The Ashborn stronghold never truly slept. Even in the dead of night, the clang of forges echoed through its halls, sparks flying as smiths bent steel to their will. But tonight, the sound carried differently. It was harsher, sharper, as though every hammer strike echoed with unease. Kaelen felt it in the marrow of his bones as he walked the narrow corridor toward the council chamber. Soldiers lowered their gazes when he passed, whispering as soon as his shadow swept by.
He had grown used to stares. Some carried respect, some fear, and others… doubt.
The shard pulsed faintly beneath his skin, feeding on their whispers, twisting them into words that slithered through his mind. They will never trust you. You are not one of them. Take their fear—make it power.
Kaelen clenched his jaw and forced the murmurs away. He had resisted worse.
Inside the chamber, torches flared against obsidian walls carved with the runes of their ancestors. Serenya Flameborn stood at the center, her massive war axe leaning against the council table as though it were a scepter. Lira stood opposite her, arms folded, eyes like pale moons reflecting the firelight. The rest of the council members—grim-faced elders wrapped in heavy cloaks—sat in silence, their gazes shifting between the two women.
"You waste time with whispers of patience," Serenya snapped, her voice like a forge bellow. "The Hollow Crown has been seen on our borders. Villages burn. Families vanish. And still, you speak of caution?"
Lira's expression didn't change, but her words cut like tempered steel. "Charging blindly into war will leave our people broken before the true storm arrives. The Shroudbound stir in the north, and if we bleed ourselves against the Crown, they will devour the rest."
Serenya slammed a gauntleted fist onto the table, making the runes tremble. "So your answer is to do nothing?"
"My answer," Lira said calmly, "is to survive."
Kaelen stepped forward before the clash could deepen, his voice steady though his chest burned. "Enough."
The council turned to him. In their eyes flickered hope, mistrust, and wariness all at once. Kaelen felt the shard stir hungrily beneath their gazes. It wanted him to seize control, to bend them to his will, but he forced his voice to remain calm.
"We cannot afford division," he said. "Serenya is right—the Hollow Crown gathers. Lira is right—the Shroudbound wait. Both are enemies. But if we fight them separately, we are already lost."
"And what do you suggest?" Serenya's tone was a blade.
Kaelen's answer came slow, deliberate. "We strike where it matters most. Not against their armies, but against their roots. The Hollow Crown thrives on fear. The Shroudbound thrive on secrecy. Break either, and we weaken them both."
Murmurs rippled through the chamber. Some nodded, others frowned.
Serenya narrowed her eyes. "A bold claim, for one who cannot even control his own shadow."
The words struck harder than steel. For a moment Kaelen almost answered with the shard's fire, letting his shadow writhe across the stone floor, showing them what he truly carried. Instead, he bowed his head slightly. "Then train me harder. Test me until you believe. I will not falter."
The chamber fell silent. Even Serenya seemed unsettled by his resolve.
It was Lira who finally spoke. "Then perhaps it is time you see what lies beneath these mountains."
The cavern opened like the throat of the world.
A hidden stairwell, sealed for centuries, had led Kaelen, Lira, and Serenya deep into the roots of the Ashborn stronghold. The air grew colder with every step, thick with the scent of stone and something older, sharper, like iron left too long in the blood.
The walls glimmered faintly with veins of obsidian threaded with silver light, pulsing like the heartbeat of the earth. Runes older than the Ashborn themselves scarred the rock, their shapes unfamiliar and jagged, like letters carved by trembling hands.
"This place," Lira whispered, her voice reverent, "was forbidden even to the council. Only in times of great peril are its doors unsealed."
"What is it?" Kaelen asked, his voice low, though the cavern seemed to swallow sound.
Serenya's steps were steady, her gaze hard. "An ancient forge. Not of steel, but of souls. Here, the first Ashborn bound fire to flesh. Here, we were remade from mortals into warriors."
The shard throbbed violently within Kaelen's chest, the pulse so strong it nearly doubled him over. Shadows rippled at his feet, stretching, clawing at the silver veins in the walls as though they longed to devour the light.
Yes, the whispers hissed. This place remembers. It knows me. It knows you. Open yourself, and the power will be complete.
Kaelen gritted his teeth. His breath came ragged, sweat cold against his brow. He staggered, bracing himself against the stone wall. The runes burned hot beneath his touch, glowing red like fresh wounds.
Lira was at his side instantly, her hand firm on his shoulder. "Kaelen. What do you hear?"
He almost lied. Almost told her it was nothing but the shard gnawing at him. But the voices… they weren't the same as before. They were deeper, older, layered like echoes across endless centuries.
"They're calling me," he said hoarsely. "Not the shard. Something else."
Serenya's hand drifted to her axe. "If it is a trap, we end it now."
But before Kaelen could answer, the cavern itself shifted. The silver veins pulsed brighter, faster, until the walls seemed alive with light. The runes writhed as though breaking free of the stone, and from the darkness ahead came a voice—not whispering, not tempting, but commanding.
"Kaelen…"
The sound of his name froze him. It was not the shard's hunger. It was something vast, something that seemed to press on every bone in his body. His shadow stretched long across the cavern floor, reaching toward the heart of the forge where a great black monolith stood, cracked and bleeding silver light.
"You are not the first," the voice said, echoing through stone and soul alike. "But you may be the last."
Kaelen's breath caught. Lira's grip on his shoulder tightened. Serenya raised her axe, her jaw clenched.
And then the monolith cracked further, spilling light so bright it seared the cavern, and from the fissure came a hand. A hand made not of flesh, but of shadow and fire entwined.
The shard inside him screamed in recognition.
Kaelen staggered back, heart hammering, as the voice thundered once more:
"Will you wield me… or will you break as all others have?"