The shard pulsed faintly in Kael's palm—a heartbeat he could not silence.
He had tried to sleep. Tried to shut his eyes, bury the fragment beneath his mattress, even fling it into the basin across the room. But no matter where he left it, its weight pressed on him. The rhythm vibrated through the floorboards, threaded into his marrow.
By dawn, he had stopped pretending. He sat hunched on the floorboards, the shard cupped in his hand, violet glow faint but unyielding.
His head ached. His eyes burned. His thoughts looped like broken wheels. Beneath it all: hunger.
–––
The world had tilted since the night before.
His small room no longer sat right. Corners stretched too far; shadows curved inward like watchful mouths. The air itself sagged heavily, as if the walls leaned close to listen.
Kael staggered to his feet, bracing on the table. The basin sat against the wall, a cracked mirror above it.
He had not dared to look again.
But the urge came anyway.
He crossed to the mirror. Stared.
His own reflection stared back—gaunt from lack of sleep, eyes fever-bright. No scarred man. No smirk. No tears of blood. Only Kael.
Relief loosened him for half a breath. Then the reflection blinked—out of sync.
Kael recoiled, spine hitting the wall. His reflection smiled a beat late, teeth too sharp. Cracks spidered across the glass, though the surface beneath his palm stayed smooth.
"You're not real," Kael whispered.
The reflection mouthed the words after him.
Not real.
The mirror shuddered, then stilled. His reflection matched him again. Pale. Trembling. Human.
Kael pressed his fist against his mouth, breath jagged. His other hand clutched the shard until its edges bit his skin.
The hollow inside him widened.
–––
The streets offered no refuge.
Drosyn woke slowly: wheels grinding on rails, vendors hauling carts through fog. Gas lamps flickered against daylight dimness. Smoke and salt rolled thick from the docks.
Kael walked with his coat drawn close, head low. Yet everything went wrong.
Faces blurred at the edges, as though smudged by unseen hands. A child's laugh echoed twice, seconds apart. Cathedral bells tolled the hour with fractured delay, each note arriving late, time itself limping.
And between sounds, the whispers came.
They see.They see.They see.
Kael faltered, glancing back.
No one.
A man brushed past him, muttering. For a heartbeat, Kael thought the man had no eyes, only smooth skin stretched taut across sockets. He blinked—the face was ordinary again.
Kael pulled his coat tighter. The shard pressed warm against his ribs.
–––
He lasted barely an hour.
By the time he stumbled back into his room, his hands shook too violently to fit the key. He shoved the door shut, dropped the bolt, and pressed his back against the wood.
The room felt worse than the streets. Smaller. Louder. The walls whispered like teeth grinding.
Kael drew out the shard.
"You did this," he muttered, voice cracked. "You're breaking me."
The shard lay quiet, violet glow faint and patient.
No.
The whisper wasn't his. It slid through his mind, soft as a lover's breath.
Not breaking. Feeding.
Kael jerked, eyes darting to the corners. Empty.
But the truth settled cold in him. The shard wasn't breaking him.
It was making room.
–––
That night, he stopped resisting.
He set the shard on the table, lit the oil lamp, and placed both hands over the crystal.
The hunger gnawed. The hollow ached. His memories—his first kiss, his brother's name—were gone, torn clean. And in their place: power.
He wanted more.
The shard brightened, violet spilling across the walls.
Kael focused. He remembered the ripple, the way shadows stretched, dust froze. He reached again, slow, deliberate.
The air thickened. Shadows bent. The lamp's flame swayed toward him.
His breath quickened. He pressed harder.
The walls stretched, plaster groaning like bones under strain. The floorboards shivered. The room tilted—not physically, but deeper, as if gravity itself leaned sideways.
Kael laughed once, too sharply, the sound warping in the thickened air.
He pushed further.
–––
The world tore.
For an instant, he saw not one room but dozens. Some empty. Some burning. Some filled with corpses that wore his face. All stacked like reflections in broken glass.
At the center—the eye.
Slit-pupiled. Fractured into seven. Watching.
Kael's heart seized. The shard burned violet-white in his hands.
Then the visions collapsed.
The room snapped back. The lamp guttered. Kael crumpled to his knees, nose streaming red.
But he was grinning.
Power lingered in his veins. His body trembled with it.
The hollow was still there. But it no longer terrified him.
It tempted him.
–––
Sleep came in fragments.
Kael woke gasping to shadows crowding his bed, faces pressed close, whispering in his own voice:
Not meant to remember.Not meant to remember.
His hand found the shard before he thought. Its glow pushed the shadows back.
Kael curled around it like a child clutching a talisman.
Tears burned his cheeks. Laughter followed them.
–––
By morning, the whispers had not stopped.
Kael staggered to the washbasin, throat raw. His reflection stared pale and hollow-eyed.
"You're losing yourself," he rasped.
The reflection mouthed after him. Then its lips twisted into a smile.
Behind it, faint in the glass, the fractured eye bloomed.
Kael flinched. Cracks spiderwebbed soundlessly across the mirror.
And then—knocking.
Three slow raps on the door.
Kael froze.
No one ever came to his room. No friends, no neighbors. He barely existed at all.
The shard pulsed in his hand.
Another knock. Louder.
Kael's heart thundered. He backed from the door, breath shallow.
"Who's there?" His voice broke.
Silence.
He held his breath, listening.
Through the silence, faint as a dying bell, came the whisper.
They are watching.
The shard pulsed once—violently.
The bolt rattled in the wood.
Kael's scream never left his throat.