Chapter 2: Echoes of the Past
Kael stood in the forge's doorway, the shard's faint glow casting a violet sheen across his knuckles, illuminating the tension etched on his face. Toren's gruff breathing steadied behind him, the blacksmith hauling himself to his feet with a groan, the weight of the moment pressing down on them both. The scream from the plaza still echoed in Kael's ears, sharp and desperate, pulling his gaze back to the rift shimmering above the fountain. It pulsed like a heartbeat, slower now, but far from silent, a dark promise of chaos yet to come.
"What did you do to me, lad?" Toren rasped, rubbing his temple as if trying to erase the remnants of the nightmare. His hammer lay abandoned on the dirt, its head still warm from the forge, a reminder of the battle he had just fought within his own mind.
Kael turned, meeting the older man's bleary eyes, the gravity of their situation weighing heavily on him. "I… pulled you out. You were trapped in a dream—some hell of fire and steel. You tried to kill me."
Toren snorted, though his face paled at the memory. "Sounds about right. Felt like I was back at the Battle of Ashen Ridge, swinging at shadows that wouldn't die." He paused, squinting at the shard in Kael's hand, its glow casting eerie shadows across the forge. "That thing did it?"
"Seems so." Kael tucked the shard into his satchel, its weight a cold comfort against the rising tide of dread. He glanced at Elder Mara, framed in the doorway, her shawl slipping as she gripped the frame, her expression a mix of concern and determination. "You said it chose me. What is it?"
Mara stepped inside, her cane tapping the uneven floor with a rhythmic urgency. "A Weaver's tool—or what's left of one. The Rift Spire was their watchpost, guarding the threads of this place before the Sundering snapped them. That shard's a fragment of their craft, tied to the dreams they wove."
"Dreams?" Kael's brow furrowed, confusion mingling with fear. "You mean the trances?"
She nodded, her gaze drifting to the plaza, where shadows loomed ominously. "The Weavers didn't just shape reality—they shaped what could be. Fate, visions, nightmares. When the Tapestry broke, their power scattered. Some of it lingered here, in the Shattered Crown, and now it's waking."
Toren crossed his arms, skepticism etching his scarred face. "And it's picking off my neighbors because… what? It's bored?"
"Not bored," Mara said softly, her voice grave. "Hungry. Something's feeding on those dreams, growing stronger. The rift's a symptom, not the cause."
Kael's stomach tightened at her words. He'd seen rifts before—wild tears spitting out beasts or swallowing carts—but this one felt alive, watching, a predator lurking just beyond the veil. "Then how do I stop it?"
Mara's lips pressed thin, her expression resolute. "Find the source. The spire's just the beginning. There's a vault beneath us, sealed since the Weavers fell. If the shard woke your gift, it'll lead you there."
"My gift?" Kael's voice rose, sharp with frustration. "I'm no chosen hero, Mara. I'm a scavenger who got lucky."
"You're Unshackled," she countered, her tone firm, unwavering. "Free of the gods' strings. That's why you can cross where others can't. The shard didn't pick a hero—it picked someone who'd fight anyway."
He wanted to argue, to push back against the weight of expectation, but Toren's heavy hand clapped his shoulder, grounding him. "She's right, lad. You pulled me out of that hell. Whatever this is, you're in it now."
Before Kael could respond, another scream cut through the air—this one softer, a child's cry, piercing the tension like a knife. He bolted outside, Toren and Mara trailing behind him. The plaza was a graveyard of shadows, the rift's light flickering over slumped figures. Most were villagers he knew—old Jessa by the well, her knitting still in her lap; Korrin the baker, face-down in the dust. All trance-bound, eyes open and vacant, lost to the darkness.
But the cry came from the fountain's edge, where a small shape flickered like a candle in the wind. A girl, no older than ten, her form translucent, her pale hair drifting as if underwater. She knelt, clutching her knees, her sobs echoing unnaturally loud, a haunting melody of despair.
"Lirien?" Toren's voice cracked, a mix of fear and recognition. "Gods, no—not her too."
Kael stepped closer, the shard humming in his satchel, a warning thrumming against his chest. "You know her?"
"She's Korrin's lass," Toren said, his fists clenching, knuckles white with rage and helplessness. "Went missing last week. Thought a rift took her."
"She's not gone," Mara murmured, squinting at the girl, her voice laced with urgency. "She's Spiritbound—caught between here and the veil. The curse has her too."
Lirien's head snapped up, her eyes hollow pools of light, reflecting the darkness around her. "Help me," she whispered, her voice threading through Kael's skull like a chilling wind. "It's dark. It's pulling."
Kael's hand hovered over the shard, a chill racing up his spine, a sense of foreboding settling in his gut. "Can I reach her?"
