The night never returned.
After the sky split, dawn refused to come. The heavens glowed with a permanent wound, leaking fire and radiance that drowned the stars and moon alike. Mezalith had become a ruin of ash and ember, its towers reduced to jagged teeth, its streets to rivers of smoke. The gods walked its carcass as if it were a garden of conquest.
Kaelen stood at the edge of the northern ruins, his body trembling from exhaustion. Beside him crouched the boy he had rescued, silent but alive. The shard—black and pulsing—rested against Kaelen's palm, heavy as an anchor.
For a moment, he let himself breathe. The crackle of fire was distant now, the screams muffled. But his reprieve lasted only a heartbeat.
From the ruins behind them, a flare of golden light erupted. Another god descended, trailing a comet's tail of fire. His landing shook the earth, sending cracks racing through the cobblestones. He was armored in mirrored bronze, and his eyes blazed like miniature suns.
Kaelen's chest locked. The shard pulsed again, hot against his palm, but he dared not lift it. He had no idea how it worked—only that it had frightened a god once. He doubted his luck would hold twice.
The boy whimpered. Kaelen crouched low, pressing a finger to his lips. "Quiet," he whispered, though his own heart thundered loud enough to betray them both.
The god strode through the ruins, surveying the devastation as if searching for something—or someone. His voice, when it came, was a melody of command and cruelty.
"Mortals of Mezalith, hear me. Your city is ash, your thrones broken. Bend your knees, and you may live beneath the glory of Aurelion, Flame-King of the Heavens."
The name seared itself into Kaelen's mind. Aurelion. The first god he had heard named since the fall began.
Around the god, survivors crawled from the rubble, too dazed or terrified to resist. Aurelion extended his hand, and light washed over them. Those who knelt were spared; those who faltered, burned.
Kaelen's gut twisted. He had to move. Every moment they lingered brought them closer to discovery. He tugged the boy's arm, guiding him along the broken wall, deeper into the outer ruins.
The boy's whisper scraped the silence. "Why didn't he see us?"
Kaelen shook his head. "Don't ask. Just walk."
But inside, Kaelen wondered the same. The shard throbbed like a heartbeat, its faint silver veins pulsing faster whenever the god's gaze swept near. Perhaps it cloaked them somehow, a shadow against the divine.
They slipped from one ruin to another until the wall ended, opening onto the abandoned fields beyond. Once, they had been green and fertile, feeding thousands. Now they were barren, cracked earth beneath the glare of the broken sky.
The boy stopped, pulling at Kaelen's sleeve. "Wait. What's your name?"
Kaelen almost laughed, though nothing about their world was funny. "Kaelen. Just Kaelen."
The boy nodded solemnly. "I'm Ren."
Kaelen studied him briefly. His dark hair was singed, his cheeks streaked with soot, but his eyes—gray and sharp—held a resilience that surprised Kaelen. This boy had seen his world burn and still asked names, still clung to the fragments of being human.
"Stay close, Ren," Kaelen said. "If you lose me, you won't survive."
Ren swallowed but nodded.
They crossed the barren fields, heading toward the distant treeline where the forest loomed like a wall of shadow. With every step, Kaelen's legs threatened to buckle. He had not eaten in days, his body starved and raw. Only fear kept him upright, fear and the shard's insistent whisper.
Forward. Always forward.
At last they reached the forest's edge. The trees were twisted, their bark blackened as if scarred by ancient fire. Kaelen hesitated. Forests hid bandits, beasts, and worse. But compared to gods, bandits were a mercy.
"Inside," he said, ushering Ren forward.
The boy slipped between the trees, and Kaelen followed. The forest swallowed them whole, shadows closing in. For the first time since the sky split, the glare of divine fire dimmed. The canopy muted the broken heavens, leaving them in darkness pierced by faint silver veins from the shard.
Kaelen leaned against a trunk, dragging in ragged breaths. His entire body ached, his mind frayed, but he dared not rest.
Then a voice cut through the silence. Not a god's roar, not a whisper in his head—something human.
"Drop the stone, thief."
