The council hall of the Ashborn was carved into the mountain itself, its walls rough-hewn yet etched with spirals of ancient runes that pulsed faintly whenever torchlight flickered across them. The chamber smelled of charred wood and molten iron, a reminder that the Ashborn were forged as much in fire as in shadow.
Kaelen stood just outside its arched entrance, his hand pressed to the cold stone. The shard pulsed beneath his skin, sending little jolts of heat through his veins, as if it too could sense the weight of the meeting. Step inside, it whispered. They doubt you. They will betray you. Show them you are their master, or they will make you their prey.
Lira brushed past him, her cloak whispering against stone. "If you wait any longer, they'll call it weakness."
Kaelen exhaled, steadying himself. "Or caution."
"Among the Ashborn," she said with a faint, humorless smile, "the two are the same."
He followed her into the chamber.
The council sat in a rough circle, their chairs cut from the same black rock that formed the mountains. At the far end loomed Serenya Flameborn, her war axe resting upright before her like a standard. Her eyes were hard, steady, and sharp as molten glass cooled too quickly. Around her, lesser commanders shifted uneasily — men and women who had fought the Hollow Crown for decades, who bore scars like medals and saw Kaelen as an outsider.
One of them, a lean man with streaks of ash across his face, rose as Kaelen entered. His name was Varik Stonevein, a commander known for both his ruthlessness and his devotion to Ashborn supremacy. His voice was like gravel scraped across steel.
"So," Varik said, arms crossed. "The shard-bearer comes at last. Do we speak as warriors tonight, or as gaolers trying to keep a beast on a chain?"
The chamber hummed with tension. Kaelen felt the shard flare eagerly at the insult, his shadow twitching like a hound tugging at its leash.
"Speak carefully," Lira said sharply, stepping into the circle. Her silver eyes glimmered in the torchlight. "Kaelen has resisted the shard's hunger more than most of your so-called warriors could."
Varik sneered. "Resisted? Or restrained until it suits him? Shadows do not obey. They consume. He is no Ashborn — he is a weapon none of us can afford to trust."
Serenya raised a hand, silencing the murmurs that followed. "Enough. We are here to decide our next move. The Hollow Crown has been sighted massing in the eastern valleys. The Shroudbound… stir in the north. We stand at the center of a storm, and if we fail to act, we will be crushed."
Her gaze turned to Kaelen. "You have seen the shard's hunger. You have felt its call. If we are to survive, Kaelen, you must decide what you are willing to wield."
Kaelen stepped into the circle. Shadows stretched at his feet, restless, reflecting the shard's agitation. "I will wield what I must," he said. "But I will not be a butcher for your politics."
A ripple of whispers spread through the council. Varik's eyes narrowed dangerously. "And if butchery is what keeps the Hollow Crown from burning our homes? Will you sit in silence, drinking tea with your Shroudbound lover, while the rest of us die?"
Kaelen's fists clenched, shadow snapping like a whip at the insult to Lira. Torches guttered, shadows lengthened. The shard throbbed violently, whispering, Kill him. Silence him. Show them fear. Show them power.
Kaelen forced his breath steady, locking the shadow down inch by inch until it coiled tight around him like a cloak. His voice, when it came, was low but sharp. "If I wanted you dead, Varik, you wouldn't have time to draw breath for your insult. I am not here to fight Ashborn. I am here to fight the Hollow Crown. Do not confuse the two."
The silence that followed was taut as a bowstring. Serenya's lips curled faintly, almost approving.
Before Varik could retort, a scout burst into the chamber, breathless, his cloak torn and eyes wide. He fell to one knee before Serenya.
"The Hollow Crown," he gasped. "They've raided a settlement at Frostvale. Smoke rises even now. Survivors… few."
The chamber erupted in shouts and curses. Varik slammed his fist into stone. "You see? While we waste words here, they bleed us dry. We must strike — now, and with fire!"
