The Morning After
The first light of dawn broke reluctantly over the battered village. Smoke still curled from charred rooftops, painting the horizon in muted gray. Ash drifted like tired snow, clinging to the broken beams and shattered tiles that had once been homes. The scent of scorched earth lingered, thick and bitter, impossible to escape.
Ryven sat on the steps outside his home, the shard clutched in his palm. Even after a night without sleep, its faint glow had not dimmed. It pulsed rhythmically, like a second heartbeat, warm against his skin. Each pulse reminded him of last night—the Riftbeast's roar, the searing flames, his desperate strike that had done nothing but buy a heartbeat of time.
Across the village square, Guardians moved with calm efficiency. Their armor gleamed faintly in the weak light, their presence commanding even in the quiet aftermath. They patched up collapsed walls, healed the injured, and reassured the frightened with voices steady as steel.
To the villagers, they were saviors. To Ryven, they were a mirror.
A mirror that showed him exactly how far he had to go.
Nova emerged from the house behind him, stretching her arms with a groggy yawn. Her hair was still a mess from the restless night, but her eyes were sharp. She noticed the shard in his hand immediately.
"You haven't let go of that thing since he gave it to you," she said, plopping down beside him.
Ryven turned the fragment over in his hand. In the morning light, its glow seemed softer, almost gentle. But he remembered the Guardian's words—power changes people.
"I can't," Ryven admitted quietly. "It feels… alive. Like if I look away for too long, it'll slip through my fingers."
Nova tilted her head, watching him. "And that scares you, doesn't it?"
He nodded, his jaw tightening. "Last night, I couldn't do anything. I was weak. If I had real power…" His grip tightened, the shard pulsing brighter as if responding. "I wouldn't have been useless."
Nova studied him for a long moment, then reached over and flicked his forehead.
"Ow! What was that for?"
"For being an idiot," she replied flatly. "You weren't useless, Ryven. You saved that kid. You faced a Riftbeast with nothing but a stick and your stubbornness. That takes more guts than most people have."
Ryven rubbed his forehead, but he couldn't suppress the faint smile tugging at his lips. "You always have to ruin my dramatic brooding, don't you?"
"Someone has to," Nova smirked. "Otherwise, you'd drown in your own self-pity."
Her words were sharp, but her tone was soft. That was Nova's way—blades on the outside, warmth beneath.
For a brief moment, Ryven let himself breathe, the shard's glow warming his palm as the village stirred back to life around them.
---
The Guardians' Departure
By midday, the Guardians gathered at the edge of the village. Their repairs were complete, their duty fulfilled. The villagers assembled to see them off, offering baskets of food and tearful gratitude. Children clung to their parents' legs, pointing at the armored warriors with awe-filled eyes.
The scarred Guardian stood at the forefront, his presence commanding despite the simple cloth bandage wrapped around his arm. His gaze swept across the crowd, settling briefly on Ryven and Nova.
Ryven straightened instinctively, the shard hidden in his fist.
"Guardians!" the village elder called out, his voice quivering with both age and emotion. "You have our eternal gratitude. Without you, we would have been lost."
The leader of the squad bowed his head. "Protect one another. That is the first step to surviving in these times."
With that, the Guardians activated their transport modules. Light flared beneath their boots, and in a storm of energy, they shot into the sky, vanishing like falling stars in reverse.
The villagers cheered, waving farewell, but Ryven's heart ached with quiet envy. He watched the sky long after the streaks of light had disappeared, his reflection caught in the shard's glow.
"They're already on to the next battle," he murmured. "While I'm stuck here."
Nova crossed her arms, standing beside him. "Everyone starts somewhere, Ryven. You can't just leap into the sky on your first day."
"But one day," Ryven said, more to himself than to her, "I'll fight beside them. No—beyond them."
Unseen, the scarred Guardian's words replayed in his mind: Learn to master yourself first—then the power will follow.
---
The Weight of Power
That evening, the village was quieter. With the Guardians gone, the air felt heavier, as though their absence left a gap no firelight could fill.
Ryven sat alone near the training grounds, the shard glowing faintly in his palm. He stared at it, torn between awe and unease.
When he focused, he could almost feel it whispering—not in words, but in sensations. A hunger. A restlessness.
He clenched his fist, forcing himself to breathe steadily. "I can control this. I have to."
But when he closed his eyes, the image of the Riftbeast's flames returned. The memory of his near-death. The helplessness.
"Scary, isn't it?"
Ryven flinched. Nova was leaning casually against the wooden fence, her arms crossed. She had a knack for appearing without a sound, like a shadow with a smirk.
"You could announce yourself, you know," he muttered.
"And miss seeing you jump out of your skin? Never." She walked closer, her eyes flicking to the shard. "It's dangerous. You know that, right?"
"I know."
"And you're still going to use it."
Ryven hesitated. "…Yes."
Nova sighed, shaking her head. "Figures. You've always been reckless. But listen, Ryven—don't let it control you. If you start changing, if you lose yourself… I'll stop you."
Her voice was steady, without hesitation. Not a threat, but a promise.
Ryven met her gaze, then nodded slowly. "Then I'll make sure you never have to."
For a moment, they stood in silence, the shard's glow flickering between them.
---
Sparks of Tomorrow
Later that night, Ryven found himself once again on the hill overlooking the village. The stars spread endlessly above, the fracture in space faint but growing, though he could not see it.
He held the shard tightly, lifting it toward the sky.
"One day," he whispered again, his voice steadier now, "I'll be strong enough to stand against anything. Not just to fight… but to protect."
Behind him, Nova approached, carrying a pair of wooden training blades.
"Talking to the stars again?" she asked with a smirk.
"Maybe they're listening," Ryven replied.
"Then let's give them a show." She tossed him one of the blades.
Ryven caught it, grinning despite himself. "Now?"
"Now," Nova said firmly. "If you want to be a Guardian, you start by surviving me."
Their wooden blades clashed under the starlight, sparks of determination igniting between them.
Far above, the fracture pulsed again, widening ever so slightly, its dark energy bleeding into the cosmos.
The galaxy was shifting. And Ryven's journey had only just begun.