The journey back to the camp was eerily quiet, the only sound the crunch of boots on frost-covered ground. The shard, now carefully wrapped and secured in Arlen's pack, seemed to thrum faintly, like a heartbeat audible only to him. His mind churned with questions, but his expression remained its usual blend of arrogance and amusement.
Calla broke the silence first. "So, what's the plan now? Sell the shard to some collector? Hide it in some vault and pretend we didn't just risk our necks?"
Arlen chuckled. "Oh, Calla. Do you think I'd risk my very valuable neck for something as boring as money?"
"I can hope," she muttered, rolling her eyes.
"We study it," Arlen continued, ignoring her sarcasm. "Unlock its secrets. Power like this isn't meant to be buried—it's meant to be wielded."
As they set up camp for the night, tension lingered in the air. Selene was unusually quiet, her gaze distant as she fiddled with her staff. Lyra sharpened her daggers, glancing at the others as if waiting for something to happen.
Calla busied herself with the fire, though her hands trembled slightly as she worked.
"Alright," Arlen said, leaning back against a tree. "Who's going to ask the question we're all avoiding?"
"What question?" Selene asked, her tone defensive.
"Who's going to betray me first?" Arlen said, a sly grin spreading across his face.
The group froze, stunned into silence.
"What are you talking about?" Calla said, her voice shaky.
"Oh, come on," Arlen said, his grin widening. "We just stumbled on one of the most dangerous artifacts in existence. You're telling me none of you have thought about keeping it for yourself?"
"No!" Selene snapped, standing up. "We're a team, Arlen. We don't—"
"We don't what, Selene?" Arlen interrupted, his tone sharper now. "Lie? Cheat? Steal? Spare me the righteous act. You're just as tempted as the rest of us."
Her eyes narrowed, and for a moment, it looked like she might strike him. But then she turned away, her shoulders tense.
As the night deepened, unease hung heavy over the camp. One by one, the others drifted to sleep, but Arlen stayed awake, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade.
"Can't sleep either?" Lyra's voice broke the silence.
Arlen turned to see her sitting cross-legged near the fire, her daggers resting on her lap.
"Too much on my mind," he admitted.
"You mean the shard," she said.
He nodded, his expression uncharacteristically serious. "It's… calling to me, Lyra. I don't know how else to explain it."
She studied him for a moment, her usual smirk replaced by something softer. "You think it's worth the risk? All this power?"
Arlen leaned forward, his eyes meeting hers. "Power is always worth the risk. It's the only thing that matters in the end."
The next morning, Arlen woke to the sound of hushed voices.
"Do you really trust him?" Calla's voice drifted over the camp.
"I don't know," Selene replied. "But if he tries anything reckless, we'll have to stop him."
Arlen stayed still, his eyes narrowing as he listened.
"I can hear you, you know," he said, sitting up.
The women spun around, guilt flashing across their faces.
"Care to share with the class?" Arlen asked, his tone light but his eyes sharp.
"We were just… worried," Selene said, her voice faltering. "About the shard. About what it's doing to you."
Arlen stood, brushing off his coat. "Relax, ladies. I'm not about to lose my mind and start declaring myself a god. Not yet, anyway."
The group set off again, but the tension had only grown. Every glance felt loaded, every word tinged with suspicion.
As they passed through a dense forest, Arlen noticed movement in the shadows.
"Stay sharp," he said, his hand drifting to his blade.
The attack came suddenly. A band of mercenaries emerged from the trees, their leader—a grizzled man with a cruel smile—stepping forward.
"Well, well," the man said. "Looks like we've caught ourselves some treasure hunters. Hand over the shard, and we'll let you live."
Arlen smirked, drawing his sword. "You're welcome to try and take it."
The fight was brutal. The mercenaries were skilled, but Arlen's group had fought together long enough to anticipate each other's moves. Selene unleashed blasts of light, blinding their attackers, while Calla picked them off with precision shots.
Lyra danced through the chaos, her daggers finding weak points in armor.
But as the fight raged on, Arlen noticed something strange. One of the mercenaries wasn't attacking—he was watching.
And he wasn't looking at Arlen. He was looking at Calla.
When the last of the mercenaries fell, Arlen turned to Calla, his expression dark.
"Want to explain why that guy seemed to know you?" he asked.
Calla froze, her eyes wide.
"I… I don't know what you're talking about," she stammered.
Arlen stepped closer, his voice low. "Don't lie to me, Calla. Not now."
She looked away, her hands trembling. "It's nothing. Just someone I knew. A long time ago."
Arlen's gaze hardened. "If you're keeping secrets, you'd better hope they don't get us killed."
As they continued their journey, Arlen's mind raced. The shard's power, the whispers of betrayal, the mercenary's strange behavior—it all pointed to something larger, something he couldn't yet see.
But one thing was certain: trust was a luxury he couldn't afford.
And if someone in his group was plotting against him, they'd regret it.