The early morning air was crisp, the faint hum of the shards greeting Eryndor as he stirred from sleep. The forge's fire had burned low overnight, leaving the space dim and quiet. He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and glanced toward the workbench where the shard fragments lay. Their faint glow was still there, like tiny stars in the gloom.
Calder was already awake, hammering gently at a piece of steel near the hearth. He moved slower than usual, his injuries making every motion deliberate. Yet, his determination was as steady as ever.
"You're up early," Calder said without looking up.
Eryndor yawned, stretching his sore muscles. "Couldn't sleep much. The shards... they keep humming. It's like they're alive."
"They are, in their way," Calder replied, pausing his work. "That hum you feel? It's more than just energy. It's a connection—to the land, to us. If you're hearing it now, it means you're starting to listen."
Eryndor approached the workbench, his eyes drawn to the largest shard. Its fractured edges glinted faintly, and as he reached out to touch it, the hum grew louder.
"Careful," Calder warned. "That one's holding more energy than the others. Push too hard, and it'll push back."
Eryndor hesitated, his fingers hovering just above the shard. "What happens if it pushes back?"
Calder set down his hammer, turning to face him. "Best case? It knocks the wind out of you. Worst case... well, let's not test that today."
Eryndor nodded, pulling his hand back. "Then what do I do with it?"
"Start small," Calder said, stepping closer. "Channel just enough to feel the flow, but don't force it. Think of it like a stream. If you dam it up, it'll overflow. If you guide it, it'll follow."
Eryndor picked up one of the smaller shards instead, its hum softer and less intense. Closing his eyes, he focused on the faint vibration in his palm. The ember in his chest responded, flaring gently as he concentrated.
The shard's glow brightened, and a small pulse of warmth spread through his hand.
"Good," Calder said, his voice calm but encouraging. "Now hold it. Don't let it slip."
Eryndor gritted his teeth, the shard's energy growing stronger. It felt like trying to hold a cup of water that kept refilling itself—steady but constantly on the verge of spilling over.
"I can't—" he started, but Calder interrupted.
"Yes, you can. Breathe. Let it flow."
Eryndor exhaled slowly, relaxing his grip just enough to let the energy settle. The shard's hum softened, steady and calm, and the warmth in his hand evened out.
When he opened his eyes, the shard glowed faintly but steadily.
"You're getting it," Calder said with a nod. "Takes time, but you're starting to understand."
Eryndor set the shard down carefully, his hand shaking. "It's harder than I thought," he admitted.
"Most things worth doing are," Calder replied.
Later that day, the two of them ventured out into the village. Brindlemark was still reeling from the battle, but the villagers worked tirelessly to repair the damage. Elder Thorne oversaw the reconstruction of the barricades, while Arin and the remaining hunters patrolled the outskirts.
Eryndor carried a bundle of tools Calder had repaired, delivering them to the villagers one by one. As he passed through the square, he caught snippets of conversation.
"They say he fought like a practitioner," one man whispered.
"He's just a boy," another replied. "How's that even possible?"
Eryndor's face flushed, and he quickened his pace. The attention felt strange, unwelcome even. He wasn't sure if he deserved their admiration—or if it would last.
By midday, Eryndor and Calder returned to the forge, both tired but satisfied. As they sat by the hearth, Calder spoke.
"You're not just working with shards anymore, Eryn," he said, his tone serious. "You're stepping into something bigger. People are noticing."
"I don't want them to notice," Eryndor muttered.
"They don't have a choice," Calder said firmly. "You're giving them something they haven't had in a long time: hope."
Eryndor stared at the hearth, the flickering flames casting shadows across his face. "What if I can't live up to it?"
Calder reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You already are."
That evening, Eryndor sat alone at the workbench, the largest shard glowing faintly before him. He placed his hand on its surface, feeling its hum resonate with the ember in his chest.
"I'll figure this out," he whispered, his voice steady. "No matter what it takes."
The shard pulsed faintly, its light seeming to respond to his words.