Dawn cracked pale over Sector Seven. The fortress came alive with boots on stone and the clang of gates opening. Ryan tightened his pack straps, the torque cool on his neck, the shard warm in his chest.
The patrol was smaller this time: Ryan, Kaelin, Lyra, Theron, and two Ashborn scouts. Enough to investigate, not enough to fight an army.
The map Hale had given them showed three circles forming a neat triangle across the northern ridges. Old ward-stones, waking for the first time in centuries. Ryan didn't need the parchment — the shard tugged him like a compass, humming at the edges of awareness with each step north.
Kaelin led, her movements sharp and certain. Theron whistled under his breath, axe across his shoulder like it weighed nothing. Lyra kept close to Ryan, her staff's runes glowing faintly in rhythm with the shard.
"You feel it, don't you?" she asked quietly, eyes on him.
Ryan nodded. "Like it's humming a song I almost remember."
Lyra's lips curved into something both kind and sad. "That's how it begins. But the trick is not to let it sing louder than your own voice."
---
The First Circle
They found the first ward-stone by midmorning.
It jutted from the earth like a broken fang, runes etched deep into its black surface. Once, it would have glowed steady with protective aura. Now, it pulsed faintly with shadow, like a heart beating too slowly.
Kaelin stepped forward, blade drawn. "Corrupted."
Lyra held up a hand. "Not fully. Not yet." She looked at Ryan. "Touch it."
The shard in his chest thrummed agreement.
Ryan pressed his palm to the stone. Instantly, visions flickered across his mind: rivers of ash, cities burning, a crown of fire spinning above an Obelisk. His knees buckled, but Lyra's hand steadied his shoulder.
"Breathe," she whispered. "Three things you can feel."
"Stone. Your hand. The shard."
"Three you can hear."
"Wind. Hooves. My breath."
"Three you choose."
"My name. My fire. My step."
The shard calmed. The stone cracked, spilling a hiss of shadow before its runes flared clean once more.
Lyra's hand lingered on him. Her eyes were warm, close. "You're learning."
Ryan swallowed, pulse racing for reasons beyond the shard. "Thanks to you."
Kaelin's voice cut sharp from the edge of the clearing. "Don't relax yet. Two more to go."
Ryan pulled back, guilt and heat warring inside him.
---
The Second Circle
By midday, they reached the second stone. This one was worse — its surface split with jagged lines, shadow leaking like blood.
The scouts hung back. Theron muttered something crude about "bad vibes" and gripped his axe tighter.
The shard pulsed, hotter. Ryan staggered, gripping his chest.
Lyra caught him before he fell, her arm around his back. "With me, Ryan. Look at me."
He did. And the shard quieted, not with fire, but with the steadiness in her gaze.
For a breath too long, he stayed there. Her hand was warm against his chest. Her lips parted, close enough that he could feel the whisper of her breath.
The world narrowed to her eyes, her touch. The shard's fire dimmed, replaced by something else burning between them.
Then Kaelin's voice snapped like a whip: "Company!"
---
Ambush on the Ridge
Shadows burst from the rocks — not beasts, but thralls in broken Ashborn armor, eyes burning red. They swarmed the ridge with inhuman speed.
Kaelin met them first, her blade a streak of silver. Theron roared, his axe cleaving two in a single swing.
Lyra pulled Ryan to his feet. "Fight with focus — not fire alone."
The shard roared anyway, but Ryan shaped it. Flames burst in arcs, precise and controlled, burning thralls without consuming the stone. Kaelin's silver aura flashed beside him, their strikes weaving into a deadly rhythm.
One thrall lunged for Lyra. Ryan's fire cut it down before it reached her. She turned, eyes wide, and her hand brushed his cheek in gratitude — a fleeting, electric touch before she returned to the fight.
The battle was fast and brutal. When the last thrall crumbled to ash, the ridge stank of smoke and burned metal.
Ryan's chest still heaved, the shard simmering low. He looked from Kaelin — fierce, steady, wiping blood from her blade — to Lyra — calm, luminous, her hand still faintly trembling from where it had touched him.
The triangle wasn't just on the map.
It was here, in the air between them.
And it was only growing sharper.