The spear's jagged tip pressed against Kael's throat.
Every instinct told him to freeze, but the shard embedded in his palm pulsed hot, whispering for him to lunge, to tear, to end the threat before it ended him. His pulse pounded in his ears. The girl's ember-like eyes narrowed as if she could sense the violent energy swirling around him.
"You don't belong here," she said again, firmer this time. Her accent was sharp, each word clipped like steel striking stone. "The Wastes take the guilty, the broken, and the forsaken. Which are you?"
Kael swallowed hard, the spear's jagged edge grazing his skin. "Wrong place, wrong time," he croaked. "If there's a fourth category, that's me."
The girl's gaze flicked down to his hand. The shard was glowing faintly, scarlet veins threading across his wrist. Her grip on the spear tightened.
"That mark," she whispered, her voice dropping into something almost reverent. Then, just as quickly, it sharpened into suspicion. "Only criminals and heretics bear such curses. Did the kingdom cast you out?"
Kael wanted to laugh, but exhaustion crushed the sound in his throat. He thought of the nobles, of the archmage's fear, of that smug smile before the portal swallowed him. "Yeah," he said bitterly. "They threw me away. Like garbage."
Her spear wavered slightly. Just slightly. Enough for Kael to feel the shard's whisper grow stronger. Take her weapon. Pierce her. End the danger.
He clenched his fist, forcing the shard's glow to dim. Not now. Not like this.
"Move," she ordered, stepping back with feline grace, still holding her weapon at the ready. "If the Wastes didn't kill you the moment you arrived, then either you are blessed…" Her tone twisted. "…or you are damned beyond salvation."
"Funny," Kael muttered, pushing himself to his feet. His legs trembled but held. "Back home, people just called me unlucky."
The girl didn't smile. She watched him like one might a snake—dangerous, unpredictable. Then, slowly, she lowered the spear.
"I am Lyra," she said, her name falling like a blade. "Scavenger of the Ashen Wastes. I will not kill you… yet. But if your curse draws the wrong things to us, I will end you myself."
Kael exhaled shakily. "Charmed to meet you."
They walked.
Or rather, Kael stumbled after her as she glided across the cracked earth, her spear balanced casually in one hand. The red sun never moved from its low perch on the horizon, casting the world in endless twilight. Jagged bones jutted from the ground like gravestones—some too large to be anything human.
Lyra spoke little, but her silence was heavy, as if she were measuring every step of his, every ragged breath. Finally, Kael broke it.
"So… you live here? In this… cheerful vacation spot?"
Her eyes flicked back at him. "I survive here. There is no living in the Wastes. Only endurance."
"That's… comforting."
"Comfort is for those in the kingdom. We have none."
Kael stumbled again, catching himself on a cracked boulder. His mouth felt like sandpaper. "Water?"
Lyra hesitated, then tossed him a flask. The liquid was bitter, metallic, but it slid down his throat like salvation. He forced himself not to gulp all of it.
"Thanks," he muttered.
"You'll pay it back," she said flatly.
Kael grimaced. Definitely not the friendly type. Still, her presence kept the loneliness at bay, if nothing else.
As they skirted a ridge, Kael finally asked, "So what's the deal with this place? You said only the condemned end up here. What does that mean?"
Lyra's expression tightened. She scanned the horizon before answering. "The kingdom has no prisons. No need. Those they cannot use, they cast into the circle and exile to the Ashen Wastes. Murderers, traitors, heretics, failed summoners…" Her gaze flicked again to his cursed hand. "…and mistakes."
Kael's stomach twisted. Failed summoners. That was him. That was what they thought of him.
"They say the Wastes cleanse the world of its rot," Lyra continued. "But some rot lingers."
Her words struck sharper than her spear. Kael clenched his fist, the shard searing in response. Mistake. Rot. Garbage. Always someone else deciding what he was worth.
"And you?" he asked, his voice harsher than he intended. "What did they throw you away for?"
Lyra's steps faltered. For the first time, her mask of calm cracked. But she didn't answer. Instead, she pointed toward a jagged canyon ahead.
"Camp is there. Speak less, walk more."
Kael bit back the urge to push. Whatever her story was, it was carved in scars deeper than the bones in the ground.
They reached a hollow in the canyon wall—half cave, half ruin, marked by tattered cloths that fluttered weakly in the stagnant breeze. Inside, Kael spotted crude shelters, rusted weapons, and the skeletal remains of long-dead fires.
Others lived here. Or had.
Lyra lit a small flame in a stone bowl, the glow chasing away shadows. "Rest. You will need your strength. The Wastes do not forgive weakness."
Kael sank against the wall, every muscle screaming. The shard in his palm throbbed like a second heartbeat. He stared at it, wishing he could pry it off, toss it away, pretend it wasn't his. But the moment he thought of letting go, the whispers hissed louder, as if mocking the idea.
Lyra's voice broke his thoughts. "Do you hear them?"
Kael blinked. "What?"
"The whispers," she said quietly, her eyes locked on his hand. "Legends say the Mistaken One carries a voice that is not his own. That he will be offered strength in exchange for his soul."
Cold washed through Kael. "You mean this… thing was predicted?"
Lyra's jaw tightened. "Prophecies are vague, twisted by time. Some call it savior, others monster. But all agree on one thing: the Mistaken One brings upheaval."
Kael wanted to argue, to laugh it off. But the shard pulsed again, as if agreeing. He hugged his knees, wishing more than anything for the normal life he'd lost.
Silence stretched. Until the ground trembled.
It started as a faint vibration beneath his palms. Then dust rained from the cave ceiling. Lyra shot to her feet, spear raised, eyes blazing.
"No," she hissed. "Not here."
Kael scrambled up. "What's happening?"
"They've smelled your curse."
The earth split open outside with a deafening crack. Sand and ash geysered into the air. From the fissure rose something that shouldn't exist: a beast of writhing limbs and gaping maws, its body half flesh, half shifting smoke. Its eyes glowed the same scarlet as Kael's shard.
The whispers in his skull surged, euphoric. Feed. Claim. Devour.
Lyra stood at the cave mouth, spear gleaming in the firelight, her voice fierce. "You wanted to survive the Wastes, Mistaken One? Then fight!"
Kael's hand burned, power coiling up his arm. The beast screeched, the air itself vibrating with hunger.
And Kael realized: this wasn't just survival. This was the first trial.