Kaelin's breath came in shallow gasps as he lay on the jagged ground, his body aching from the battle's toll. The canyon was eerily silent now, the oppressive roars and clattering of claws replaced by the soft whisper of the cold wind. The ash of his defeated foes swirled around him, carried by unseen currents, fading into the void like smoke dissolving into air.
The sword at his side pulsed faintly, its glow subdued but steady, as though conserving its strength. Kaelin rolled onto his side, wincing as pain flared in his ribs, and reached for the weapon. His fingers brushed the hilt, and a jolt of warmth spread through his arm, dulling the worst of his injuries. He wasn't sure if the blade was healing him or simply giving him the strength to move, but he was grateful nonetheless.
With a grunt of effort, he pushed himself upright. His legs felt unsteady beneath him, and his vision swam for a moment before settling. The canyon stretched out before him, its jagged cliffs bathed in the red and black hues of the swirling sky. Lightning arced across the heavens, illuminating the fractured landscape in brief, violent flashes.
Kaelin gripped his sword tightly, his jaw clenching as he took a step forward. The creatures had retreated, but he couldn't shake the feeling that they were still watching, waiting for him to falter. This world was hostile, its very air thick with the weight of decay and desolation. He had to move, to find shelter or answers—or, ideally, both—before the next wave of threats descended.
The battle had left him drained, but his mind was far from quiet. The remnant's words echoed in his thoughts: "The shards call to one another, even across the void." It had spoken as if it knew him, or at least the curse he carried. The Forge of Creation, the multiverse, the Eternal—every answer seemed to bring more questions, and the weight of it all pressed heavily on Kaelin's shoulders.
As he climbed a narrow path along the canyon wall, the memories of his death and betrayal clawed their way to the surface. Cyran's face—cold, detached, and resolute—flashed in his mind, and Kaelin's grip on his sword tightened. He could still feel the sting of the blade that had pierced his chest, the crushing realization that the man he trusted most had turned against him. The pain was a raw, unhealed wound that festered with every step he took.
"Why?" he muttered under his breath, his voice hoarse. "Why did you do it?"
The words hung in the air, unanswered, but they brought with them a flood of fragmented memories. Kaelin stumbled, his hand gripping the rocky wall for support as his mind was assaulted by disjointed images. A battlefield soaked in blood. A castle engulfed in flames. Faces he couldn't quite place, their voices calling his name.
And then the forge.
It loomed in his mind's eye, massive and broken, its shattered pieces scattered across endless worlds. He saw figures standing around it, their silhouettes dark and indistinct, their weapons glowing with the same eerie light as his sword. They were Eternal, like him—or so the Elder had claimed. But their faces were a blur, their identities lost in the haze of his fractured memory.
Kaelin pressed a hand to his temple, his breath hitching as the visions faded. The effort left him dizzy, his knees threatening to buckle. He gritted his teeth and pushed onward, refusing to let the memories drag him down. He had spent his life leading men into battle, weathering storms of blood and steel. He would not break now—not when so much depended on his survival.
The path narrowed as he ascended, the cliffside crumbling beneath his boots with every step. Below, the canyon stretched endlessly into shadow, its depths swallowing the faint light of the glowing crystals that dotted the landscape. Kaelin kept his focus on the ridge above, his gaze fixed on the faint outline of what appeared to be a structure.
When he reached the top, his breath caught. Before him stood the ruins of a massive citadel, its towering spires broken and crumbling, its walls scarred by centuries of decay. The stone was dark and weathered, but faint lines of glowing blue light traced intricate patterns across its surface, pulsing faintly like veins carrying lifeblood to a dying heart.
Kaelin approached cautiously, his sword held at the ready. The air here felt different—thicker, charged with a strange energy that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. The citadel seemed to hum faintly, the sound low and rhythmic, as though it were alive.
The gates were massive, their surface etched with the same glowing patterns as the walls. Kaelin reached out a hand, hesitating as his fingers hovered over the stone. The sword at his side pulsed, and the gates responded, their glow intensifying as a deep, resonant sound filled the air.
With a groan, the gates began to move, sliding open with a slowness that spoke of immense weight. Kaelin stepped back, his heart pounding as the light spilled outward, bathing him in its eerie glow. The interior of the citadel was shrouded in shadow, the light revealing only fragments of its vast hall.
Kaelin hesitated at the threshold, his instincts screaming at him to turn back. But the sword pulsed again, its hum resonating in his chest, urging him forward. He gritted his teeth and stepped inside.
The air was colder here, the silence oppressive. The faint glow of the walls cast long, shifting shadows that seemed to move of their own accord. Kaelin's footsteps echoed as he made his way through the hall, his gaze darting to every corner, every crevice. The citadel felt abandoned, but he knew better than to let his guard down.
At the center of the hall stood a massive pedestal, its surface carved with runes that glowed faintly in the dim light. Resting atop the pedestal was an object—a shard of crystal, jagged and pulsating with an inner light that matched the glow of the walls. Kaelin's breath hitched as he approached, his sword humming in resonance with the shard.
This was no ordinary artifact. He could feel its power, its connection to the Forge. The shard called to him, just as the sword had in the Veil, and he knew without a doubt that it was meant for him.
As Kaelin reached out to touch the shard, a voice echoed through the hall, deep and resonant, filled with both warning and accusation.
"You are not the first to seek the shards, Eternal. And you will not be the last."
Kaelin froze, his hand hovering over the shard. He turned, his sword raised, but the hall was empty. The voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, its presence pressing down on him like a physical force.
"Who are you?" Kaelin demanded, his voice steady despite the tension in his body.
The voice laughed, a sound that sent a shiver down his spine. "I am a remnant of the Forge, bound to guard its legacy. But you… you are unworthy. Prove yourself, Eternal, or perish."
The ground beneath Kaelin's feet began to tremble, the walls pulsing with an intense, blinding light. From the shadows emerged a figure, tall and imposing, its body covered in jagged crystal that glowed with the same blue light as the shard. Its eyes burned like twin stars, and in its hands was a weapon that radiated power—a massive hammer that crackled with energy.
Kaelin's jaw tightened, his sword pulsing in anticipation. The figure raised its hammer, the light intensifying as it prepared to strike.
The trial had begun.