Chase couldn't shake the feeling.
It had followed him for days now. Ever since he'd retrieved the cracked black spearhead from the riverbed, something had stirred deep in his chest — not panic, not fear, but a kind of quiet gravity. Like an invisible current was nudging him forward, drawing him somewhere he didn't know.
Mason floated a few feet ahead, arms folded into his sleeves, legs crossed as if lounging on an invisible bed.
"Are you going to stop pretending you know where we're going?" Chase called.
The old man snorted without turning. "Boy, I've always known where I'm going. I just occasionally forget why."
Chase rolled his eyes. At least he thought he did. Being blind, gestures didn't have the same effect anymore. Still, he walked with purpose, his feet moving confidently through the trees. His spiritual sense had sharpened over the months, enough to map every root and branch like memory.
"You're leading me somewhere," Chase said. "I can feel it."
Mason didn't reply immediately.
"You're not wrong," he said at last. "But you're not right either. I'm not leading you anywhere. I'm just floating above you like a heavenly cloud, gracing your pathetic journey with my divine presence."
"Your divine presence smells like fish guts."
"That was one night! You try marinating wild thistlegrub and see how you smell!"
They moved on.
The forest changed subtly. The usual life — chirping birds, buzzing insects — fell silent. The trees grew wider, older. The ground felt dense beneath Chase's feet, packed not just with earth, but with weight — a pressure that pressed into his bones.
He stopped. "This is it."
Mason floated down, touching the ground with a rare seriousness. "This is it."
They stood at the edge of a stone circle, half-swallowed by vines and time. Whatever it once was — temple, tomb, battlefield — the forest had reclaimed it.
But the moment Chase stepped into the circle, the spearhead at his hip pulsed.
It was subtle at first. A warmth, like sunlight through clouds. Then, stronger. It pulsed in time with his heartbeat.
Thud.
Thud.
His fingers brushed the pouch, feeling the jagged metal within.
A whisper tickled his ear.
Return me…
Chase's breath caught. He turned his head, but no one was there. No sound except his own blood rushing.
"Do you hear that?" he asked.
Mason shook his head. "No. But I feel it. This place… it's waking up."
Chase walked forward, guided by something more than sense — instinct. The spiritual awareness that had begun as a faint ripple in his training had grown into something deeper. He could feel the stones beneath moss. He could sense the arc of vines above. He moved without seeing — yet never once stumbled.
And then, he found it.
At the heart of the circle, wrapped in roots and shadows, was the broken half of a spear — ancient, rusted at the edges, but unmistakably familiar.
It was black. Not the reflective kind, but deep and dead, like a forgotten night. Its shaft was snapped in the middle, and yet… it pulsed with life.
Chase dropped to one knee, drew the fragment from his pouch, and held it forward.
The moment it came close, the ruins responded.
A deep hum filled the air. Not loud, not sharp — more like a song played on the edge of thought.
Stone cracked. Roots recoiled.
And then—
A blinding surge of energy shot from the broken spear and connected with the fragment.
Chase's body jerked. His breath left him in a sharp gasp as a tide of memories — not his — rushed in.
He stood on a battlefield. The sky was burning. Mountains crumbled in the distance. A figure cloaked in lightning and shadow moved like a god through a sea of enemies. In his hand — a long black spear that screamed with every motion.
With a single thrust, it tore open the heavens.
Then — betrayal. A flash of light. A scream. The spear shattering into the stars.
Chase fell back, chest heaving.
"Boy!" Mason was at his side in an instant. "Talk to me. What did you see?"
"I…" Chase touched his forehead. "I saw… war. And him. The one who wielded this spear before."
Mason let out a low whistle. "So it's true. You're the successor."
"Successor to what?"
"To madness," Mason muttered. "Or greatness. Maybe both."
Chase slowly stood. "Who was he?"
"The Wraith-Lancer," Mason said grimly. "A cultivator from the Age of Chaos. Lightning and darkness — like you. He was one of the few who walked both paths and lived."
Chase's fingers brushed the newly whole spear. It wasn't fully restored — only half of it stood, embedded in stone. But the fragment had latched on, and now the spear hummed faintly with energy again.
"You've awakened its memory," Mason said. "The rest… you'll have to earn."
Chase nodded.
Then paused. "You said he walked both paths. Lightning and darkness. Like me."
Mason grinned. "Exactly. You thought it was random you had two affinities? Boy, you think the heavens let that happen by accident?"
Chase's brow furrowed. "I thought I was just… unlucky."
Mason snorted. "You were chosen. Unfortunately."
"Unfortunately?"
"Because now, everyone who isn't chosen is going to want you dead."
They made camp not far from the ruins. Chase sat cross-legged, the spear fragment resting across his lap like a sleeping beast. He could feel it. Faint threads of lightning still sparkled across the surface. And in the black metal, darker than anything he had touched, he felt a hunger.
Not for blood.
For battle.
Mason stirred the fire. "Your hair's starting to change."
Chase blinked. "What?"
"Left side — silver streaks coming in."
Chase ran a hand through his hair. His once fully black strands now held threads of bright silver. A side effect, he guessed, of absorbing that burst of energy.
"And your eyes?" Mason added, looking at him carefully. "Still grey. Cloudy. Like a storm that hasn't decided whether to rage or rain."
Chase gave a half-smile. "Thanks, I guess."
"I'm saying you look mysterious. Like a blind death god. Girls love that."
"Yeah? Where are all these girls then?"
Mason pointed vaguely at the trees. "Probably hiding. You're terrifying."
Chase laughed quietly.
In the firelight, with his silver-streaked hair and grey eyes that saw nothing and yet everything, he looked older than fifteen. Wiser. And perhaps — something else. Something dangerous.