Mara nodded, though her face tightened with concern. "If she's calling, her dream's open. But be careful—Spiritbound dreams are fragile. Break them, and she might not come back."
He swallowed hard, pulling the shard free from his satchel. Its runes flared as he focused on Lirien, her form blurring at the edges, a flickering candle in the storm. "Hold on," he muttered, and pressed the shard to his chest, feeling its power surge through him.
The plaza dissolved around him, the world collapsing into a whirlwind of color and sound.
He landed on uneven stone, the air thick with dust and the scent of old decay. Ruins stretched around him—tumbled walls and shattered arches, a city within a city, frozen in twilight. The sky churned with gray clouds, split by streaks of violet light that crackled like distant thunder. Lirien stood ahead, her back to him, staring at a cracked altar carved with Weaver runes, the remnants of a forgotten age.
"Lirien?" Kael called, stepping forward, his voice echoing, swallowed by the oppressive silence that hung in the air like a shroud.
She turned, her face blank, then flickered—reappearing paces away, as if the very fabric of her existence was fraying. "You're late," she said, her tone flat, devoid of the innocence that should have marked her youth. "It's already here."
"What's here?" Kael scanned the ruins, the shard pulsing in his grip, a heartbeat of urgency. The ground trembled beneath him, and a shadow rose from the altar—a towering figure clad in radiant armor, its helm a blank mask of light, an embodiment of the very nightmares that haunted the village. A Celestial guardian, its sword blazing with a flame that didn't warm, but scorched the air around it.
"Intruder," it intoned, voice like breaking glass, a sound that sent shivers down Kael's spine. It lunged, blade slashing down with a speed that defied belief.
Kael dove aside, rolling behind a fallen pillar as the sword cleaved stone, sending shards flying like deadly shrapnel. His dagger felt pitiful against this thing, a mere whisper of a weapon in the face of such overwhelming power. But the shard's light flared brighter in his hand, a beacon of hope amidst the chaos. He thrust it out, a thread snapping toward the guardian's arm, desperate to redirect its fury.
The thread caught, yanking the blade off course, but the figure didn't falter—its free hand lashed out, a burst of light slamming Kael into a wall, the impact knocking the breath from his lungs. Pain exploded in his ribs, a sharp reminder of his mortality, but he scrambled up, clutching the shard like a lifeline. "Lirien, where are you?" he shouted, his voice strained.
Her voice drifted from nowhere, echoing in the vast emptiness. "It guards the truth. You have to see."
The guardian charged again, faster, its sword a blur of lethal intent. Kael ducked, desperation fueling him as he spotted the altar's runes—spirals and lines, a puzzle he'd seen Mara sketch once, a Weaver lock that held the key to their salvation. He darted toward it, the guardian's blade grazing his cloak, the heat of its passage a warning of the danger he faced. With a surge of adrenaline, he slammed the shard into the altar's center.
Light erupted, threads spiraling outward like a web of fate. They wrapped around the guardian, binding its arms, its glow dimming as it froze mid-step, caught in the very essence of the Weavers' magic. The ruins shuddered, the ground trembling beneath him, and Lirien appeared beside him, solid now, her eyes clearing as the darkness receded.
"Kael?" she whispered, trembling, the fear in her voice palpable. "I saw it—the shadow under the city."
"Hold on," he said, gripping her hand tightly, the shard pulsing once more, a heartbeat of power. The dream collapsed around them, the world unraveling like a frayed tapestry.
He gasped awake in the plaza, Lirien cradled in his arms, her breathing shallow but real, a flicker of life amidst the shadows. Toren knelt beside them, relief flooding his face, tears glistening in his eyes. "You got her," he said, voice thick with emotion.
Kael nodded, exhaustion tugging at him, the weight of what he had just faced settling heavily on his shoulders. The shard dimmed, its runes faint, a reminder of the battle fought and the price paid. He handed Lirien to Toren, who held her close, protective and fierce, and staggered to his feet, looking at Mara, who stood with a grave expression. "She said there's a shadow under the city. The vault?"
Mara's expression darkened, her eyes narrowing with concern. "Yes. And it's waking faster now. You've stirred it."
Before he could ask more, the ground quaked—not a tremor, but a lurch, as if the very earth was alive and restless. The fountain cracked, water spilling as time itself seemed to twist and warp. For a heartbeat, the plaza shimmered—villagers stood hale and whole, laughing, the city unbroken—then snapped back to ruin, the rift flaring brighter, a gaping maw of darkness.
"What was that?" Toren growled, clutching Lirien protectively, his instincts honed for battle.
"An echo," Mara said, her voice tight with urgency. "The past bleeding through. The curse is unraveling reality."
Kael stared at the rift, the shard heavy in his hand, its power thrumming with potential. Stirring it, she'd said. Whatever was down there, it wasn't waiting anymore. The battle was far from over.