Eryndor's steps were deliberate as he climbed out of the ravine, his body heavy with exhaustion but his mind sharper than it had ever been. The fractured Abyssal Shard's faint hum still echoed in his chest, a reminder of the connection he had forged.
The path ahead was rocky and uneven, but the ember in his chest burned steadily, guiding him. Every pulse of the shard in his pouch felt like a reassurance, a whisper that he had taken the first steps toward something far greater than himself.
As he crested the ridge, the forest came into view again, its twisted trees and dense canopy a stark contrast to the glowing ravine below. The silence that greeted him wasn't unsettling anymore—it felt purposeful, as if the land itself was waiting to see what he would do next.
Eryndor paused, his gaze drifting to the horizon. Somewhere out there were other shards, other answers waiting to be uncovered. But the weight of his responsibility pressed down on him like a heavy cloak. The visions the shard had shown him lingered in his mind: the golden cities, the Abyssal Core, and the consuming darkness.
He gripped the knife Calder had given him, the smooth handle worn from years of use. It wasn't just a weapon—it was a piece of his past, a reminder of the people counting on him to return stronger.
"I can't stop now," he muttered, his voice quiet but firm.
The journey back toward Brindlemark's outskirts was uneventful at first, the quiet broken only by the crunch of leaves beneath his boots. But as the forest thickened, the oppressive presence of Dark Energy began to creep back in, subtle at first, then more pronounced.
Eryndor's hand hovered near the shard in his pouch, the ember in his chest flaring in response to the shifting energy. The shard pulsed faintly, feeding him fragmented data: Creatures detected: 3. Distance: 25 meters. Threat level: moderate.
He slowed his pace, his senses sharpening. The forest ahead was dense with undergrowth, the shadows deep enough to hide any number of threats.
The first creature emerged from the gloom—a twisted wretch, its hunched body moving erratically. Two others followed, their glowing eyes locking onto Eryndor with predatory intent.
Eryndor steadied his breathing, his grip tightening on his knife. The shard pulsed again, revealing critical details: Speed: 10 meters per second. Weak points: rib cage, neck joint. Coordination: low.
The wretches moved in unison, their jagged limbs clawing at the ground as they charged. Eryndor dodged the first, slashing at its ribs as it passed. The blade struck true, and the creature collapsed with a guttural screech.
The second wretch lunged, its claws raking the air just inches from Eryndor's face. He ducked, driving his knife into its exposed neck joint. It thrashed once before falling still.
The third wretch hesitated, its glowing eyes flicking between Eryndor and its fallen kin. Eryndor didn't give it the chance to retreat. He surged forward, his blade finding its mark in the creature's ribs.
The forest fell silent again, the three bodies lying still at his feet.
Eryndor wiped his blade clean, his chest heaving. The ember in his chest burned steadily, and the shard's hum settled into a calmer rhythm.
These creatures weren't like the Abyssal Guardian—they were weaker, less coordinated—but Eryndor knew better than to underestimate them. The shard's data had guided him through the fight, but it was his instincts and resolve that had carried him to victory.
As he continued through the forest, the trees began to thin, and the faint outlines of Brindlemark's outskirts came into view. Eryndor's steps slowed, his thoughts racing.
He had left the village to grow stronger, to understand the shard's power and his place in the fight against the darkness. But what he had uncovered in the ravine was only the beginning.
The shard wasn't just a tool—it was a key. A key to unlocking something far greater than he had imagined.
Eryndor stopped at the edge of the forest, the faint glow of the village lights visible in the distance. He clenched his fists, the ember in his chest flaring with renewed determination.
"I'm not ready yet," he said softly, "but I will be."
With one last glance toward the village, Eryndor turned and set his sights on the horizon. There was more to learn, more to fight for, and he wouldn't stop until he was ready to face the darkness head-on.