---
Chapter 1 — The Wrong Relic
---
In a world where the gods shattered themselves into fragments to prevent an ancient evil from returning, pieces of their divinity—called Godshards—fell to the earth. These shards embed themselves in mortals, granting divine abilities and slowly changing their wielders into living avatars of the gods.
Centuries later, the world is ruled by Shardbearers who act as kings, warlords, and high priests. Most believe the gods are gone for good… but the ancient evil the gods tried to seal away is waking once again.
A street thief named Eli Morgan, born with no apparent Shard, steals an old relic that binds him to a peculiar God
Eli Morgan never planned his mornings. That wasn't something street thieves did. Planning required stability—meals that came on time, roofs that didn't leak, and clothes that weren't held together by loose thread and grime.
He woke up on the edge of a crumbling rooftop in Southmark, arm slung over a rusted pipe, wind biting at his exposed side. His coat had lost most of its buttons weeks ago, and the lining was practically shredded. Still, it kept him warm enough to sleep through the night without freezing, which as far as he was concerned was what counted.
Below, the city stirred. Southmark wasn't the capital, but it was close to it—both in distance and in reputation. It had everything the high cities had: temples, towers, and Shardbearers with their gleaming armor and tyrranical power. But it also had rats the size of stone bricks, gutters that never drained, and back alleys where people went missing without anyone asking questions.
Eli didn't belong to any gang. He worked alone, mostly out of choice, partly out of necessity. Its not that he never tried it before,He'd tried running with a crew once, a group of people calling Themselves Red Talons but the leader got caught fencing divine relics and the rest of them scattered before the guards started asking questions. That had been two years ago. He had learned his lesson and decided not to take too many risks.
He stretched, rolled his shoulders, and stood. No breakfast today. Not until he stole one.
---
The market district was packed by midday, as it always was. Merchants lined the stone roads with carts, tents, and crates, barking about dates from the desert, salted fish from the coast, hand-carved figurines blessed by minor gods—whatever would sell.
Eli moved like water through the crowd. His fingers brushed against pockets, belts, loose sleeves. Most of what he took was small—copper coins someone wasn't paying attention to. He didn't like drawing attention, and if he got greedy, he'd be sprinting with a guard on his heels before long.
But today, something was off.
There were more guards than usual, especially near the central square. Not the usual local ones, either—these wore tabards marked with silver shards and carried spears tipped with blackened steel. Concord Enforcers. That meant either a Shardbearer was visiting or something valuable had gone missing.
Eli kept his head low and made his way into the older part of the city, near the cracked stone temples and abandoned shrines. The crowds thinned out there, and so did the guards. Most people thought the place was cursed and was destroyed by a fallout between some of the gods , before the gods tore themselves apart.
Eli didn't care much about curses. What he cared about was that there was an old antiques dealer in the area who didn't ask too many questions and paid decently for whatever shiny thing Eli brought in.
The shop was tucked between two collapsed prayer towers. Its sign read Jorel's Relics & Repairs, and the front door creaked as Eli opened it .
Inside, the air smelled like dust, wood polish, and incense that had long stopped burning. Jorel was there, as usual—balding, hunched, and hungrily eyeing a cracked magnifying lens.
"You're late," Jorel grunted without looking up.
"I didn't know I had a schedule," Eli said. He reached into his coat and pulled out a small silver pendant, shaped like a crescent moon.
Jorel held out his hand. "Let me see."
Eli hesitated a second too long.
"Don't tell me you believe the stories now," Jorel said. "It's not cursed. It's old. Probably ceremonial."
Eli passed it over.
Jorel inspected it under the lens, muttering. "Third era. Mid-shard. One of the lesser moons. Hah. Worth maybe fifteen crowns. I'll give you eight."
Eli scowled. "You said fifteen."
"I said maybe. But It's cracked so the value has dropped."
Before Eli could argue further, something behind the counter caught his eye. A wooden box, half-open, with velvet lining and an oddly shaped object inside. It looked like a ring, but too thick, too uneven, and it had something embedded in the center—black, rough, and faintly pulsing.
"is That new?" Eli asked, glancing at the box.
Jorel tilted his head and glanced at it. "Came in last night. Some outlander traded it for food some food and a bed. Said it doesn't worth much. Probably dosent."
"What is it?"
"No idea. Doesn't match any known divine markings. Could be junk from before the Shattering. Or a rock someone glued to iron. Either way, it's mine."
Eli looked at the ring again. It didn't glow or shimmer or whisper. Just sat there. But something about it made the hairs on his arm stand up.
He left with eight crowns and a loaf of hard bread. He also left with the ring. Not officially, of course. Jorel didn't even notice it was gone.
---
Later that night, back on the rooftop, Eli stared at the thing.
He hadn't meant to take it. Not really. But it had been too easy, just sitting there, half out of the box. His fingers had moved on their own.
Now it sat in his palm, heavier than it looked. The black center wasn't stone, he realized—it was glass. Or crystal. There was a faint pattern inside, like a crack that never quite spread.
He didn't hear any voices. Didn't feel any sudden power coursing through his veins. No divine presence or burst of warmth or pain. It was just… a ring.
So he did what anyone else might've done: shrugged, stuffed it into his coat pocket, and went to sleep.
That night, he dreamed of something standing on the edge of a great cliff, its back turned, staring out into a sky full of shattered stars. It didn't speak. But when it turned around, its eyes were exactly the same color as the ring.