Chapter 1: The Weight of a Choice
Erynn woke to the sensation of cold stone beneath their cheek and a faint, rhythmic glow that pulsed against their chest. The shard.
For a moment, they stayed still, the events of the night before crashing back like a tide—running, the chase, the shrine, and the voice that had spoken as if it had known them all their life. Slowly, Erynn pushed themselves up, grimacing at the dull ache in their limbs.
The square was silent now, shrouded in the hazy light of dawn. Vines draped over the crumbling shrine like skeletal fingers, and the air felt heavier, as though the shard's power had unsettled something ancient in this place.
Erynn opened their cloak just enough to glance at the artifact. Its crystalline surface was dim now, no longer the brilliant flare that had lit up the square. But the faint hum beneath their fingertips told them it wasn't dormant—not completely.
"What are you?" they whispered again. The shard gave no reply, but the weight of it in their hands felt more significant now, like a silent answer they couldn't quite grasp.
A distant clamor broke the stillness—shouts, the clatter of boots on stone.
Erynn's stomach twisted. They're still hunting me.
Forcing their weary body into motion, they slipped through the shadowed alleys of Caldrith, keeping to the narrowest paths and avoiding the bustling main streets where soldiers patrolled. The city was waking up, its choking air filled with the sound of vendors shouting and carts rattling over uneven cobblestones.
Erynn tugged their patched cloak tighter around their frame, their mind racing. The pursuers hadn't given up, which meant whoever wanted the shard wasn't just going to forget about it. The memory of the robed figure in the floating citadels surfaced in their mind—a face shrouded in shadows, watching them through a shimmering mirror.
"What have I gotten myself into?" they muttered under their breath.
The marketplace loomed ahead, a tangle of stalls and shouting merchants. It was dangerous to head into the crowds, but blending in there might be their best chance of losing their trail.
The Marketplace
Erynn slipped into the throng of people, keeping their head down. The smell of roasted meat and spilled ale mingled with the ever-present stench of the lower city. Around them, merchants hawked wares: exotic spices, rusted trinkets, and jars of faintly glowing substances that might have once been magical.
A voice cut through the din—a soldier barking orders.
Erynn's heart skipped. They ducked behind a stall stacked with crates of dried herbs, keeping their head low as a patrol marched past. The leader, clad in blackened steel, held up a parchment bearing a crude sketch of Erynn's face.
"Relic thief," the soldier growled, showing the drawing to a vendor. "Seen them?"
The vendor squinted at the picture, then shook their head. "Don't think so. What's the bounty?"
"Enough to buy yourself out of this pit," the soldier snapped, crumpling the paper and moving on.
Erynn let out a shaky breath and slipped away, the shard a reassuring weight beneath their cloak. But relief was short-lived.
A hand clamped down on their arm.
"Well, well," a rough voice said. "You look like someone who doesn't belong here."
Erynn froze, their pulse thundering. The man holding them was broad-shouldered, with a face marred by a jagged scar. He wasn't a soldier, but the glint in his eyes and the dagger at his belt made his intentions clear.
"Let go," Erynn said, trying to sound braver than they felt.
The man laughed. "Oh, I don't think so. Word on the street says someone's looking for a thief. That wouldn't happen to be you, would it?"
Erynn's mind raced. They could feel the faint warmth of the shard against their chest, like an ember waiting to ignite. Instinct told them to run, but there was no clear escape.
The man leaned closer, his voice low and threatening. "Why don't we take a walk, hmm? You've got something valuable, and I—"
A burst of light erupted from Erynn's hand, throwing the man backward. He crashed into a nearby stall, sending crates and jars scattering. Gasps erupted from the crowd as Erynn stood frozen, their hand still glowing faintly.
"What…?" Erynn stared at their palm, horrified and exhilarated all at once.
"Get them!" someone shouted, and the marketplace erupted into chaos.
A Fateful Encounter
Erynn fled again, weaving through the panicked crowd. The shard's pulse seemed to guide them, pulling them toward a small, darkened alley. They ducked inside, their breathing ragged.
Before they could catch their breath, a figure stepped from the shadows.
"Impressive," the stranger said, their voice smooth and tinged with amusement.
Erynn tensed. The figure was tall and clad in a dark coat, their face partially hidden by a hood. But their eyes—golden and piercing—shone with an otherworldly light.
"Who are you?" Erynn demanded, their hand hovering protectively over the shard.
The stranger smiled. "A friend. Or an enemy, depending on your choices."
Erynn's fingers tightened around the shard. "Why are you following me?"
"Because you've stumbled onto something far bigger than yourself," the stranger said, stepping closer. "That shard you're carrying? It's not just a relic. It's a key. And if you're not careful, it'll get you killed."
Erynn's breath caught. "A key to what?"
"To everything," the stranger replied. "But first, you need to learn how to survive."
Closing Scene
The sound of distant shouts echoed through the alley. The stranger extended a hand.
"You can stay here and wait for them to find you," they said, their tone casual. "Or you can come with me and learn what that shard really is."
Erynn hesitated, their gaze flicking between the stranger and the alley's entrance. The shard pulsed faintly, as if urging them forward.
With a deep breath, Erynn took the stranger's hand.
"Good choice," the stranger said, their golden eyes gleaming. "Let's begin."