The city was silent in the late morning fog, the streets still wet from the night's condensation. Elias Thorne walked briskly, satchel heavy at his side, mind tangled with the events of the previous night. The forbidden shard in his possession pulsed faintly against his ribs, as though it too were aware that the world had shifted irrevocably. Every step he took felt cautious, deliberate, measured the way a tactician surveys a battlefield before committing any force.
Yet despite the carefulness of his stride, his heart raced.
He had returned home after his encounter, hands trembling, mind reeling. The shard had reacted in ways he did not understand, revealing layers of reality that should have been impossible. And then there had been the figure in the fog a presence that seemed to bend the air itself, marked by a thread of darkness that danced almost imperceptibly over his head. Elias did not know what it meant, only that it had left him unsettled, both terrified and fascinated.
I must understand, he whispered to himself, voice barely audible, as if saying it aloud would make the shard recoil.
The Veylan library was a narrow, ancient building wedged between a tailor's workshop and a shuttered inn. Its wooden sign creaked in the wind: "Veylan Archives – Knowledge Preserved." The smell of aged paper greeted him as he entered. Dust swirled in the sunlight filtering through the tall, grimy windows, and the faint groan of wooden shelves settling echoed through the hall. He walked past rows of tomes, careful not to disturb the silence, eyes scanning titles both mundane and arcane.
He found a corner table, stacked the books in a precarious pyramid, and set the Ink shard beside him. Even now, it seemed to hum quietly, its black leather cover absorbing the light like a shadow. Elias opened the first volume, a thick leather-bound text on obscure myths and forgotten religions.
He read feverishly, trying to connect every legend, every whisper, to what he had experienced. Notes were scribbled in margins, arrows pointing from one passage to another, questions written in smaller script: "Could it be a shard? A fragment of the Book of Absolute Truths? Does it remember because it is alive, or because it observes?"
Hours passed unnoticed. Elias barely registered the fading light outside as he turned page after page, cross-referencing legends with philosophical treatises, alchemical notes, and texts on ancient magic. Each source hinted at fragments of reality bending to a force beyond comprehension, but none described anything like the Ink shard.
This… this is forbidden. The thought struck him with sudden clarity. Most shards were known, cataloged in the shadows of history, discussed only in whispers or lost tomes. But this one no. This one operated under different rules. Its uniqueness was undeniable.
Elias' fingers traced the edges of the shard, absorbing the subtle pulse of energy it emitted. He tried a small experiment, writing a sentence in his notebook: "This page remembers all that touches it." The ink etched itself neatly across the paper. Then he smudged it lightly. Nothing happened. The line remained, dark and absolute.
He frowned, puzzling over it. It records. It preserves. But more… something more. It responds. He pressed the pencil against the page again, scribbling a question: "What is it that I cannot yet see?"
The words burned faintly under his touch, like a whisper brushing against his consciousness. Elias felt a jolt of unease the shard seemed aware of the question itself. His pulse quickened. It adapts… it reacts to me.
For a moment, he leaned back, hands on his head, trying to comprehend the scale of what he held. The room felt smaller, tighter, as if the walls themselves were watching him. If I cannot control it, if I cannot understand it… what happens then? The thought made his stomach churn. Yet, even with fear pressing at him, a thrill coursed through his veins.
Knowledge had always been Elias' weapon. Strategy his shield. Every fragment of understanding brought him closer to control. And now, with this shard, he glimpsed a depth of reality that demanded intellect, patience, and caution.
He forced himself to write a list of observations:
1. Ink permanently preserves whatever it touches.
2. Smearing, rubbing, even fire cannot erase the writing.
3. Responds to intention; seems aware of curiosity, doubt, and fear.
4. Unknown limitations; testing smaller effects first is safer.
5. Possible interaction with other forces or shards unknown.
Satisfied with the preliminary framework, Elias leaned back in the chair, mind racing. A faint memory of the alley, of the thread hovering above the figure he had seen, crept into his thoughts. Could it have been another shard user? Or was it some unrelated phenomenon?
His hands shook slightly. I must be careful. Observation first, understanding second. Action… only after certainty. Every instinct whispered caution, but every neuron burned with curiosity.
Night fell outside the library. Elias reluctantly packed the books, leaving carefully, eyes scanning the fog-laden streets. He had learned nothing definitive, yet he felt closer to understanding than he had at the beginning of the day. And somewhere in the distance, the faintest disturbance in the fog a pull in the air, subtle and deliberate reminded him that he was not alone in this city, and that forces far beyond his comprehension were already at work.
Elias exhaled slowly. His journey had begun. The forbidden shard in his possession, the mysteries hidden in libraries, the shadows moving through Gravenmoor all were pieces of a puzzle he was determined to solve. And in the quiet of the night, he could almost hear the shard whispering to him:
"Remember me. I will remember you."