The rain came in waves as the trio emerged from the cliffs of Lirien Hollow. The earth beneath their boots was sodden, thick with mud and the decay of untraveled paths. Trees leaned overhead like silent witnesses, their bare limbs clawing at the sky. There was no conversation. Only the distant boom of thunder and the faint, rhythmic clink of the shard in Maela's pouch.
Konrad walked ahead this time, as if proximity to Maela's burden made him uneasy. Alric lingered near her, gaze often flicking to her face. She looked paler than usual. Drawn. Haunted.
"You haven't slept," he said finally, voice low.
She didn't look at him. "I can't."
"The shard again?"
Maela nodded slowly. "It hums when I close my eyes. Like it's trying to speak... or scream."
Konrad didn't slow his pace. "We should bury it. Or toss it into the sea."
Maela's reply was soft. "Wouldn't change anything. It's part of me now."
By dusk, they reached a burned chapel half-buried in ivy. The walls had collapsed inward, and a rusted bell lay cracked in the overgrown courtyard. They decided to rest there for the night.
Inside, the air was damp, laced with the scent of moss and old prayer. Alric kindled a small fire with dried roots, and Maela sat apart from it, legs pulled to her chest, eyes fixed on the glowing stone in her hand.
"You ever believe in anything?" Alric asked her, after a while.
She blinked, startled. "What?"
"The gods. The Crown. Prophecies."
She let out a breath that might have been a laugh. "No. Just stories."
Konrad, sharpening his blade in the shadows, spoke without looking up. "Sometimes stories are all that's left."
Maela studied the shard. "Then we're chasing the remains of a dying tale."
In the early hours, Maela awoke with a start. Not from a sound—but from the sudden absence of one. The shard had gone silent.
She looked around. Alric still slept, breathing steady. Konrad was gone.
She stepped outside.
Rain had started again, a soft drizzle now, turning the courtyard to slick stone and shadow. Konrad stood near the broken bell, his back to her, sword lowered.
"You feel it too?" she asked.
He nodded slowly. "Like something watching from beneath. Waiting."
The ground trembled faintly beneath them.
They left the chapel before dawn. Maela insisted they head east, toward a ruined aqueduct system that once carried water to the now-lost city of Eshir Vale. Her dreams had been vague, but she saw arches in the mist and something buried in the foundations.
The trail led them through a tangle of thorns and fog, until the stone columns rose before them—tall, ancient, and crumbling. Vines choked the base, but the arches still held like bones of a long-dead colossus.
As they neared the third arch, Maela slowed. "Here."
Konrad crouched near the stone. "Tracks. Recent. Not human."
From beneath the arch, a soft clicking noise echoed.
A form emerged. Tall. Cloaked in tattered robes. Its face hidden beneath a mirrored mask. And around it hovered small constructs of light—like insects, but mechanical, whirring with strange energy.
"I know you," the thing said, voice layered like multiple echoes.
Maela stepped forward. "Who are you?"
"A Keeper," it replied. "One of the last. I guard what was buried."
Konrad stepped between them, hand on hilt. "Buried?"
The Keeper's mirrored mask turned toward Maela. "You carry a shard. Two, now. But not the third."
Maela clenched her jaw. "What does it want from me?"
"To be whole again. As do you. The pieces remember each other. And you were chosen not by fate, but by fracture."
Before she could ask more, the ground beneath them gave way.
They fell.
The descent was not far, but jarring. They landed in a cold chamber of polished stone and metal veins running through the walls. The Keeper floated down after them, unbothered.
"This was a vault once. A forge of memory. Long before your wars."
Alric helped Maela to her feet. "Why are we here?"
The Keeper turned to a raised platform. On it sat a sphere, cracked and pulsing faintly.
"The third shard. Incomplete. Its twin was shattered. Half power, half curse. You must choose: mend it, or break it completely."
Konrad scowled. "Sounds like a trap."
"All choices are," the Keeper replied.
Maela stepped forward. The moment her fingers brushed the sphere, her mind flooded with images—cities burning, oceans splitting, voices chanting in a language she didn't know but understood.
She screamed.
Konrad pulled her back. Alric caught her.
The sphere cracked further. A tendril of black mist slipped out.
The Keeper moved quickly, placing a palm over the sphere. "It remembers too much. You are not ready."
Maela, still gasping, whispered, "Then help me be."
The Keeper tilted its head. "That, I cannot do. But I can delay what follows."
It touched the sphere again. The mist retreated.
"You must leave now. Others come. Not Crown. Worse."
They emerged into the light, breathing hard. The arches stood quiet above, but the feeling of being hunted lingered.
Maela clutched her pouch tighter. Three shards. None whole. Each bleeding memory and madness.
Alric said nothing as he walked beside her. But his hand found hers.
Konrad said, "Whatever comes, we finish this."
Maela nodded.
Behind them, the aqueduct shuddered.