Night settled over Brindlemark, the village wrapped in an uneasy silence. The air was colder than usual, carrying a strange stillness that pressed against the walls of the homes and weighed on the minds of its people. Even the Abyssal Shard's faint hum seemed subdued, its glow dimmer than normal.
Eryndor sat near the window of the forge, his newly finished carving knife resting on the table beside him. He ran his fingers over its edge absentmindedly, staring out at the village square. Something about the night felt off, though he couldn't put it into words.
Calder was at the workbench, sorting through tools and materials. He had been unusually quiet all evening, his expression unreadable. Eryndor wanted to ask him what was wrong, but the words stuck in his throat.
"Eryn," Calder said suddenly, breaking the silence. "Did you notice anything strange about the shard today?"
Eryndor blinked, caught off guard by the question. "I... I don't think so," he said slowly. "Why?"
Calder set down the hammer he'd been holding and leaned against the bench, his arms crossed. "It's quieter," he said, his voice low. "The hum isn't as strong as it usually is. And the glow... it's dimmer."
Eryndor frowned, glancing out at the shard. Now that Calder mentioned it, he could see what his father meant. The shard looked... muted, like a fading ember in a dying fire.
"What does that mean?" Eryndor asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I'm not sure," Calder admitted, his brow furrowed. "But it doesn't feel right."
The unease only deepened as the night wore on. Outside, the wind began to pick up, howling softly through the village. Eryndor tried to focus on his sketches, but his mind kept wandering back to the shard and Calder's words.
A sharp knock at the door startled him, and he looked up to see Arin standing in the doorway, his spear slung across his back. The hunter's face was grim, his eyes darting around the forge.
"Calder," Arin said, his tone urgent. "You need to come to the square. Now."
"What's going on?" Calder asked, already moving toward the door.
"Something's out there," Arin said, his voice tight. "Near the edge of the village. We haven't seen it yet, but the barricades are shaking like they've been hit. And the shard... it's reacting to something."
Eryndor felt a chill run down his spine. Calder grabbed his hammer, motioning for Eryndor to stay inside.
"Stay here," he said firmly. "Lock the door and don't come out until I get back."
"But—"
"No arguments, Eryn. Do as I say."
Calder's tone left no room for protest. Eryndor nodded reluctantly, watching as his father and Arin disappeared into the night.
The forge felt stifling in their absence. Eryndor paced back and forth, his mind racing with possibilities. What could be out there? A pack of Abyssal Beasts? Something worse?
Minutes stretched into what felt like hours. The wind outside grew louder, and faint, distant sounds reached his ears—shouts, the clang of metal, the unmistakable growl of something inhuman.
Eryndor clenched his fists, his heart pounding. He couldn't just sit here and do nothing. Grabbing his carving knife and a small leather pouch of Abyssal shards, he slipped out of the forge, keeping to the shadows as he made his way toward the square.
The scene that greeted him was chaos. Villagers clustered near the shard, their faces pale and their weapons drawn. Arin and a few other hunters stood at the barricades, their spears raised. Beyond the gates, the darkness writhed, shapes moving just out of sight.
Eryndor's eyes were drawn to the shard. Its glow was pulsing erratically, like a dying heartbeat, and its hum had grown louder, a high-pitched whine that set his teeth on edge.
"Eryndor!" Calder's voice cut through the noise, sharp with anger and worry. "What are you doing here? I told you to stay in the forge!"
"I couldn't just sit there," Eryndor said, gripping his knife tightly. "I can help."
Calder opened his mouth to argue, but before he could speak, a deafening roar echoed through the village. The ground shook, and the barricades splintered as a massive figure loomed out of the darkness.
It was an Abyssal Beast, but unlike any Eryndor had seen before. Its body was larger than the others, its blackened skin crackling with dark energy. Its eyes glowed a sickly yellow, locking onto the villagers with an unsettling intelligence.
"Everyone, fall back!" Calder shouted, positioning himself between the beast and the villagers.
The beast lunged, its claws tearing through the barricades like they were paper. Arin and the hunters attacked, their spears finding their marks, but the beast barely flinched. It swiped at them, sending one hunter sprawling and another crashing into the shard.
Eryndor froze, his mind racing. The villagers were outmatched, and the shard was weakening. They needed more than brute strength to win this fight.
His eyes fell to the Abyssal shards in his pouch. An idea sparked in his mind—a desperate, reckless idea.
He darted toward the shard, ignoring Calder's shouted protests. Kneeling beside it, he pressed one of his shards against its surface, feeling the hum vibrate through his entire body.
The shard's glow brightened for a moment, then dimmed again, but Eryndor didn't stop. He held the shard steady, focusing all his energy on the faint ember in his chest.
"Come on," he whispered. "Do something. Please."
The shard pulsed, its light surging suddenly as a wave of energy radiated outward. The beast roared, staggering back as the glow intensified, bathing the square in brilliant light.
For a moment, everything was still. Then the beast let out a final, piercing shriek and collapsed, its body dissolving into dark mist.
Eryndor slumped to the ground, his strength spent. The villagers stared in stunned silence, the shard's light slowly fading back to its usual glow.
Calder was at his side in an instant, pulling him to his feet. "What were you thinking?" he demanded, his voice shaking with a mix of anger and relief.
"I... I just wanted to help," Eryndor said weakly.
Calder sighed, pulling him into a tight embrace. "You did, Eryn. You did."
As the villagers began to regroup, Eryndor looked up at the shard. It pulsed faintly, almost as if in acknowledgment.
The ember in his chest burned brighter, a quiet promise of what was yet to come.