Rathic
The Dawn Reavers moved like shadows across the grasslands, their silhouettes painted against the darkening sky. At their head, Rathic rode in silence, his eyes fixed on the distant glow of campfires flickering like fireflies on the horizon. His armor—blackened iron adorned with symbols of severed suns—seemed to drink in the fading light.
"Another camp," muttered one of his captains, a wiry man named Corven. He spurred his horse closer, his voice a low growl. "How many do you think shelter them this time?"
"Enough to warrant their punishment," Rathic said, his voice cold and sharp as a blade.
The words left no room for debate, though Corven's gaze lingered on him for a moment too long. Rathic ignored it. Doubt had no place here.
As a boy, Rathic had seen the *Shattering Night* for himself. He had watched the skies burn and the earth scream as shards of Solaris tore through the heavens, falling like angry stars to mark the world forever. He had knelt with his kin, praying to the gods for mercy, but mercy never came. Instead, the shards fell into the hands of the chosen—humans and celestials alike—spreading chaos with every step they took.
He had seen it. He had *felt* it. And from that night forward, he understood the truth: the shards were a curse, and the Shardborn were its carriers.
"Cleansing fire," he whispered now, the mantra steadying him. "Only fire will purge the corruption."
Ahead, the campfires drew closer, the distant hum of a gathering tribe reaching his ears. It would be the same as before: a frightened people huddled around false hope, protecting a Shardborn who didn't deserve their loyalty. Rathic had heard whispers of miracles, of healing and light—but he knew better. The shards were fragments of Solaris's madness, *flesh of corruption*, and those who wielded them could not be trusted.
"It is not too late to reconsider," Corven murmured again, though his tone was careful now. "If these tribesmen yield, we might spare them. It is not them we seek, after all."
Rathic pulled sharply on his reins, his horse stamping in response. He turned his cold gaze on Corven, the fire of conviction burning in his pale blue eyes. "Do you think corruption distinguishes between the guilty and the innocent?"
Corven faltered. "No, General."
"Then you understand," Rathic said, his voice soft and deadly. "Their shelter makes them complicit. Mercy is a weakness we cannot afford."
Corven fell silent, bowing his head. Rathic looked past him, to the men following in a grim line behind. The Dawn Reavers were his creation—a force shaped by fire, steel, and faith. Every rider had witnessed the corruption of the shards, seen the villages torn apart by their chaos. They knew what was at stake.
And yet, as Rathic's gaze turned once more to the horizon, an unfamiliar weight settled in his chest. For weeks now, he had been haunted by dreams. Images of a woman bathed in golden light, her voice soft but urgent. He could never make out her words, but the sound lingered in his mind, clawing at the edges of his certainty.
*What if we are wrong?*
Rathic crushed the thought before it could take root. *There is no wrong in fire. There is no sin in cleansing.*
The campfires grew larger. He lifted his sword, its darkened steel glinting under the faint light of the stars. Behind him, the Dawn Reavers readied their weapons, the whisper of blades drawn from scabbards like a chorus of death.
"Burn it all," Rathic commanded.
The thunder of hooves erupted as the Dawn Reavers charged, their black banners whipping in the wind.
---
The Heavens
Far above the mortal world, where the air turned thin and the light grew blinding, the realm of Heaven remained still. Its spires of alabaster reached into infinity, their surfaces aglow with a light untouched by time. The rivers here ran gold, their waters whispering secrets only the celestials could hear.
And yet, for the first time in eons, the Heavens trembled.
Seraphiel stood at the edge of the Eternal Balcony, her silvered wings spread wide as she gazed down at the earth below. Her expression was impassive, but the light in her sapphire eyes flickered like a dying flame. She had watched the Shattering Night unfold with her own eyes, felt the world cry out as Solaris shattered. She had wept for what was lost, but she had also felt something she dared not voice aloud: hope.
"The mortals are moving toward war," said a voice behind her.
Seraphiel turned to see a figure step into the light. Raziel, Archangel of Order, approached with measured strides, his golden armor immaculate, his sword resting lightly against his side.
"Do you not hear it?" Seraphiel asked softly, turning her gaze back to the mortal realm. "The song of the shards. It is changing."
"I hear only discord," Raziel replied, his voice heavy. "The shards have brought nothing but chaos, as we predicted."
"Perhaps." Seraphiel's gaze lingered on a distant glow—a mortal fire burning against the darkness. "But chaos does not always mean destruction. Sometimes it is rebirth."
Raziel's face hardened. "And what of the Void Walkers? You know they watch from their place beyond the stars. They set this into motion, Seraphiel. You *feel* it as I do."
Seraphiel's wings shifted, her feathers rustling like silk. The Void Walkers' shadow loomed large over their creation, though they had long since fled. It was true that their interference had given birth to Solaris, and to the shards that now plagued the world. And yet Seraphiel could not bring herself to hate them.
"They watched because they feared," she murmured. "And we have done no better."
Raziel stepped closer, his presence imposing. "Our place is not to intervene. The Shardborn—those mortals who carry Solaris's remnants—are a stain. They will break the world further if we let them. We must prepare."
"Prepare for what?"
"For judgment," Raziel said, his voice like a hammer striking stone.
Seraphiel turned to face him, her jaw set. "And if they are not beyond redemption? If the shards are not a curse but a test?"
Raziel's wings flared, his patience fraying. "You let your mortal attachments cloud your judgment. Do not let your past sins repeat themselves."
Her eyes narrowed. "And you let fear dictate your path."
They stood in silence, two forces of will locked in opposition. Below them, the fires of war spread across the mortal realm, their embers carried on winds of fate.
Finally, Raziel turned away, his steps echoing across the balcony. "Watch as you will, Seraphiel. But when the time comes, you will stand with us. The heavens cannot abide disobedience."
Seraphiel did not reply. Her gaze fell back to the earth, to the mortals who carried so much weight on their fragile shoulders.
*Let them prove you wrong,* she thought, her hand tightening over the hilt of her blade. *Let them show us that hope can rise from ruin.*
---
The voidwalkers {a glimpse}
Deep in the endless black of the Void, far beyond the reach of stars, the Void Walkers watched. Though unseen and silent, their presence was vast, stretching across the great emptiness they called home.
A single voice rose among them, its tone laced with curiosity and unease.
"The shards have awoken something greater than we foresaw."
Another voice, softer yet colder, answered: "They are testing the limits again. Just as we once did."
"And what if they succeed?"
Silence followed—long and heavy. Finally, the cold voice replied.
"Then the balance will shatter completely, and we will see what remains."
The void rippled, its silence deepening, as the watchers turned their gaze back to the world they had abandoned.
---
Aelia
The battle at Tobin's camp erupted like a storm, fire and screams mingling with the clash of steel. Aelia awoke to the sound of chaos, her body still weak from the shard's power. She staggered to her feet, the camp ablaze around her.
Through the smoke, she saw Tobin fighting alongside his warriors, his axe cleaving through the oncoming Reavers. She saw Maric and the Children of Solaris, their golden banners raised high as they called on the shard's light to protect the innocent.
And she saw Rathic, his black armor gleaming as he cut down all who stood in his path, his eyes locked on her—on the shard she carried.
"Aelia!" Tobin's voice rang out. "Run!"
But Aelia did not move. The shard in her chest burned like a star, its light rising
to meet Rathic's darkness.
And for a moment—just a heartbeat—the heavens seemed to watch, as if holding their breath.