Smoke lingered like a ghost over the ruined outpost. Embers popped in the collapsed barracks, while the stench of blood, ash, and burned wool clung to everything. Alric sat alone on a broken stone, blade across his knees, staring into the dying firelight.
Across from him, Konrad picked at a strip of half-burnt meat with the same quiet grimace he'd worn for days.
"Seventeen dead," Konrad muttered, chewing. "Three captives. One of them half-mad."
Alric didn't respond.
"You burned their damn beds, too."
Still no response.
Konrad let out a breath. "You always were more fire than steel."
Alric finally looked up, eyes hollow. "They were sending letters. Someone knew we were coming."
"Traitors?"
"Possibly. Or worse — watchers."
Konrad spat into the dirt. "Always watchers. Every cursed place in this land has eyes behind it."
Somewhere in the East — The Temple of the Hollow Flame
Maela Veris walked barefoot through the crumbled ruins of the sunken shrine. The floor was thick with salt dust and red petals, carried by winds no one else ever felt. Her hand grazed the ancient mosaic walls, where the gods had long ago been scratched out by flame or fury.
The stone in her pendant pulsed faintly — blue one moment, then violet. Her fingers tightened around it. She knelt before a half-buried altar and began to whisper.
"Stone that broke the sky… blood that shapes the path… gods, if you still hear me… I am listening."
Silence.
Then: a flicker. A soft shimmer from the ceiling. Dust began to rise in swirls.
Something had stirred.
Maela's lips trembled — not from fear, but awe. "It's waking," she whispered. "It's truly waking."
Ravencross Outskirts — Three Days Later
They'd buried the dead in shallow graves, then moved to higher ground. Alric and Konrad camped on the edge of a dying pine forest, where frost never fully melted from the roots.
Their new companion was one of the captives — a scribe-boy named Joren, barely seventeen, whose chain of command had snapped the moment the Red Cloaks fell. He spoke with the stammer of someone not used to silence.
"I-I-I didn't mean to serve them," Joren explained as he tended the fire. "I only copied the scrolls. They never let me read them — gods, I swear it."
Alric didn't look at him. "What kind of scrolls?"
"Maps. One about something called the Starfall Basin. Another... just numbers. Long ones. Didn't make sense."
Alric's eyes narrowed. "They were counting something."
Joren swallowed. "Or waiting for it."
Highwatch — Inner Sanctum of the Guild of Whisperers
An iron mask lay on the table, polished until it gleamed like the surface of a still lake. Behind it, a woman in violet robes stirred tea with fingers that bore no nails.
"Ravencross is lost," she said calmly.
A cloaked figure across the chamber stepped forward. "The shardstone?"
"Not yet found. But it's near. And worse — the Prophetess moves."
The cloaked one said nothing.
"We'll need another flame. One that burns more… cleanly."
A long pause. Then, a soft nod.
"Yes, mistress."
The Next Morning
Joren led them to a cave he claimed the Red Cloaks had used for storage. It was half-hidden beneath a rocky outcrop, black moss crawling across its edges.
Inside, Alric found the remnants of a study — cracked ink jars, torn scrolls, and one map nailed to the wall. Konrad lit a torch.
The parchment depicted a massive crater surrounded by scorched valleys — Starfall Basin, labeled in old Velgrathi runes. Beside it: a symbol etched in silver ink. A circle divided by three jagged lines.
"What is that?" Konrad asked.
Alric didn't answer. He already knew.
He'd seen it in the dreams. In the shards. The same mark burned into the sky the night the gods fell.
Far to the South — A Red Ship Sails
Wind caught the crimson sails of the warship Aurex, cutting through black water like a knife. On the deck stood Captain Lysira, one eye gold, the other clouded. She wore a coat of scales and a sword carved from obsidian bone.
Her first mate approached. "Message from the Guild. New bounty issued."
Lysira glanced at the wax-sealed scroll, unimpressed.
"Another noble with a death wish?"
"No. A shard-bearer."
Her eye lit up.
"Alive?"
"For now."
She smiled, showing too many teeth. "Then we hunt at dawn."
Back at Camp — That Night
Alric couldn't sleep. He sat staring at the pendant he'd taken from a Red Cloak officer. It wasn't much — simple copper, but inside the stone swirled faint light. Not magic exactly. More like memory.
He touched it and for a moment heard a sound — like distant thunder underwater.
"Something wrong with it?" Joren asked.
Alric looked up. "Ever seen stone hum before?"
Joren hesitated. "My grandmother said the old gods stored voices in stone. Called them echo-keeps. But that's just… folk stuff."
Alric stared at the pendant. Then held it to his ear again.
This time, he heard words.
"The basin... must remain buried. The star must not rise again."
He dropped the pendant.
Konrad stirred in his sleep.
Far off in the dark, a wolf howled.