The wind howled like a wounded beast, carrying with it the acrid scent of Dark Energy. The skies above Brindlemark churned with clouds so thick and oppressive that even the faint glow of the shard seemed to struggle against their weight. Eryndor stood outside his home, clutching his threadbare cloak against the rising chill, his eyes fixed on the horizon where flashes of violet lightning illuminated the encroaching storm.
Storms charged with Dark Energy were rare but devastating. They twisted the land, warping whatever they touched. Crops wilted, stone crumbled, and even the sturdy, dark-resistant homes of Brindlemark weren't entirely safe. Worst of all, the storms drew Abyssal Beasts from their dens, creatures emboldened by the surge of energy in the air.
A shout from the village square pulled Eryndor from his thoughts. Villagers scrambled to reinforce their barricades, dragging heavy stones and salvaged metal into place. Elder Thorne stood near the shard, issuing orders in his firm, rasping voice.
"Secure the gates! Check every barricade—twice if you must! We don't have the luxury of mistakes!"
Eryndor spotted his mother, Lyra, among the group of women preparing herbs and bandages for the inevitable injuries. Her face was pale but composed, her hands moving with practiced efficiency.
"Eryndor!" she called, noticing him lingering near the edge of the square. "Go inside! It's not safe out here!"
He hesitated, torn between obeying her and the magnetic pull of the shard. The hum of the crystal was louder than ever, resonating in his chest like a second heartbeat. The storm wasn't just affecting the land—it was agitating the shard itself.
As the first drops of darkened rain began to fall, Eryndor found himself drawn toward the shard. The square was almost deserted now, save for a few villagers securing supplies before retreating indoors. The air vibrated with tension, every crack of lightning drawing nervous glances toward the gates.
Standing close to the shard, Eryndor felt the whispers again. They were sharper now, clearer, like a distant voice trying to push through a veil. He closed his eyes, straining to understand the words. For a brief moment, he thought he heard something—his name? A warning? He couldn't be sure.
The shard's glow pulsed in time with the storm, brighter and more erratic than Eryndor had ever seen. He reached out, his fingers hovering just above its surface.
"Eryndor!"
He jerked back, turning to see Arin rushing toward him, his spear glinting in the shard's light.
"What are you doing?" Arin demanded, his voice sharp with alarm. "You can't be this close to the shard during a storm!"
"I... I was just..." Eryndor stammered, unsure of how to explain the pull he felt, the whispers that seemed to beckon him closer.
Arin grabbed his arm, pulling him away. "Inside. Now. This storm isn't just weather—it's a beacon for the beasts. They'll be here soon."
The storm hit its peak just after nightfall. Thunder rumbled like the growl of some great beast, and the rain fell in sheets that hissed as it struck the ground. Eryndor watched from the safety of his home as the shard's glow illuminated the square, its light cutting through the thick gloom.
The first attack came with little warning. A shrill, inhuman screech pierced the air, followed by the sound of something heavy slamming into the outer barricades.
"They're here," Lyra whispered, clutching a knife as she stood near the door. Her eyes darted to Eryndor. "Stay close to me. No matter what happens."
Eryndor nodded, his heart hammering in his chest. He peeked out the window and saw shadows moving just beyond the glow of the shard. The beasts were larger than he'd expected—hulking forms with glowing eyes and writhing appendages, their shapes barely distinguishable in the chaos of the storm.
The villagers fought bravely, their weapons glinting as they clashed with the creatures. Arin was at the forefront, his spear flashing like lightning as he drove it into one beast's chest. But for every monster felled, another took its place.
Eryndor felt helpless, his body frozen as he watched the battle unfold. He clenched his fists, anger bubbling beneath his fear. Why am I so weak? he thought bitterly. Why can't I help?
Suddenly, the shard's glow intensified, flooding the square with blinding light. The beasts recoiled, their screeches turning to panicked wails as they scrambled to retreat. For a moment, it seemed as though the shard had saved them.
But then the light faltered, flickering erratically before dimming once more. The beasts hesitated, as if sensing the shard's weakness, and then surged forward with renewed ferocity.
Eryndor's breath caught as one of the creatures broke through the barricades, its twisted form charging toward the village. Arin leapt to intercept it, his spear striking true, but the beast barely flinched. With a swipe of its claw, it sent the hunter sprawling.
Panic gripped Eryndor as the creature turned toward his home. Lyra stepped in front of him, her knife raised, but he could see the fear in her eyes.
And then, as if responding to his desperation, the ember in Eryndor's chest flared. The shard's hum grew louder, drowning out the storm, and he felt a surge of energy unlike anything he'd experienced before. The whispers came again, clearer this time, their words cutting through the chaos.
"Focus. Act."
Without thinking, Eryndor grabbed a fragment of the shard from his pouch and hurled it at the creature. The fragment struck its chest, releasing a burst of light that made the beast shriek and stumble back.
Arin was on his feet in an instant, driving his spear through the stunned creature's skull. It collapsed with a final, gurgling cry, its body disintegrating into a cloud of dark mist.
The remaining beasts, sensing their advantage slipping, retreated into the storm. The village was left in silence, save for the shard's steady hum and the labored breathing of its defenders.
Eryndor sank to his knees, his body trembling as the adrenaline faded. Lyra knelt beside him, pulling him into a tight embrace.
"You were so brave," she whispered, her voice shaking.
But Eryndor didn't feel brave. He felt the ember still burning within him, the shard's whispers echoing in his mind. This storm had shown him the fragility of their existence, the constant threat that hung over their heads.
And it had shown him that he couldn't wait for answers. The shard held power—power he needed to understand.
As the first rays of weak light broke through the storm clouds, Eryndor made a silent vow. He would not remain powerless in the face of the darkness. He would uncover the shard's secrets, no matter the cost.