The night air in Bastion Draeth was thick and suffocating, as if the Ashlands themselves were breathing down Kaelen's neck. From his position near the shattered remains of the barricade, he could hear the low murmur of the bastion waking from its uneasy stillness. Fires burned dimly in iron braziers, casting long, flickering shadows across the narrow streets.
Kaelen leaned against a broken wall, catching his breath. The shard pulsed faintly in his pocket, its warmth steady but subdued, as if conserving itself.
The shard-hunters had left, but their threat lingered like a blade pressed against his throat. They wouldn't stay away for long. No one in the Ashlands walked away from a shard without trying to take it again.
The Shatterbeast paced nearby, its claws scratching against the broken ground. Its massive, hulking frame shifted uneasily in the dim light, and its glowing green eyes darted toward every shadow. Kaelen couldn't tell if it was restless or sensing something he couldn't.
"Settle down," Kaelen muttered, though the strain in his voice betrayed his own unease.
The beast growled softly but stopped pacing, its form sinking to the ground like a coiled spring. Kaelen ran a hand through his hair, his fingers brushing against the scars that lined his temple. He didn't trust the quiet—it was too thin, too fragile.
---
Kaelen needed answers. The shard was more than just another fragment of Dominion; it was something different, something bigger. The shard-hunters weren't mercenaries chasing a routine bounty. They had recognized its power and come for him with purpose.
And the shard knew it, too.
Its whispers had grown quieter, less demanding, but still present. It waited in the back of his mind, pressing at his thoughts like a persistent itch. Kaelen could feel its hunger—not for destruction, but for something else. Something deeper.
"I need more," Kaelen said aloud, his voice barely audible above the crackling fires of the Bastion.
The beast's ears twitched, but it didn't move.
Kaelen's gaze drifted toward the center of Draeth. The bastion had no ruling council, no centralized government. Instead, it was run by a loose network of factions—traders, mercenaries, scavengers—all of them vying for control of its resources.
One name came to mind: Drevan Skorn.
Skorn was a trader—or at least, that was the polite term for it. He dealt in shards, artifacts, information, and occasionally, people. If anyone in Draeth knew what the shard was or why the shard-hunters had come, it would be him.
But dealing with Skorn came with its own risks. The man was as ruthless as he was cunning, and his price was rarely simple.
Kaelen exhaled sharply, his fingers brushing the shard in his pocket. He didn't have a choice.
---
The Hall of Ash
The Hall of Ash wasn't a hall so much as a massive pit carved into the ground. Jagged stairs descended into the darkness, lit by a handful of dim torches that flickered against the black stone walls.
Kaelen made his way down slowly, his hand resting on the hilt of his broken dagger. The Shatterbeast followed behind him, its claws scraping against the stone steps.
The pit opened into a wide chamber filled with smoke and shadow. At its center was a raised platform, where a tall, gaunt man stood flanked by two heavily armed guards.
Drevan Skorn.
Skorn's appearance was as unnerving as his reputation. His skin was pale and stretched tightly over his sharp features, his eyes sunken but gleaming with an unnatural light. He wore a tattered cloak that swept the ground as he moved, its edges embroidered with strange, shifting symbols.
As Kaelen approached, Skorn's lips curled into a thin smile.
"Well, well," Skorn drawled, his voice smooth and cold. "If it isn't the boy with a beast at his side. I'd heard rumors, but I didn't expect you to survive this long."
Kaelen stopped a few paces from the platform, his shoulders tense. "I'm looking for information," he said, keeping his voice steady.
"Information always has a price," Skorn replied, his gaze flicking to the Shatterbeast. "And you've brought such an interesting payment."
"It's not for trade," Kaelen snapped, his hand tightening around the shard in his pocket.
Skorn's smile widened, and he stepped down from the platform, his movements slow and deliberate. "Relax, boy," he said. "If I wanted your beast, I would've taken it already. Now… what is it you seek?"
Kaelen hesitated, his thoughts racing. Skorn was dangerous, but he was also a man who thrived on secrets. If anyone knew about the shard, it would be him.
"I found a shard," Kaelen said finally. "A powerful one. The hunters were after it."
Skorn raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. "And you want to know why."
Kaelen nodded.
For a moment, Skorn said nothing. Then he laughed, a low, hollow sound that echoed through the chamber.
"You've stumbled into something far beyond your understanding," Skorn said, his tone sharp. "The shard you carry isn't just any fragment of Dominion. It's a piece of something greater—a remnant of the Eidolon Lords."
Kaelen frowned. "The Eidolon Lords are dead."
"Are they?" Skorn countered, his gaze piercing. "The Shattering killed their bodies, yes. But their essence remains, scattered across the Ashlands. Your shard is one of those remnants—a fragment of their will."
Kaelen's grip on the shard tightened. He had heard stories of the Eidolon Lords, beings of immense power who had ruled the world before the Shattering. But he had never believed them to be anything more than myths.
"What does that mean?" Kaelen asked, his voice low.
"It means," Skorn said, stepping closer, "that your shard is no mere trinket. It carries with it a purpose, a will. And those who seek it… are not the kind you want to cross."
Kaelen's chest tightened. "The shard-hunters."
Skorn nodded. "They're more than mercenaries. They're part of an order—an ancient group dedicated to gathering and destroying the remnants of the Eidolon Lords. To them, you're a threat. A loose end."
Kaelen's mind raced. The shard's whispers, its power, the hunters—it all made sense now. He wasn't just being hunted for what he had. He was being hunted for what the shard represented.
"What do I do?" Kaelen asked.
Skorn's smile returned, colder than before. "That depends on how far you're willing to go. The shard will give you power, yes. But it will also mark you. You will never be free of its burden."
Kaelen stared at the shard in his hand, its faint glow casting shifting shadows across his face. He had thought the shard was a tool, a means of survival. But now, it felt more like a chain—a bond that tied him to something far greater than himself.
"Your choice is simple," Skorn said, his voice soft. "Embrace the shard's power—or die running from it."
Kaelen looked up, his steely gaze meeting Skorn's. The weight of the shard pressed against his palm, its whispers growing louder.
"I'll decide my own fate," Kaelen said.
Skorn's smile didn't falter. "We'll see."