Kaelin moved through the quiet village streets, his footsteps echoing softly against the cobblestones. The aftermath of the battle lingered in the air—a heavy, suffocating presence that weighed on his mind. Though the shadow was gone, he could still feel the faint echoes of its energy, like an ember refusing to die.
The villagers remained behind their closed doors, their fear palpable even in their absence. Shutters creaked in the wind, and faint murmurs carried through the night, prayers whispered to gods Kaelin doubted would answer.
At the edge of the village square, Jorin stood near the scorched cobblestones, his lantern casting flickering light across the damage. He glanced up as Kaelin approached, his expression a mixture of wariness and gratitude.
"You didn't have to stay," Jorin said. "Most would've left after a fight like that."
Kaelin shrugged, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "I've seen worse."
Jorin studied him for a moment before shaking his head. "I believe you." He gestured toward the forest beyond the village. "What was that thing? It wasn't just some monster, was it?"
"No," Kaelin said, his voice low. "It was drawn here by the shard." He hesitated, then added, "It called itself a shadow, but it wasn't like the others I've faced. It was stronger, more… aware."
Jorin's grip tightened on the lantern. "And it's not the last, is it?"
Kaelin's gaze drifted to the forest, its dark silhouette stark against the faint glow of the horizon. "No," he said quietly. "The shard's light will keep drawing them. And the stronger I get, the more they'll come."
The innkeeper let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping. "We've lived here for generations," he said. "This village has survived wars, famines, and more. But this… this feels different."
"It is," Kaelin said. "The multiverse is breaking, Jorin. Worlds like this one are caught in the middle, and the Forge's shards are the only thing holding it together. That's why they're coming—for the light, for the power."
Jorin stared at him, his brow furrowed. "Why you? Why is this your fight?"
Kaelin didn't answer immediately. His fingers brushed the hilt of his sword, the shard's faint hum resonating through his chest. "Because I'm cursed," he said finally. "I don't die like others do. Every time I fall, I wake up somewhere new, somewhere worse. The shards are tied to me now, and so is their fight."
The innkeeper's expression darkened, but he nodded. "Then I guess we're lucky you're here, curse or not."
Kaelin didn't respond. He turned toward the inn, his steps heavy as he walked away from the square. Jorin lingered for a moment, then followed, his lantern swinging softly in the breeze.
The room was dim and quiet, the only light coming from the faint glow of Kaelin's sword as it rested against the wall. He sat on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands, exhaustion pressing down on him like a weight. The battle had drained him, but it wasn't just his body that ached—it was his mind.
The shadow's words echoed in his thoughts: "You carry the shard… unworthy." The accusation felt heavier than the blade at his side. Unworthy. He had heard the word before, from the voices in the Veil, from the guardians of the Forge. No matter how many battles he fought, no matter how many shards he claimed, the doubt remained.
Kaelin leaned back, staring at the ceiling. His memories were a jumbled mess, fragments of lives he had lived and lost. Some were vivid—his betrayal by Cyran, the endless battles, the fleeting moments of peace. Others were distant, blurred by time and the fractures in his mind.
And then there was her.
He closed his eyes, the image of her face flashing in his mind. Her laughter, her warmth, the way she had looked at him with a trust he hadn't deserved. He had tried to protect her, to build a life free from the chaos that followed him. But it hadn't been enough. The shadows had taken her too, just as they had taken everything else.
Kaelin's hand tightened into a fist. He had sealed those memories for a reason, locked them away to keep himself from breaking. But no matter how deep he buried them, they clawed their way to the surface, haunting him like the ghosts of a life he couldn't escape.
A faint knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. Kaelin sat up, his hand instinctively moving to his sword. "What is it?" he called.
The door creaked open, and Jorin stepped inside, his expression cautious. "I thought you'd want to know," he said. "There's someone in the square. Asking for you."
Kaelin frowned, his exhaustion replaced by a sharp alertness. "Who?"
Jorin shook his head. "Didn't say. Just told me to fetch you."
Kaelin rose, strapping his sword to his side. "Stay here," he said. "Keep the villagers inside."
The innkeeper nodded, stepping aside as Kaelin moved past him and down the stairs. The night air was cold against his skin as he stepped out into the square, his eyes scanning the darkness. The scorched cobblestones were still faintly warm beneath his boots, the remnants of the earlier battle lingering like an unspoken threat.
At the center of the square stood a figure, cloaked and hooded, their posture calm despite the tension in the air. Kaelin approached cautiously, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. The figure didn't move, their face obscured by the shadow of their hood.
"Who are you?" Kaelin demanded, his voice steady. "What do you want?"
The figure raised their head, and Kaelin caught a glimpse of their face—a woman, her features sharp and angular, her eyes glowing faintly with an unnatural light. When she spoke, her voice was low and deliberate.
"You're the one they call Eternal," she said. "The one who carries the Forge's shards."
Kaelin's hand tightened on his sword. "And you are?"
The woman smiled faintly, the glow of her eyes intensifying. "A messenger," she said. "From one who walks the same path as you."
Kaelin's pulse quickened, his mind racing. "Another Eternal?"
The woman nodded. "He knows of you, Kaelin Veynar. He knows your curse, your struggles. And he offers a warning."
Kaelin's eyes narrowed. "A warning?"
The woman's smile faded. "You are not alone in your pursuit of the Forge. Others seek the shards, and not all of them share your purpose. The multiverse is breaking, and you must decide—will you save it, or let it fall?"
Kaelin's jaw tightened, his voice cold. "What does he want?"
The woman stepped closer, her gaze unflinching. "To see what you will choose, Kaelin Veynar. To see if you are truly worthy."
Before Kaelin could respond, the woman stepped back, her form dissolving into shadow and light. The square fell silent, the faint hum of Kaelin's sword the only sound in the cold night air.
Kaelin stood alone, the weight of her words pressing down on him. The choice she spoke of wasn't new—it had always been there, lingering in the back of his mind. Save the multiverse, or let it crumble. Restore the Forge, or let its light fade.
He exhaled sharply, his grip on his sword tightening. Whatever choice awaited him, one thing was certain: the road ahead would not be easy.