Serenya's gaze turned cold. "And you would send who, Varik? Your tired men? Or would you ask the shard-bearer to unleash what we all fear?"
Her eyes cut to Kaelen. "This is your choice. Lead the counterstrike — and prove that restraint can defend as well as destroy. Or refuse, and prove Varik right."
Kaelen's chest tightened. The shard pulsed furiously, the whispers a storm in his mind. Burn them. Break them. Save them through slaughter.
He thought of the young warrior in the barracks, asking how to resist the shard. He thought of Lira's words: Not all choices demand fire. He thought of his sister's laughter, silenced by flames.
"I will lead," Kaelen said finally, voice hard. "But on my terms. I will not give the shard what it wants. Not tonight."
Varik laughed bitterly. "Then you lead us to failure."
Serenya's war axe struck the stone floor with a resounding crack. "Enough. The decision is made. Kaelen will lead a vanguard to Frostvale. Varik, you will go as his second. If you cannot trust him, then you will die beside him."
Varik's sneer faded into a snarl, but he bowed stiffly.
The meeting dissolved in mutters and clashing footsteps. Kaelen remained, the weight of every eye heavy on his back. When the chamber emptied, only Lira lingered.
"You played it well," she said softly. "But every step you take now, every life you save or fail to save, will be measured against the shard inside you."
Kaelen looked at her, his shadow curling protectively at his feet. "Then I'll let them measure. And I'll show them restraint isn't weakness."
Lira's silver eyes glimmered. "Then may the gods you carry in your chest forgive you. Because the Hollow Crown won't."
The journey to Frostvale took them two days.
The Ashborn vanguard rode hard through narrow passes and snow-bitten valleys, their banners snapping in the icy wind. The mountains loomed above them, their jagged peaks like a thousand watching eyes.
Kaelen rode at the front, Varik beside him, silent but seething. Behind them, twenty warriors carried axes, spears, and blades infused with faint runes — weapons designed to pierce the Crown's armored soldiers.
The shard pulsed steadily, like a drumbeat of hunger. At night, Kaelen dreamed of fire sweeping through villages, of shadows wrapping around soldiers' throats, of his own hands dripping with blood. He woke each time with his chest aching and his shadow twitching like a restless beast.
Frostvale appeared on the horizon by dawn of the third day. Smoke coiled lazily into the sky, its tendrils black against pale morning light. The village lay in ruin — half its huts burned, its meager walls shattered. Bodies littered the snow, their blood frozen into dark stains.
Kaelen dismounted, his boots crunching in the frost. His shadow stretched forward before him, reaching across the carnage like a mourning veil. The shard pulsed violently, eager. Yes. Yes. Kill them. Take them. Feed.
Varik spat into the snow. "This is what your restraint buys us. Ash and corpses."
Kaelen ignored him, kneeling beside a fallen villager. A boy, no older than the one in the barracks, his eyes glassy, a crude wooden sword still clutched in his hands. Kaelen's jaw tightened.
"Survivors?" he asked.
One of the scouts nodded grimly. "A handful fled into the woods. We tracked them. But the Crown still lingers. They're hunting."
Kaelen rose, drawing his blade. His shadow coiled eagerly, sensing battle. "Then we hunt them."
They found the Hollow Crown in the forest beyond Frostvale — a squad of armored soldiers, their cloaks black as tar, dragging villagers through the snow. Their laughter was cruel, echoing through the bare trees.
Kaelen felt the shard surge within him, begging for release. His shadow lashed outward, coiling around his feet like smoke before fire.
Varik smirked. "Show us, shard-bearer. Show us restraint in the face of slaughter."
The villagers cried out as the soldiers raised blades. Kaelen's chest burned. The shard whispered feverishly: One strike. One release. End them. Feed.
Kaelen's grip tightened on his sword. He stepped forward, shadow flaring like wings of night.
"Protect them," he whispered to himself.
The shard pulsed in defiance.
And Kaelen charged.