "Well, I'm out of tricks. Hope you've got more star-magic, Lirien."
She didn't answer, her hand on the Shard. The Frostspine waited, and with it, the Veil's heart. The stars were faint, the Otherworld closer, and the Shard's price loomed. Lirien wasn't sure what she'd have to break—her heart, her will, her life—but she'd face it, for Eryndor, for Toren, for the stars that still believed in her.