Kaelen froze. From the shadows stepped figures—three of them, cloaked and armed. Their faces were hidden beneath hoods, but their weapons glinted: curved blades, crossbows, steel sharp enough to matter.
Bandits.
The leader, a tall woman with braids spilling from her hood, leveled her sword. "We've been watching. Whatever relic you carry, it shines brighter than fire. Hand it over, and maybe we'll let the boy live."
Ren gasped, pressing against Kaelen's side. Kaelen tightened his grip on the shard, though it burned his palm.
His voice came out hoarse. "You don't know what this is."
The woman's smile was sharp. "No. But we know it's power. And in a world where gods descend, power is all that keeps you alive."
The bandits closed in. Kaelen's pulse quickened. The shard throbbed harder, its whispers rising like a storm.
Raise it. Claim it. Bleed them.
Kaelen gritted his teeth. He had never wanted to kill. He had stolen, lied, fled—but this was different. This was survival, not for himself alone but for the boy at his side.
For the first time, Kaelen lifted the shard deliberately, aiming it not at a god, but at mortals. Its silver veins flared, lighting the forest in a cold glow.
The bandits hesitated. Their leader's smirk faltered.
The shard's whisper became a chorus, deafening now. Choose, Kaelen. Choose.
The forest held its breath.
Silver light from the shard spilled over the trees, casting twisted shadows. Kaelen's grip trembled, but he forced himself to hold steady. The bandits wavered, caught between greed and fear.
The leader's voice broke the silence. "Bluff all you want. You're no god."
"No," Kaelen rasped, "but gods bleed too."
He thrust the shard forward.
Light exploded. Not fire, not flame—something colder, sharper. A blade of silver energy burst from the shard, cutting the air with a hiss. It slashed across the ground, carving a glowing line in the earth between Kaelen and the bandits. The trees themselves recoiled, their bark smoldering where the energy brushed.
The bandits staggered back, eyes wide.
"Saints preserve us," one whispered.
The leader's mask of bravado cracked, but only for a heartbeat. She raised her blade. "He doesn't know how to control it. Take him!"
Her followers lunged.
Kaelen's instincts screamed. He had no training, no plan. He only had the shard. He swung it wildly as if it were a sword. Again, light erupted—wild, uncontrolled. The nearest bandit was caught mid-charge. Silver fire consumed him, his scream cut short as he vanished into ash.
Ren cried out, covering his eyes.
Kaelen staggered, nearly dropping the shard. His arms shook violently. The energy had burned through him as much as it had the enemy. His veins felt scorched, his heart beating too fast.
The second bandit faltered, fear plain on his face. He bolted into the forest, crashing through underbrush, vanishing into the dark.
Only the leader remained.
Her sword trembled, but she stood her ground. "You think you've won? You've cursed yourself. That relic isn't a gift—it's a leash. The gods will find you."
Kaelen met her gaze, his voice raw. "Then let them come."
For a moment, neither moved. Then she spat on the ground, lowering her blade. "Keep it, thief. I'll remember your face." With that, she slipped into the shadows, gone as swiftly as she had appeared.
Kaelen sagged against a tree, every breath a ragged pull. His vision swam, black spots crowding the edges. The shard's glow dimmed, returning to a faint throb.
Ren tugged at his arm, his small voice trembling. "You killed him."
Kaelen looked at the patch of ash, then at his own hands. "I didn't mean to."
The boy's eyes glistened, but he said nothing more. He only clutched Kaelen's sleeve, as if afraid he might vanish too.
Silence crept back into the forest, broken only by their breathing. Kaelen slid down to sit against the tree, the shard heavy in his lap. For the first time since the gods descended, there were no screams, no fire—only the echo of his own choices.
The shard pulsed once, softer now, almost gentle. In its faint light, Kaelen thought he saw shapes within the crystal—figures locked in battle, gods clashing with mortals, a thousand wars frozen in miniature.
The whisper returned, quieter, almost like a lullaby. You are chosen, Kaelen. Not by fate. By survival.
Kaelen closed his eyes, exhaustion dragging him under. But before sleep claimed him, he made a silent vow:
If the gods wanted war, he would give them one.
Not as a soldier. Not as a king. But as a thief who refused to kneel.