The shardstorm came with no warning — a flash of light over the hills, a sound like glass grinding against glass.
An hour later, the stranger arrived.
He was bleeding badly, wrapped in robes marked with the Church's sigil, clutching something sealed in layers of cloth. He stumbled into the workshop and fell against the doorframe, scattering the mirrors Aerin had just finished polishing.
"Hide it," he rasped, eyes wild. "They cannot have it. You—"
The cloth bundle hit the floor.
For an instant, the room filled with light — cold and perfect, like the inside of a dream.
Aerin's vision split apart. She saw a sky cracking open, a thousand shards raining fire. She saw cities turning to glass, gods screaming as they fell from the heavens.
When she blinked, the stranger was dead. The light had gone out.
And something inside her had changed.