ACT I

CHAPTER 1: THE SHARD

The air was crisp and dry, tinged with the scent of coming frost. Each breath she took was a reminder that autumn was slipping toward its inevitable, biting end. The cracked, dusty road stretched endlessly ahead, bordered by sparse, golden fields with trees stripped to bare branches. The occasional crow called out, a lone sentinel in the barren expanse. Arden adjusted the strap of her pack, its weight familiar, almost comforting, even as it dug into her shoulder.

Beside her, Ryn sauntered with his usual easy gait, sword hanging at his hip, boots caked in road dust. He carried himself like a man who had no destination in mind, though Arden knew better. His hand rested lazily on the pommel of his sword, but his piercing green eyes, sharp as a hawk’s, were always roving.

“Six days of walking, and I still don’t see this so-called forest of yours,” Ryn drawled, squinting into the horizon. “Starting to think you’re dragging me into a fever dream, Arden.”

Arden glanced at her companion, her warm brown eyes catching the fading light of the afternoon. “Patience isn’t one of your virtues, is it?” she replied, her tone as dry as the road beneath them.

“Patience is overrated. Results, on the other hand…” He gestured ahead. “Results get you somewhere. Like an inn. With ale. And maybe a stew that doesn’t taste like boot leather.”

“Maybe if you stopped complaining, you’d have the energy to appreciate the scenery.” Arden smirked, gesturing to the barren fields.

Ryn barked a laugh. “Scenery? I’ve seen more life in a drunkard’s coin purse. The trees are dead, the fields are bare, and if that’s a stream back there, it’s already dried up.” He kicked a loose rock, sending it skittering down the path. “Your idea of paradise leaves something to be desired.”

Arden shook her head but didn’t reply. She had grown used to Ryn’s constant banter—half humor, half irritation—but there was a rhythm to it that comforted her. It kept the silence at bay.

They crested a small hill, and for a moment, the road stretched out below them, a pale ribbon winding through the land. In the distance, the dark outline of a forest loomed, its shadow swallowing the horizon.

“There,” Arden said, pointing. “The forest.”

Ryn stopped, planting his hands on his hips as he tilted his head. “That’s not a forest. That’s a gaping maw ready to eat us alive.”

“You’re afraid of trees now?” she teased, glancing at him.

“Afraid? No. Suspicious? Absolutely.” His tone was light, but the faint crease between his brows betrayed his unease. “Tell me again why we’re heading into the ominous shadow-woods instead of, oh, literally anywhere else?”

“Because it’s where we’ll find answers,” Arden replied simply. Her gaze lingered on the forest, a flicker of something unspoken passing over her face.

Ryn didn’t miss it. “Answers about what? Your shard? Your missing memories? You haven’t been exactly generous with information as to why we’re here.”

She hesitated, her hand brushing the strap of her pack. “About everything,” she said quietly.

Ryn sighed and rolled his shoulders. “Oh, just that.” He adjusted his sword belt. “Lead the way, Arden. Let’s go get your answers.”

As they descended the hill, the light began to fade, and the forest loomed larger with every step. The trees were dark and gnarled, their branches twisting like skeletal fingers toward the sky. The air grew colder, sharper, and Arden felt the faint tug of the shard against her chest, like a heartbeat that wasn’t her own.

Ryn slowed his pace beside her, his hand drifting to his sword. “Got a bad feeling about this place already,” he muttered.

“That’s because you live for bad feelings,” Arden replied, though her voice was quieter now, her eyes fixed on the shadowed treeline.

He shot her a look. “And who always ends up being right about them?”

Arden didn’t answer. She stepped forward, the shard’s pull guiding her, drawing her into the shadows.

The first step into the forest felt like stepping into a different world. The air thickened, heavy with the damp, earthy scent of moss and decay. The faint sound of birdsong from the open fields fell silent, replaced by the low rustle of unseen movement—branches swaying where no wind blew.

