She buried the man that night outside the crater, said no prayers, and tried to forget the feel of that light crawling through her veins. But the object he'd carried — a fragment of crystal, no larger than her palm — hummed softly wherever she hid it.
When she touched it again, she saw herself in its surface — a hundred reflections, each with a different face. Some smiled, some wept. One looked older, one younger. One wasn't her at all.
She dropped it. The sound was like a heartbeat.
————————————————————
The Inquisition
By dawn, riders came.
Five of them, cloaked in white, the Church's sigil stitched in gold. Their leader was tall, with a face that looked carved rather than born.
"I am Seraph Valen," he said to the gathered townsfolk. His voice was calm, almost kind. "We seek a thief who carries a relic of great sin. Cooperate, and your faith will be remembered."
Aerin kept her head down. Her pulse roared in her ears.
Eldric's hand brushed hers beneath the worktable — a warning, or a promise.
But when the Inquisitors searched the shop, the shard began to whisper.
They will take us. We must see.
Aerin tried to resist, but her vision wavered. The world rippled like water. For a moment she saw the room as it had been years ago — bright and whole, Eldric young again, smiling.
Then the memory shattered.