The storm had passed, leaving the village of Brindlemark battered but standing. The air was thick with the acrid tang of scorched earth, and faint wisps of dark mist clung to the edges of the barricades, reminders of the beasts that had nearly breached the village. The villagers worked tirelessly to repair the damage, their faces etched with exhaustion and quiet determination.
Eryndor stood in the central square, staring at the Abyssal Shard. Its glow had returned to its usual steady pulse, its hum softer now, like a deep breath after an exhaled scream. He reached out, brushing his fingers against its cold surface. The whispers were gone, but the ember in his chest remained—a faint but undeniable warmth, like a promise of something more.
"Eryndor," Lyra called gently from behind him. She stood by the fountain, her hands bandaged and her face pale but calm. "You've been out here all morning. You need to eat."
He turned to her, nodding silently. The events of the previous night played over and over in his mind: the beasts, the shard's glow, the strange energy that had surged through him. It felt like something had awakened, but what?
As they walked back to their home, Eryndor saw Elder Thorne speaking with Arin near the gate. The elder's cane tapped against the ground as he gestured toward the horizon. Arin nodded, his face grim, and Eryndor caught fragments of their conversation.
"…can't ignore the signs anymore… the shard's changing… we need answers."
Eryndor quickened his pace, not wanting to be seen lingering. He knew they were talking about the shard, about the strange surge of power that had saved the village. And though they didn't know it yet, Eryndor felt sure that somehow, he was connected to it.
Later that day, Eryndor sat by the window, his notebook open on his lap. He sketched furiously, trying to capture the moment the shard had reacted during the storm. His hand moved almost on its own, tracing the patterns of light and the way the shard's hum had changed.
The ember in his chest flared slightly, and he paused, placing his hand over his heart. It wasn't painful—more like a faint vibration, a reminder of the shard's presence.
"Why me?" he muttered under his breath. "Why do I feel this?"
He thought of Kaelen's words: The shard has its own will and purpose. If it's reaching out to you, it means you've caught its attention.
But why had it chosen him, a frail boy who could barely lift a blade? What could he possibly offer in return for the shard's power?
That evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Eryndor found himself back near the shard. The square was quiet, the villagers having retreated to their homes to rest. He stood in the shard's glow, his shadow stretching out behind him like a long, dark tether.
"I don't know what you want from me," he said aloud, his voice trembling slightly. "But if you're going to give me this… this power, then I'll find a way to use it."
The shard pulsed faintly, as if in response. Eryndor didn't know if it was a sign or a coincidence, but he took it as an affirmation.
His thoughts turned to the village, to the people who had risked everything to keep it safe. He thought of his father, Calder, who had stayed behind on that fateful hunt, knowing it might cost him his life. And he thought of Lyra, who had stood between him and a beast without hesitation.
Eryndor clenched his fists, his resolve hardening. He couldn't rely on others to protect him anymore. If he truly wanted to change his fate, to rise above his frailty and make a difference, he had to take the first step.
He knelt beside the shard, placing his hands on its surface. Its hum grew louder, resonating through his entire body. For a brief moment, he felt the whispers again, faint and fleeting, like a thread waiting to be grasped.
"I'll figure this out," he whispered. "Whatever it takes."
As the shard's glow enveloped him, Eryndor felt a surge of clarity. The world was harsh, unforgiving, and filled with shadows. But he would find his place in it. He would carve out a path, not just for himself, but for everyone who believed in him.
The shard hummed softly, and the ember in his chest burned brighter.
This was only the beginning.