Arden’s boots crunched against the undergrowth, and she gripped the strap of her pack a little tighter. Ryn followed close behind, his hand resting on his sword’s hilt as his eyes darted through the shadows.

“This is definitely cursed,” he muttered.

“You say that about every forest,” Arden replied, though her voice carried a note of unease. She glanced back at him, her expression faintly amused. “No one said you had to follow me.”

“No one said I couldn’t complain while doing it,” Ryn shot back, but his tone softened slightly. “Besides, someone has to keep you alive. And clearly, you’re not making that job easy.”

Arden didn’t respond. Her attention was pulled forward, toward the trees that seemed to close in tighter the deeper they went. The shard resting beneath her tunic pulsed faintly, a subtle rhythm that thrummed against her skin. It was a sensation she couldn’t describe—not pain, but a constant reminder of its presence.

“What do you feel?” Ryn asked, his voice breaking the quiet.

She hesitated before answering. “A pull. Like it knows where to go.”

Ryn gave her a skeptical look. “Right. Because trusting the mysterious, possibly cursed artifact always works out so well.”

“It hasn’t failed me yet,” she replied, though her tone was unsure.

“Yet,” he repeated under his breath.

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The forest thickened, the canopy above blotting out the remaining light. Arden drew a small lantern from her pack, the flame flickering weakly as it struggled against the oppressive darkness.

“Think you’ll find what you’re looking for here?” Ryn asked after a while.

“I think it’ll find me,” she replied, her eyes scanning the path ahead.

“Great,” Ryn muttered. “I love ominous cryptic answers.”

They continued in silence for some time, the weight of the forest pressing against them. Every so often, Arden would glance back at Ryn, whose usual easy demeanor seemed slightly frayed at the edges. His hand remained on his sword, his eyes flicking toward every shadow that shifted in the corners of his vision.

They reached a small clearing, the trees parting just enough to reveal a patch of ground littered with fallen leaves. The shard’s pulse quickened, beating in time with her heart. Arden paused, placing a hand over her chest as if to still it.

“What is it?” Ryn asked, his voice quieter now.

“I don’t know,” she said, her brow furrowed. She took a step forward, her eyes scanning the clearing for something—anything—that might explain the shard’s reaction.

Suddenly, a low growl echoed through the trees.

Ryn’s hand was on his sword in an instant, his posture shifting from casual to ready in a single fluid motion. “Tell me that’s not coming for us.”

The growl deepened, joined by another, and then another. The shadows at the edge of the clearing seemed to writhe, coalescing into dark, hulking forms. Arden’s lantern flickered, the light casting jagged shadows across the ground.

“Wolves?” she whispered, her voice tight.

“Not the regular kind,” Ryn replied grimly, drawing his sword. The blade caught the lantern’s faint glow, its edge gleaming. “Stay close.”

The first creature stepped into the clearing, its eyes glowing a sickly yellow. Its body was twisted, unnatural—patches of fur clung to exposed, sinewy flesh, and its teeth gleamed like jagged shards of bone. It sniffed the air, its gaze locking onto Arden.

The shard pulsed again, harder this time, as if in warning.

“Let me guess,” Ryn said, stepping in front of her, his sword raised. “This is the part where I keep you alive while you figure out whatever the hell that thing is, right?”

Arden didn’t answer. Her hand tightened around the hilt of her sword, her heart pounding in time with the shard’s frantic rhythm.

The creature growled again, lowering itself into a crouch. And then, it lunged.

The wolf lunged, its glowing yellow eyes locked on Arden. She barely had time to draw her sword before Ryn stepped forward, meeting the beast with a ferocious swing of his blade. Steel clanged against teeth as the creature twisted mid-air, evading the blow but losing its balance. It hit the ground with a heavy thud, snarling as it skidded to a halt.

Arden tightened her grip on her sword, her heart pounding in time with the shard’s relentless rhythm. More growls echoed through the trees, a chorus of predators closing in.

