The air in the cavernous hall was heavy, laden with an oppressive stillness that pressed against Kaelin's senses. His steps echoed faintly as he moved deeper into the keep, his sword casting flickering light across the ancient stone walls. The shard's hum resonated steadily in his chest, growing louder with each step, as though urging him forward.
The hall stretched endlessly, the faint moonlight filtering through cracks in the stone above. Broken pillars stood like sentinels, their surfaces worn smooth by time. Shadows pooled in the corners, shifting subtly in ways Kaelin couldn't entirely dismiss. The shard's presence wasn't the only thing alive here.
He stopped in the middle of the hall, his instincts prickling. The whispers began faintly at first, like a breeze brushing past his ears. But as he stood still, the sound grew louder, overlapping voices that came from every direction. They spoke no language he understood, their tones shifting between despair, anger, and pleading. The shard's hum grew erratic, echoing the dissonance in the air.
Kaelin gritted his teeth, scanning the room for the source of the sound. "I'm not here to listen to ghosts," he muttered. "Show yourselves, or let me pass."
The voices fell silent.
A wave of cold swept through the room, biting into Kaelin's skin and leaving frost on the ground beneath his boots. The shard in his chest pulsed violently, its rhythm no longer steady but insistent, almost panicked. Kaelin tightened his grip on his sword, his breath fogging in the air.
The first wave of light hit him like a crashing tide.
Kaelin's vision dissolved into an overwhelming cascade of color and sound. His body felt weightless, suspended in the chaotic flow of the shard's energy. He reached for his sword, but his fingers felt distant, his grip intangible. The shard wasn't just guiding him—it was pulling him into itself.
The first vision was one of utter destruction.
Kaelin stood on the edge of a crumbling world, its cities engulfed in fire and smoke. The ground beneath his feet fractured, great chasms splitting the earth as molten rivers flowed freely. Above him, the sky churned with unnatural hues—red and black clouds twisting violently as streaks of light and shadow clashed against one another.
Figures moved in the chaos below. Soldiers, civilians, and beings of immense power fought desperately against an unseen force. Kaelin could feel their terror, their desperation, as if their emotions were pouring into his mind. The cries of the dying were deafening, their echoes a symphony of suffering.
A single figure stood atop a tower in the distance. It was humanoid, cloaked in a golden aura, its form towering and radiant. But something was wrong—its light was fractured, unstable, flickering like a flame struggling against the wind. The figure raised its hand, and with a single motion, the world beneath it shattered completely, consumed by the roiling darkness.
The vision shifted abruptly.
Kaelin now stood in a vast chamber of gleaming stone and light. The Forge itself stood at its center, a monumental structure of swirling energy and intricate metalwork that pulsed with life. Figures surrounded it, cloaked beings whose faces were hidden by ornate masks. Their hands moved in precise patterns, weaving threads of energy into the Forge's core.
Kaelin took a step closer, drawn to the sheer magnitude of their work. The air was alive with the hum of creation, a symphony of power and purpose that resonated deep within him. But as he watched, he saw cracks begin to form along the Forge's surface. At first, they were small, barely noticeable. But they spread quickly, fissures branching out like a spiderweb across the glowing structure.
The masked figures reacted with alarm, their calm voices turning frantic as they struggled to contain the damage. The threads of energy they wove frayed and snapped, the light dimming with each failure. Kaelin's heart pounded as the Forge's hum grew unstable, its rhythm chaotic and broken.
A final crack tore through the Forge, and it shattered in an explosion of light and sound. The figures were consumed, their forms dissolving into the void as the energy of the Forge splintered outward, its fragments scattering across countless worlds.
Kaelin staggered as the vision shifted again, the scene changing to one of brutal combat.
He stood on a battlefield, its earth scorched and barren, littered with the remnants of shattered weapons and fallen soldiers. The air was thick with ash, the sky above a swirling mass of storm clouds. Two figures dominated the scene, their clash shaking the very fabric of the world around them.
The first figure was Kaelin—or rather, a twisted reflection of him. His features were sharper, his movements more feral, and his sword pulsed with an unsettling, blood-red glow. His eyes burned with a wild intensity, a man unhinged and consumed by his power.
The second figure was his opposite: a towering warrior clad in golden armor, their blade radiating an overwhelming, blinding light. They moved with precision and purpose, their strikes calculated and devastating. Each clash of their swords sent shockwaves rippling across the battlefield, tearing apart the already broken landscape.
Kaelin felt his pulse quicken as he watched the battle unfold. The golden warrior was powerful, their movements graceful and deliberate. But the shadow-Kaelin was relentless, his strikes growing more savage with each exchange. The battle ended abruptly as the shadow plunged its blade into the golden figure's chest, the light flickering and fading as the warrior collapsed.
Kaelin gasped as the visions faded, his knees buckling beneath him. He dropped to the ground, his sword clattering beside him as he struggled to catch his breath. The shard's hum was quiet now, its energy settling into a low, steady rhythm. His chest heaved, his mind reeling from the weight of what he had seen.
The Forge. The cloaked figures. The golden warrior. The reflection of himself. Each vision was a piece of a puzzle he didn't fully understand, fragments of a story that spanned countless worlds and lifetimes. The Forge wasn't just a source of power—it was the foundation of the multiverse, and its destruction had left scars that ran deeper than Kaelin had imagined.
The shadowy reflection lingered in his thoughts, its wild eyes and savage movements a haunting reminder of what he could become. The shard's energy coursed through him, a steady reminder of the power he carried—and the danger it posed.
Kaelin pushed himself to his feet, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword. The cavernous hall had returned to its eerie silence, the whispers and visions now a distant memory. But the weight of what he had seen pressed heavily on his mind, a burden he couldn't ignore.
The journey out of the keep was slower, each step measured and deliberate. The shard's pull had faded, its presence now a quiet hum in the back of Kaelin's mind. The fortress seemed emptier now, its oppressive weight lifting as Kaelin moved toward the exit.
As he stepped through the massive gates and into the night, Kaelin paused, his gaze drifting toward the horizon. The faint lights of the town flickered in the distance, but beyond them, he could feel the pull of another shard—a distant thread of energy calling to him through the fractured multiverse.
Kaelin exhaled sharply, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. The path ahead was uncertain, the road fraught with danger and questions. But Kaelin Veynar had chosen his path, and he wouldn't turn back now.