Callen's Escape
Callen had been pinned to the ground, the weight of the Dawn Reavers pressing down on him as they bound his arms behind his back. His shard flared with resistance, cracks forming in the earth beneath him, but the Reavers struck with precision, forcing him into submission.
He roared in defiance as he watched two of them drag his wife forward, her cries piercing the chaos. She pleaded for her life, but they simply sneered as a blade plunged into her chest, silencing her voice forever. Callen's heart shattered, his struggles turning desperate, but the Reavers showed no mercy.
In the confusion, his eldest son slipped into the shadows with his little sister, their small forms darting into the dense forest unnoticed. Callen's grief and rage boiled over, but the reavers simply laughed at him and tightened the ropes.
Bound and bloodied, Callen knelt on the cold ground, the remnants of his burning village casting eerie shadows over the Reavers' camp. His wrists ached from the tight ropes, and his head throbbed from the beating he'd received during his capture. The Reavers' jeers echoed around him, their torches crackling in the oppressive night air.
"Think you can run from us, Shardborn?" one sneered, prodding him with a boot.
Callen gritted his teeth, refusing to give them the satisfaction of a reply. Beneath his exhaustion, he felt a flicker of the shard's power deep within him—a fragment of creation waiting to be unleashed.
When the guards turned their backs, he closed his eyes and focused. The ground beneath him trembled slightly, the earth responding to his call. With a surge of effort, jagged rocks shot up from the soil, cutting through the ropes binding his wrists and sending his captors sprawling.
"Stop him!" one of the Reavers yelled, but Callen was already moving.
Grabbing a fallen blade, he slashed at the nearest soldier, the weapon feeling foreign but necessary in his grasp. His earth-shaping abilities gave him an edge, creating stumbling obstacles for his pursuers as he darted toward the forest's edge.
Pain lanced through him as a spear grazed his side, but he didn't stop. The screams of the dying and the crackle of flames spurred him onward. His children—his last hope—were out there somewhere, he had seen them slip from the grasp of a reaver and make it into the treeline. He had to reach them.
The forest enveloped him, the dense canopy blocking out the moonlight. Callen's breaths came in ragged gasps as he stumbled through the underbrush. Behind him, the Reavers' shouts faded, replaced by the ominous quiet of the woods.
But his reprieve was short-lived. His wound throbbed, and the loss of blood sapped his strength. He collapsed near a stream, his vision blurring.
Before unconsciousness claimed him, he heard voices—low and unfamiliar. Then, hands lifted him, carrying him into the unknown.
---
Tobins Protection
When Callen woke, the soft murmur of voices greeted him. He lay on a makeshift bed inside a large tent, his side bandaged with herbs that smelled pungent but soothing.
"You're awake," a gruff voice said.
Callen turned his head to see a man seated by the entrance, sharpening a blade. His eyes were sharp, and his presence exuded authority.
"Who are you?" Callen croaked, his throat dry.
"Tobin," the man replied. "Chief of this tribe. You're lucky we found you."
Memories of the Reavers surged back, and Callen sat up too quickly, grimacing in pain. "My children—did you find them?"
Tobin's expression softened, but his answer was firm. "No child was with you. If they escaped into the woods, they might still be alive. But you need to heal before you go searching."
Callen's heart ached, but he nodded. Days passed as he recovered, learning bits and pieces about Tobin's tribe. They were nomads, moving through the forest to avoid Reaver patrols, living off the land and their wits.
Tobin watched Callen closely. The man carried himself like a fighter, though grief weighed heavily on his shoulders. One evening by the communal fire, Tobin addressed him.
"You've seen what they do to our kind," Tobin said, gesturing toward the forest. "They'll hunt us until there's nothing left. But together, we can fight back."
Callen hesitated, memories of his wife's death and his children's possible survival warring within him. Finally, he nodded. If his children still lived, he would need strength to protect them—and Tobin's tribe offered just that.
The Reavers Ruthlessness
Commander Rathic stood at the edge of the forest, his arms crossed as he watched the flames consume the underbrush. The Reavers moved methodically, their torches turning the night into a blazing inferno.
In the distance, Commander Rathic surveyed the forest from the Reavers' forward camp. His soldiers moved with practiced precision, setting up barriers and fanning out in search of their escaped prisoner.
"Callen has proven resourceful," Rathic said to his second-in-command. "A mistake I won't allow twice."
The officer beside him hesitated. "Sir, the forest tribes are protecting Shardborn. If we push too far into their territory—"
"Burn it all," Rathic commanded, his voice calm but cold. "If the Shardborn think they can hide here, we'll root them out."
His soldiers obeyed without hesitation, their devotion to his cause absolute. Rathic's hatred for the shards burned as brightly as the flames before him. To him, the shards were a blight upon the land, their presence a direct affront to the natural order.
"Commander," a lieutenant approached, saluting sharply. "Reports of a shadow-cursed Shardborn in the area. Some say she's aiding survivors."
Rathic's eyes narrowed. "Find her. If she's real, we'll make an example of her."
As the forest burned, Rathic's thoughts turned to the larger picture. The shards represented chaos, and chaos had no place in the world he envisioned.
---
Selyn's Resolve
Deep in the forest, Selyn moved with purpose. Her shadow-wreathed powers cloaked her and the small group of survivors she led. Each face she saw—each frightened child, each injured elder—stirred her resolve.
"You don't have to do this," one of the survivors said as they rested in a sheltered hollow.
Selyn's dark eyes flashed. "If I don't, who will?"
Her powers marked her as cursed in the eyes of many, but she refused to let that stop her. The shadows she commanded concealed and shielded her charges, allowing them to slip past Reaver patrols.
Along the way, she encountered two others: Aelia, whose light-based powers brought healing and hope, and Eryndra, a fierce warrior whose abilities bolstered her physical form. Eryndra's shard powers strengthened her body, making her a durable, imposing protector. Though her abilities could heal others, it came at a significant cost, leaving her drained after even minor efforts.
"I'll guard the rear," Eryndra said when they stopped to rest. "No one will get through."
The three women formed an uneasy alliance, united by a shared purpose.
"We can't keep running forever," Eryndra said one night as they huddled around a dim fire.
"No," Selyn agreed. "But we can protect as many as we can—and make the Reavers regret underestimating us."
---
The Voidwalkers Observation
Far beyond the mortal realm, in the vast expanse of shadow where the Voidwalkers dwelled, an uneasy silence hung. The fragmented beings hovered in a circle, their forms flickering with the ever-changing hues of creation and destruction.
"This chaos is unsustainable," murmured Vyris, her voice a whisper of lamentation.
"It is necessary," Oras countered, his tone heavy with resignation. "The mortals must confront the consequences of their choices. If we act, the balance we strive to protect will shatter further."
"We are not blind to their suffering," Eidryn said, his fractured presence rippling with tension. "But intervention risks another calamity. The shards' power could destroy the fragile equilibrium we barely maintain."
Selca, who had been silent until now, spoke with a note of defiance. "Yet doing nothing may lead to the same outcome. How long can we stand aside and watch their self-destruction?"
The Voidwalkers' collective consensus held firm. Their purpose was not to rule or reshape but to ensure the balance remained intact. Even as the chaos below gnawed at their resolve, they knew the risk of interfering outweighed the agony of watching the world spiral further into conflict.
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