“Do wolves usually have glowy eyes?” Ryn spat, circling the first beast.

“No, they don’t,” Arden replied, her eyes darting to the shadows shifting at the edge of the clearing. “There’s more.”

As if on cue, two more creatures emerged, their forms just as grotesque as the first. Their fur was patchy, their muscles unnaturally pronounced beneath gray, mottled skin. They moved with a predatory grace, their glowing eyes fixed hungrily on the pair.

“Three against two,” Ryn said, his voice grim but steady. “We’ve had worse odds.”

Arden stepped beside him, raising her sword. “Speak for yourself.”

The first wolf lunged again, this time aiming for Arden’s throat. She pivoted, her blade slicing upward and catching it along its side. The creature howled in pain but twisted sharply, its jaws snapping inches from her arm.

Ryn lunged at the second wolf, his blade slicing clean through its shoulder. It yelped and stumbled, but its momentum carried it forward, slamming into him with bone-crushing force. He hit the ground hard, rolling to avoid its snapping jaws.

“Could use a little help here!” he shouted, shoving the beast away with a grunt.

Arden slashed at the first wolf again, driving it back before turning toward Ryn. The third creature was already closing in, its teeth bared as it bounded toward his exposed side. Without thinking, Arden thrust her sword forward, planting her feet as the blade drove deep into the wolf’s chest.

It let out a strangled growl before collapsing at her feet, its glowing eyes dimming.

Ryn scrambled to his feet, bringing his sword down in a brutal arc that split the second wolf’s head. He turned, panting, as the first creature snarled and retreated into the shadows.

“You’re welcome,” Arden said, catching her breath.

Ryn grinned, wiping his blade on his sleeve. “Remind me to never doubt your aim.”

The forest fell silent again, save for their heavy breathing. Arden crouched beside one of the dead wolves, her sword still in hand. Its body was already beginning to decay, its flesh crumbling to ash that drifted into the air.

“That’s not natural,” she murmured, watching the remains disintegrate.

“Nothing about this place is natural,” Ryn said, stepping beside her and looking around him wearily.

Arden didn’t answer. Her gaze was fixed on the ground, where a faint glow shimmered among the ashes. She reached down hesitantly, brushing aside the debris to reveal a strange mark carved into the earth.

“What is that?” Ryn asked, leaning closer.

The mark was circular, its edges lined with intricate, twisting runes that seemed to pulse faintly with light. Arden traced it with her fingers, a cold shiver running through her as the shard beneath her tunic began to thrum in response.

“It’s the same,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“The same as what?”

She swallowed hard, standing and pulling the shard from beneath her tunic. It hung suspended on its chain, glowing faintly with the same eerie light as the mark on the ground.

Ryn’s brow furrowed. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“It’s connected,” Arden said, her voice trembling. “The shard… it’s part of this.”

“Part of what?” Ryn demanded, his tone sharper now.

Before she could answer, a low rumble shook the ground beneath their feet. The forest seemed to draw in a collective breath, the shadows deepening around them. The shard flared brighter, its pulse quickening like a frantic heartbeat.

“Arden…” Ryn said, gripping his sword.

She didn’t respond. Her eyes were fixed on the glowing mark as a voice—low and guttural—whispered through the trees.

“Return it to the Grove…”

The voice faded as quickly as it had come, leaving an oppressive silence in its wake.

Ryn glanced at Arden, his expression a mixture of frustration and concern. “You care to explain what the hell that was?”

She shook her head, tucking the shard back beneath her tunic. “I don’t know,” she said softly. “But we need to keep moving.”

Ryn sighed, sheathing his sword. “Fine. But if any more of those things show up, I’m adding hazard pay to my nonexistent salary.”

Arden managed a faint smile, but her mind was elsewhere. The shard’s pulse still thrummed against her skin, and the weight of the voice’s words hung heavy in the air.

Return it to the Grove.

The forest pressed closer around them as they continued deeper into the shadows.