The beast screeched, a sound like steel tearing bone, and every instinct in Kael's body screamed to run.
It filled the canyon mouth, a nightmare of shifting flesh and shadow. Its limbs bent wrong, joints sprouting jagged claws. Where a face should have been, mouths yawned in rows, each filled with teeth that shimmered like glass shards. Its bulk shimmered between solid and smoke, half-here, half-somewhere far worse.
Kael staggered back. "What… what the hell is that?"
Lyra's knuckles whitened around her spear. "A Mawborn. Spawn of the Wastes. Drawn to corruption." Her eyes flicked to the shard burning in Kael's palm. "Drawn to you."
The thing slammed a claw into the ground. The canyon shook. Dust rained down as Kael's ears rang.
The shard whispered ecstatically. Mine. Ours. Feast.
"Don't just stand there!" Lyra barked. She lunged forward, spear flashing. The weapon slammed into one of the creature's limbs, piercing smoke-flesh with a burst of pale fire. The Mawborn shrieked, reeling back, but the wound healed instantly, flesh knitting as if mocking her strike.
Kael's pulse spiked. He didn't know how to fight. He didn't even know how to hold a weapon. But the shard pulsed, dragging his arm up like a puppet. Energy swirled, black and crimson, coiling into a blade of pure hunger that stretched from his hand.
His breath caught. The whispers urged him on. Strike. Tear. Become.
The Mawborn lunged. Kael didn't think—he swung.
The shard-blade carved through one of the beast's limbs. This time, the wound didn't heal. The severed piece dissolved into ash, sucked into the shard. Power surged into Kael, burning through his veins like fire and lightning all at once. His vision sharpened. His exhaustion evaporated. He felt… alive. Too alive.
Lyra froze mid-strike, her ember-eyes widening. "That… that isn't possible."
The Mawborn shrieked, half in rage, half in hunger, and struck again. Kael moved faster than he thought possible, sidestepping the claw and driving his blade through its chest. Essence poured into him as the shard drank greedily. The whispers crescendoed. Yes. More. All of it.
Kael screamed—not in fear, but in exhilaration. His body wasn't his anymore. It was something sharper, stronger. The shard wanted everything, and part of him wanted it too.
"Kael!" Lyra's voice cut through the haze. "Control it! Or it will control you!"
But control felt like a chain. Why should he resist when power was right there? When, for once in his life, he wasn't weak, wasn't disposable?
The Mawborn lunged again. Kael met it head-on, blade tearing through its neck. Black ichor sprayed, dissolving before it hit the ground. Energy flooded him until his skin glowed faintly crimson, veins alight. His vision blurred. Shapes twisted. Lyra wasn't Lyra anymore—she was just another body. Another soul. Another meal.
He turned toward her, shard-blade raised.
Lyra's spear leveled at his chest. No fear in her eyes, only grim resolve. "If you lose yourself, I will kill you."
Her words cut deeper than steel. Kael's breath hitched. Somewhere under the roaring whispers, a quieter voice—his own—screamed. No. Not her. Don't become the monster they said you were.
With a wrench of will, he forced his arm down. The blade sputtered, flickering unstable. The shard screamed in his mind, furious, hungry.
The Mawborn seized the moment, lunging. Lyra spun, spear flashing, but she was too slow—
Kael roared, hurling himself between them. His blade erupted again, larger, wilder. He drove it through the Mawborn's core. The shard convulsed, drinking, feasting, until the entire beast collapsed into a storm of ash sucked into his hand.
Silence crashed over the canyon. Kael dropped to his knees, chest heaving. The shard dimmed, retreating to a dull glow. The whispers quieted, though hunger still lingered like a gnawing emptiness.
Lyra stood frozen, spear trembling. Her eyes burned into him with a mix of awe and horror.
"That power…" she whispered. "You wield what even the gods sealed away."
Kael lifted his head weakly. His reflection swam in her eyes—face pale, veins faintly glowing, eyes tinged with red. Not human. Not anymore.
"I didn't ask for this," he rasped. "I don't… I don't want to be a monster."
For a long moment, Lyra said nothing. Then, slowly, she lowered her spear.
"You already walk the line," she said softly. "But you chose to spare me. That means something."
Kael laughed hoarsely, the sound breaking. "Yeah. Means I get to suffer longer."
Lyra didn't smile. But her voice lost some of its edge. "If you truly wish to resist, then I will walk beside you. For now."
It wasn't much. But it was the first sliver of trust he'd been given in this world.
Kael nodded, clutching his cursed hand. "Thanks."
Later, as they sat by the weak fire in the cave, silence hung heavy. Lyra sharpened her spear with steady motions. Kael stared at the shard, tracing its jagged edge where it fused with his skin.
"What happens if I lose control?" he asked quietly.
Lyra didn't look up. "Then I kill you."
He let out a dry laugh. "Guess I can count on you for honesty."
Her gaze flicked to him, unreadable. "Better honesty than false hope. The shard will tempt you every time you use it. Each victory will cost a piece of yourself. If you want to survive without becoming Mawborn, you must master it. Or…"
"Or die."
"Or die," she echoed.
Kael leaned back, staring at the unmoving red sun. He thought of the archmage's horror, the noble's sneer, the word they used: mistake. He clenched his fist, the shard pulsing faintly.
If being a mistake meant he could rewrite his own fate, then so be it.
Far above the canyon, hidden among jagged rocks, a figure in a dark cloak lowered a spyglass. His lips curved into a cold smile.
"So the mistake lives," he murmured. His voice carried the smooth venom of nobility, every syllable dripping with disdain.
He turned, cloak swirling, and vanished into the wastes, leaving only the echo of his words behind.