The boy woke to the sound of the ladder.
It wasn't real—at least, not anymore. The world had buried the last of them long ago. But in Kael's dreams, they still stood: pillars of light rising into the endless dark, humming like the strings of a colossal harp. He always woke with the sound lodged in his chest, an ache that wouldn't fade.
He sat up, pressing a hand to his sternum. The vibration was faint but stubborn, like an echo refusing to die.
Outside, Orven's Rest was already alive with noise—the shuffle of merchants setting up stalls, the clang of a blacksmith's hammer, the cries of traders from distant lands. To most, today was just another market day. To Kael, it felt like standing at the edge of something vast and unseen.
At the center of the village lay the shard.
It towered above the square, a fallen remnant of the old Ladders, its surface pale and veined with cracks that pulsed faintly when the sun struck it just right. Farmers bowed their heads when they passed it. Children dared each other to touch it, only to flee when its hum set their teeth on edge.
Kael, though, couldn't keep his eyes off it.
The stories disagreed on what the ladders had been—roads to heaven, weapons of empire, or prisons built by forgotten hands. But one truth bound all versions: the world had never been the same since they fell. Kingdoms rose and collapsed in their shadows, and even now, guilds and empires schemed to seize the fragments for their own.
Kael's uncle used to tell him, "The world doesn't need dreamers, boy. It needs workers." But Kael's dreams never left him alone.
He was supposed to be helping with trade today. A caravan from the Eastern Guilds had arrived, their wagons heavy with spices, copper, and rare trinkets from across the continent. His uncle was already deep in argument with a guild merchant, waving his hands as if each gesture could shave a coin from the price.
Kael barely heard them. His gaze was locked on the shard.
Then the hum began.
It started as a whisper, so low only Kael seemed to notice. But in seconds, it deepened into a resonance that rattled teeth and shook the ground beneath their feet. Birds shrieked into the sky. Stalls clattered as villagers froze mid-step.
The shard pulsed.
Light crawled across its fractured surface, a heartbeat that spread into the air, filling the square with blinding radiance.
"Get back!" someone shouted. Mothers dragged children away. Merchants abandoned their wagons. The entire village surged back in fear—except Kael.
The hum inside his chest was answering it.
Each step he took felt heavier, as though invisible chains were testing his will. His uncle's voice roared from somewhere behind him, but Kael barely heard it. All that mattered was the light, the sound, the pull.
He reached the shard and pressed his palm against its surface.
The world collapsed.
He was adrift in darkness. Not night, but something older, deeper, endless. Yet even here, the hum remained, steady and alive, as though the void itself had a pulse.
Then, a voice—not words, but pure resonance, weaving through his bones:
"Climb."
Images exploded in his mind. Ladders blazing whole across the heavens. Warriors battling on their rungs, their bodies burning with echoes. Empires collapsing, kings crowned in light, and nameless figures dragged into shadow. He saw artifacts glowing like stars—rings, flutes, masks, ropes—all wielded not as tools, but as weapons of survival.
And threaded through it all was the truth: the ladders were not dead. They were waiting.
Kael fell to his knees, gasping. The light from the shard dimmed, leaving silence heavy over the square.
Dozens of eyes stared at him from the edges of the square—some wide with fear, others with something colder. He could hear them whispering already:
"He touched it."
"No one survives that."
"Not since the old wars…"
Kael looked down at his trembling hands. The hum was still inside him now, no longer faint, but steady. A tether. A burden. A beginning.
And though he didn't yet know why, one thing was clear:
His life was no longer his own.