Dawn
Ash drifted through the morning air like pale snow, soft and deceptive. The village lay in ruin, charred timbers smoldering, smoke rising in lazy spirals toward a gray sky. Blackened skeletons of homes jutted from the ground, each one a reminder of what had been lost. The smell of burnt wood and scorched flesh clung to everything, heavy, suffocating.
The five of us stood among the rubble, survivors of the fire yet untouched in body only. The villagers huddled behind us, their fear palpable, eyes wide and hesitant, darting nervously between each of us. They did not thank us. Silence pressed heavier than the fire ever had.
A child whimpered, tugging at his mother's cloak, retreating from Laura. The girl remained on her knees, hands trembling as they hovered over the hourglass pendant at her throat. A faint thread of pale light shimmered around it, soft and tentative. The villagers recoiled, whispering, "Shardbearers… cursed." The word hung heavy in the ash-filled air.
I adjusted my scarf, tattered and dirt-streaked, feeling the faint pulse of my echoes along the threads. They don't see the power — they see only what they fear.
Nysera's wolf-aura flickered faintly at the edges of her form, sparks of spectral fangs and fur visible only in the corner of my eye. "Let them fear," she growled, low and rough. "Fear keeps them alive."
Liora stepped forward, shield resting at her side, eyes a pale golden glow overlaid with the awakening shimmer. "Fear also drives knives into backs. We shouldn't linger." Her words cut through the tension, but the villagers flinched at the sight of her faintly glowing eyes.
Zero leaned against a half-collapsed wall, twin knives strapped to his thighs. The soft silver glow in his eyes caught mine briefly. "They're not wrong," he said, voice flat. "Five shards gathered in one place? The Hunters have already marked us. The Mirror watches."
I clenched my fists, grit grinding into torn cloth. "…So what?" I snapped. "We run alone again?"
Nysera whirled, amber-gold eyes glowing faintly, spectral claws flexing. "You talk like you know where to go. You don't."
"Better than waiting for Whispers to tear us apart," I shot back. Echoes flickered around me, faint and insistent, warning of danger, reacting to my heartbeat.
Zero's hand drifted toward a knife. Judgment and restraint in the faint silver of his eyes. He said nothing — but I could feel it. Reckless… yes. But not wrong.
Laura's voice cut through the tension. Faint pale-blue light spiraled from her hourglass pendant. "The Path brought us together," she said softly, almost reverently. "You all felt it."
For a moment, silence bound us. No words, no accusations — only the fragile recognition that we were walking the same path.
She rose slowly, ash falling from her robes. Pale light trembled around her hands, bending the world in subtle distortions. "We can scatter, hide, pretend we're alone," she said, voice gaining strength. "Or we can walk together. Choose to stand, even if we don't trust one another yet."
Her eyes met each of ours in turn. Gold, silver, faint blue — soft glows of awakening.
Liora was the first to answer, hefting her shield. "She's right. Stronger together. Even if trust isn't here yet."
Zero crossed his arms, pale silver light in his gaze. "…Fine. I walk beside. But not behind."
Nysera growled low, chest rising and falling. Her golden light flickered, faint wolf-ears shimmering above her head. "Pack or prey. I stay. For now."
I exhaled slowly, scarf fluttering in the hot wind, tattered but alive with echoes. So this is it, I thought. The beginning.
We stepped onto the dusty road, leaving the burned village behind. Smoke rose like a funeral pyre. Villagers watched from afar, silent, fearful, but a few children peeked from behind skirts — wide eyes not of terror, but curiosity, wonder.
We walked unevenly, spacing awkward, strangers bound by something neither chosen nor understood. Not friends. Not allies. Yet the Path held us, binding us in ways none of us fully grasped.
Across the desert ridge, shadows shifted in the heat haze. Among the mirages, faint reflections flickered — mirrored silhouettes, warped and distorted. Five reflections. Watching. Waiting. Not ours. But already tracking our steps.
I reached into the folds of my scarf, fingers brushing a hidden edge of fabric. There — tucked beneath the worn stitching — the leather-bound book. Its presence hummed faintly, a whisper I hadn't yet deciphered. Eldric's work. Shards of his notes on growth, on Echoes, on the Paths of power. One day, in the elves' province where he had worked, the book would open. And with it, a map of the world, provinces, cities, races, and the secrets the Hunters sought.
Older Law's voice echoed in memory: They awaken. And the Path watches. Every step forward will teach them — but not without trial.
The five of us pressed onward, leaving ruin behind. Soft glows of gold, silver, and pale blue sparkled faintly in our eyes, flickers of awakening — hints of thve power we had yet to understand, yet enough to survive this first day.
And beneath it all, hidden in the folds of my scarf, the book waited. A ledger of shards, a map of the world, and the knowledge that would one day guide us — if we could survive long enough to find it.