The wind howled through the desolate ruins of the ancient city, the remnants of a once-great civilization that had long since fallen to the ravages of time. Amid the broken towers and crumbling stone, Anya moved like a shadow, her silver eyes scanning the horizon, ever watchful, ever aware. She had seen enough destruction in her lifetime to understand the silence of a place like this—the kind of silence that spoke of things long forgotten, buried beneath the dust of centuries.
It wasn't the first time Anya had been here, though she hadn't expected to return. The library, buried in the heart of the ruined city, was one of the few places that had survived the endless wars, the battles between those who sought power and those who were forced to wield it. It was here that she had once found her own purpose—a purpose that had long since become clouded by the shadows of the past.
She wasn't alone, though. Elara, the woman who had once been her ally—and, in some ways, her only friend—was not far behind. Anya had seen the familiar signs of Elara's magic before, felt the subtle shifts in the air as the other woman's presence grew nearer. But it was Sirt, the newcomer, who had brought her back to this cursed place. The thief whose fate had been sealed the moment he touched the shard. The one who had drawn the attention of both the forces of the realm and those who walked the shadows.
Anya's steps slowed as she approached the entrance to the library. The ancient doors were ajar, their hinges creaking in protest, as though they, too, were reluctant to face what lay beyond. She remembered the first time she had stepped through those doors—long before the world had changed, before the Essence Cycle had begun to consume all those drawn to its power. She had come here seeking knowledge, searching for answers, but the price of that knowledge had been higher than she could have ever imagined.
She hadn't been the same since.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps behind her. She didn't need to look to know it was Elara. The other woman was silent, as always, but there was a palpable tension between them—a weight of unspoken words and shared history.
"You knew he'd come here," Elara's voice broke the silence, quiet but sharp.
Anya nodded without turning. "I knew the shard would find him. It always does."
They both knew what that meant. The shard wasn't just an artifact. It was a beacon, a signal to all those who sought power. And Sirt, whether he realized it or not, had been marked. He was now part of the cycle, destined to walk a path that only a few had survived.
"What will you do with him?" Elara asked, her voice tinged with something softer than usual. A hint of concern, perhaps. Or maybe just resignation.
Anya finally turned to face her, her expression unreadable. "I'll teach him what I can. But the rest is up to him. It always is."
They had arrived at the central chamber of the library. The ancient walls were lined with shelves upon shelves of dusty tomes and glowing artifacts—remnants of the world that had once been. But it was the shard, still clutched in Sirt's hand, that drew Anya's gaze. She could feel its energy from here, the pulse of magic that seemed to hum through the air, filling the room with a palpable tension.
It had always been like this. The shard called to those who were worthy, or perhaps those who were foolish enough to seek its power. Anya had been one of them. But she had learned the cost of such a decision—had learned the price of becoming part of the Essence Cycle.
A memory surfaced, unbidden. The first time she had found herself in this very library, years ago, just after the shard had chosen her. She had been young, naïve, and desperate for something more than the life she had known. The shard had whispered to her in dreams, a call that she could not ignore. And when she had finally found it, it had been like nothing she had ever experienced. The magic, the power, the feeling of being connected to something greater than herself. It had consumed her, transformed her.
But the transformation had not come without a cost. As much as the power had given her, it had also taken—stripping away parts of herself she had once held dear. Her innocence, her connection to the world she had known, had all been lost in the cycle.
Now, as she watched Sirt struggle to understand the power he had awakened within himself, she couldn't help but feel a sense of déjà vu. She had been there once, a new Shardbearer with no idea what to do with the power that pulsed within her. The shard had chosen her, just as it had chosen him. But unlike Sirt, Anya hadn't had the luxury of time to learn how to control it.
She had been thrust into the cycle, just as he would be, with no guide and no mentor. The world had been a far more dangerous place back then. She had survived, but many others hadn't. It was a bitter truth she had learned too well.
She stepped forward, her eyes narrowing as she watched Sirt's movements. He was still fumbling with the shard, trying to make sense of the strange energy pulsing from it. Anya had seen enough to know that he wasn't ready. None of them ever were, not at first.
Her fingers brushed against the edge of one of the shelves, and the air around her seemed to shiver. Magic. The magic that flowed through the library's forgotten tomes, waiting to be unlocked. Waiting for someone like her, someone who had learned the true meaning of the Essence Cycle.
"Elara," Anya's voice was soft but firm, a command laced with something unspoken. "We need to move quickly. The longer we stay here, the more dangerous it becomes. The Wraithkin will come for us."
Elara's gaze flickered to Sirt, then back to Anya. "Do you think he's ready?"
Anya's lips quirked into a faint, humorless smile. "No one is ever ready. But he'll have to be." She looked back at the young thief, still struggling with the shard. "The cycle has already begun. And whether he likes it or not, he's in this for the long haul."
With a final glance at the broken remnants of the world around her, Anya turned and headed deeper into the library. She didn't look back. The past was behind her, and the future—uncertain and fraught with danger—waited for them all. Sirt was just another part of that future now.