The village was silent, save for the faint rustling of leaves in the wind. Kael stood amidst the ruins, the third shard clutched tightly in his hand. Its glow was faint but menacing, a reminder of the power he now carried—and the cost it demanded. The villagers lay motionless around him, their bodies twisted and broken by the shard's corruption.
Lyra knelt beside one of the villagers, her expression grim. "They're gone," she said softly, her voice tinged with regret. "There's nothing we can do for them now."
Kael's grip on the shard tightened, his knuckles turning white. "This power… it's destroying everything it touches. How can we keep doing this?"
Eryndor stepped forward, their hood casting a shadow over their face. "The shards are dangerous, but they're necessary. If Drakthar gets his hands on them, the entire world will suffer."
Kael turned to Eryndor, his silver eyes blazing with anger. "And what about us? What about the people we're hurting along the way? Is this really worth it?"
Eryndor's expression was unreadable, but for a moment, Kael thought he saw a flicker of doubt in their eyes. "The path to power is never easy," they said finally. "But if we don't take it, someone else will—someone like Drakthar."
Lyra stood, her blade resting on her shoulder. "We don't have time for this. Drakthar's forces are closing in, and we need to move."
Kael hesitated, his gaze lingering on the fallen villagers. He wanted to argue, to find another way, but he knew Lyra was right. They couldn't afford to stay here.
As they left the village, Kael couldn't shake the feeling of guilt that weighed heavily on his chest. The shard in his hand felt colder than ever, its whispers growing louder in his mind. He wondered how much longer he could carry this burden before it consumed him.