The Mawborn's ashes still clung to Kael's skin.
He rubbed at his palm until it was raw, but the shard remained, fused as if it had always been part of him. Its faint glow pulsed in rhythm with his heart, reminding him of every scream, every surge of hunger.
Across the firepit, Lyra sat cross-legged, silently running a whetstone along her spear's jagged edge. Sparks hissed in the stale air. She hadn't spoken since declaring herself his reluctant ally. Her stillness was worse than her scorn.
Kael finally broke the silence. "So… what exactly was that thing?"
Lyra didn't look up. "A Mawborn. They rise when corruption gathers unchecked. This land spawns them endlessly. That one was drawn to your shard."
"Like moths to a flame?"
"Like wolves to blood."
Kael grimaced. "Great. So I'm basically a beacon for monsters."
"Not just monsters," Lyra said quietly, pausing her sharpening. Her ember-gaze lifted to him. "Others will come. Scavengers. Hunters. Those who believe the shard is theirs to claim."
Kael thought of the cloaked figure watching unseen, though he didn't know why. A chill slid down his spine.
They left the cave at dawn—though dawn in the Wastes was meaningless. The red sun never shifted, frozen above the cracked horizon.
Lyra led with a hunter's grace, barely disturbing the sand. Kael stumbled after her, still shaky from the battle, his head pounding with whispers.
Power unspent… feast denied… weak, weak, weak…
He squeezed his fist until his nails bit skin. "Shut up," he muttered under his breath.
Lyra's ears twitched. "The shard speaks?"
"Whispers," Kael admitted reluctantly. "Like it's… hungry."
Her expression darkened. "Do not feed it too often. The more you give, the more it will demand."
Kael snorted. "Easier said than done. It saved my life."
"And nearly ended mine."
Her words cut sharper than her spear. Kael's jaw tightened. She wasn't wrong.
By midday—if such a word applied—the landscape shifted. They came upon the husks of colossal chains, half-buried in the sand, each link larger than a house. They stretched toward the horizon, broken and rusted, vanishing into dunes.
Kael stopped, awestruck. "What the hell could those hold?"
Lyra's expression grew distant, almost reverent. "Not what. Who."
She placed a hand on the nearest link, her voice low. "The Chains of Asterion. They bound the Old Ones before the kingdom rose. The gods swore the Wastes would hold their remnants forever."
Kael ran his fingers along the rusted metal. It thrummed faintly, as if remembering a burden long lost. He shivered.
"And now?"
Lyra's lips pressed thin. "Now the chains rust, the seals weaken… and things slip free."
A gust of hot wind swept the canyon, carrying whispers that weren't Kael's.
They set camp near the chains, hidden in the shadow of a collapsed pillar. Lyra gathered brittle plants that barely resembled wood; Kael managed to spark a fire with flint and desperation.
As the flames crackled weakly, Kael asked, "Why stay here? You could've left me. Why take the risk?"
Lyra hesitated. Her eyes glowed faintly in the firelight. "Because of the prophecy. The Mistaken One walks with the shard. Whether monster or savior, he changes everything. I need to see which you become."
Kael gave a hollow laugh. "I'm not a savior. I'm barely surviving."
"Then prove me wrong."
Her bluntness left no room for retreat.
The night deepened. Kael drifted into uneasy sleep, dreams gnawed by whispers. He saw chains snapping, skies bleeding crimson, and himself—eyes glowing, devouring everything.
He woke with a start. The fire had burned low. Lyra was gone.
Panic spiked. "Lyra?"
The shard pulsed, tugging him toward the chains. He staggered into the open, the whispers louder now. Ahead, Lyra stood before one of the broken links, spear planted in the sand.
But she wasn't alone.
A ring of hooded figures surrounded her, their cloaks marked with glowing runes. Each held blades curved like crescent moons.
Kael's breath froze.
One of them spoke, voice smooth as oil. "Step aside, girl. The cursed shard belongs to the Circle. The Mistaken One will come with us."
Lyra lifted her spear, eyes blazing. "Over my corpse."
The shard burned in Kael's palm, answering the threat with wild hunger.
The hooded figures turned in unison. Their leader's hood shifted just enough to reveal noble features twisted by cruelty. His lips curved into a smile Kael recognized instantly.
The smug noble from the summoning hall.
"You've wandered far, little mistake," he purred. "And yet, you still crawl in the dirt. Some things never change."
The whispers screamed: Kill. Devour. Take him first.
Kael's pulse roared. Fight or be taken.
And he wasn't ready for either.