The trail out of the Starfall Basin wound like a scar across the land, twisting through crumbled ridges and jagged slopes of blackened stone. The sky hung low, a strange green hue bleeding at the edges as if dawn and dusk were arguing over who ruled this hour.
Konrad led the way, blade drawn but held low, his eyes sharp and restless. Alric followed, occasionally glancing behind them. Maela said nothing as she walked, her steps unusually careful, as if the earth beneath them might remember their trespass and retaliate.
No one mentioned the vision.
No one mentioned the name whispered from the monolith's heart.
By midday, they reached the ruins of what had once been a mining village. The houses here were nothing but collapsed timber and soot-stained stone. Charred remnants of lives lost in forgotten disasters. A faded symbol of the Crown—a six-pointed star within a ring—was scorched onto the side of a crumbled well.
"The fire came fast here," Maela said, her voice subdued. She crouched beside a pile of children's toys, half-melted. "They didn't even have time to flee."
Konrad checked the perimeter, then gave a curt nod. "We rest here. Just long enough to eat."
As Alric lowered his pack, something caught his eye—a glimmer beneath the ash. He brushed away soot and revealed a rusted locket, inside of which was a sketch of two boys.
"They always leave something," he muttered.
Maela looked over his shoulder. "Ash remembers."
They sat in silence around a makeshift fire, flames flickering more from memory than heat. Konrad tore into dried meat; Maela gently cradled the shard she had taken from the monolith.
Alric finally broke the quiet. "What do we do with it now? The shard. The visions. That... thing in the sky."
Maela didn't answer right away. Her eyes were distant. "There are other shards. I've seen them. In the vision. Scattered across the old world. Each bound to a place where the veil thins. This one showed us truths, but others could offer power, insight... maybe even a way to mend what was broken."
"Or break it further," Konrad said.
"Depends on who's holding the blade," Maela replied.
That night, Maela couldn't sleep. She wandered alone to the well and peered into the dark.
A whisper.
Soft. Lingering.
Not in her ears, but in her bones.
"Return what was taken."
She staggered back. Her hand trembled over the pouch at her hip.
"Return it... before the Crown does."
She turned quickly, heart pounding.
Only silence.
At dawn, they continued westward, heading toward the cliffs of Lirien Hollow—a place once sacred, now overrun with smugglers and scavengers. The trail narrowed through dense brambles until the cliffs rose before them, sheer and cruel. Mist curled through the air, thick with salt and distant thunder.
Maela halted first. "There. Caverns below. That's where we'll find the next shard."
Alric frowned. "You saw it?"
She nodded.
"In the dream?"
"In the shard. It sings. And I'm beginning to understand the melody."
Konrad grunted. "I don't like the sound of that."
They scaled the cliffs cautiously, wind whipping their cloaks, until they found a crevice wide enough to crawl through. The cavern within was vast, breathing with cold and echoes. Roots dangled from the ceiling, and water dripped in slow, deliberate rhythm.
"There," Maela said, pointing to a spire of stone at the center. "It's calling from there."
As they stepped closer, the floor shifted beneath them.
A growl echoed.
From the shadows emerged figures—not quite men, not quite beasts. Their eyes glowed, and their mouths were sewn shut with copper thread.
"The Hollowed," Maela whispered.
Konrad drew steel without hesitation. "Of course."
The battle was short, but brutal. Alric moved like a ghost, blade flashing. Konrad fought with quiet efficiency, while Maela used the shard to blind the Hollowed with pulses of light.
When the last fell, twitching, Maela limped to the spire and retrieved the second shard.
It burned red, laced with black veins.
"This one is... angry," she whispered.
Alric looked around, warily. "What happens when we put them together?"
Maela didn't answer. Her knuckles whitened around the stone.
They didn't speak again until the cavern mouth had disappeared behind them.
Far away, in a chamber of obsidian and glass, Lady Vael stood before a mirror that reflected not her face, but the basin and the figures climbing from it. Her Whisperer knelt behind her, still and silent.
"They've taken another," she said. "It begins."
The Whisperer said nothing.
Vael's fingers curled.
"Then we shall take something in return."