The safe house felt colder than usual when Arin woke the next morning. His body ached from the previous night’s raid, the lingering soreness serving as a reminder of his first taste of real combat. He lay on the creaky cot, staring at the ceiling, the events playing over in his mind like a broken reel.

The shard. That pulse of power. The way it had seemed to draw energy from him, leaving him drained yet exhilarated. Arin’s fingers brushed against the pocket where it rested, cool and deceptively inert now. What was this thing, really? And why did it feel like it was more than just a tool?

A sharp knock on the door shattered his thoughts.

"You’re awake," Roderic said as he stepped inside, carrying a steaming cup of something that smelled like burnt herbs. "Good. We need to talk."

Arin propped himself up on one elbow, his curiosity piqued. “About the shard?”

“Among other things,” Roderic replied, handing him the cup. "Drink. It’ll help with the fatigue."

The concoction tasted as bad as it smelled, but Arin forced it down, grimacing. "So, what’s on your mind?"

Roderic leaned against the wall, his arms crossed. "You did well last night. Better than I expected. But that shard… it’s dangerous. And not just for you."

Arin’s stomach twisted. "I didn’t mean to put anyone in danger."

"It’s not about what you meant," Roderic said, his tone firm but not unkind. "The shard’s power is unpredictable. It’s a double-edged sword. And if we’re not careful, it could cut us all."

Arin frowned. "What do you know about it?"

Roderic’s expression darkened. "Not enough. That’s the problem. What I do know is that the Crestborne have been hunting these shards for years. Whatever they plan to do with them can’t be good."

Before Arin could respond, Kaelith appeared in the doorway, her ever-present smirk firmly in place. "Am I interrupting, or can we talk about the part where our dear Crestborne friends are poking around the northern woods?"

Roderic’s eyes narrowed. "How many?"

The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

"Enough to make me think they’re onto something," Kaelith said, stepping fully into the room. "They’re combing through old ruins. If they’re looking for more shards, we might have a problem."

Arin’s chest tightened. "More shards? You mean there’s more than one?"

Kaelith shot him a look. "Of course there is. You think you’ve got the only magical rock in existence?"

Roderic silenced her with a raised hand. "If they’re searching the ruins, we need to move fast. Kaelith, gather the team. Arin, you’re coming with me."

"Where are we going?" Arin asked, rising to his feet despite the protests of his sore muscles.

"To find answers," Roderic said. "There’s someone who might be able to tell us more about your shard. But getting to them won’t be easy."

----------------------------------------

The journey took them deep into the forest, the towering trees casting long shadows that seemed to stretch endlessly. Roderic’s pace was relentless, leaving Arin struggling to keep up. Despite his questions, Roderic remained tight-lipped, his focus fixed on their destination.

Hours later, they arrived at a secluded cabin hidden among the trees. The structure was weathered but sturdy, its windows glowing faintly with warm light. Roderic knocked on the door in a deliberate pattern, and after a tense moment, it creaked open.

An elderly woman stood in the doorway, her sharp eyes studying them intently. Her hair was a wild tangle of silver, and she carried herself with an air of authority that made Arin instinctively wary.

"Roderic," she said, her voice steady and clear. "It’s been a long time."

"Too long, Anara," Roderic replied. "We need your help."

Anara’s gaze shifted to Arin, and her eyes narrowed. "You brought him."

Arin stiffened. "Is that a problem?"

"It might be," she said cryptically. "Come inside."

The cabin’s interior was cluttered with books, vials, and strange artifacts. Anara gestured for them to sit at a wooden table, then turned her attention to Arin.

"Show me the shard," she commanded.

Arin hesitated but ultimately complied, placing the shard on the table. Its glow intensified as Anara leaned closer, her expression unreadable.

"This shard," she murmured, "is older than anything you can imagine. It was forged in the age of the Primarchs, imbued with the essence of the world itself."

Arin’s breath caught. "What does that mean?"

Anara’s eyes met his, and for the first time, there was a hint of fear in her gaze. "It means that whoever controls these shards controls more than just magic. They control life, death, and the very fabric of existence."

The room fell silent as her words sank in. Arin’s mind raced, the weight of the shard suddenly feeling unbearable.

"If the Crestborne are searching for these," Roderic said, breaking the silence, "then we’re running out of time."

Anara nodded. "You need to stay ahead of them. But be warned—the shard’s power comes at a cost. And the more you use it, the more it will demand of you."

Arin’s heart sank. He had hoped for answers, but all he’d found were more questions and an ominous warning. As they left the cabin and began the trek back to the safe house, he couldn’t shake the feeling that his journey was only just beginning—and that the shard’s true nature was far darker than he’d ever imagined.