The days in the Wastes had passed with a strange rhythm, the cold wind sweeping across the land in endless waves. Zarin, Reya, and Maros had grown used to the bleak landscape, their training and the companionship of one another serving as their only comfort against the unforgiving world around them. The routine had become almost meditative—wake, train, prepare, and wait for the inevitable journey to the Spire. But deep in the silence of the Wastes, something had begun to stir.
The wind felt different today.
Zarin stood at the edge of the camp, the pendant around his neck vibrating faintly against his chest, as if warning him of something he couldn’t yet see. He stared out at the horizon, the sky overhead a dull gray, heavy with clouds that seemed to press down on the earth. The air felt charged, thick with an energy that made his skin prickle.
Behind him, Reya practiced with her sword, her movements fluid and precise, though Zarin could see the tension in her shoulders. She, too, could feel the shift in the air, though neither of them had spoken about it. It was as if the land itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.
“Something’s coming,” Reya said quietly, pausing in her drills to glance at Zarin. Her eyes narrowed as she scanned the horizon. “Can you feel it?”
Zarin nodded, the unease in his chest growing stronger with each passing moment. “Yeah. I don’t like it.”
They had grown accustomed to the harshness of the Wastes—the biting wind, the freezing nights, the endless gray expanse. But this felt different. It wasn’t just the cold or the desolation. It was something deeper, something that resonated with the magic that flowed through the land.
Maros emerged from his tent, his expression calm but his eyes sharp as he surveyed the horizon. Zarin could tell immediately that he felt it too. The old mage’s movements were slower than usual, more deliberate, as if he was calculating something.
“What is it?” Reya asked, her voice tense.
Maros didn’t answer right away. He stood in silence for a moment, his eyes narrowed against the wind, his staff planted firmly in the ground. The air around him seemed to hum with a faint energy, and Zarin could feel the magic stirring beneath the surface.
“The Wastes are changing,” Maros said finally, his voice low and filled with a quiet intensity. “Something has shifted.”
Zarin frowned, stepping closer to him. “Shifted how?”
Maros’ gaze remained fixed on the horizon. “The Wastes have always been unstable, a place where the Old Magic lingers, twisted and unpredictable. But this… this is different. The balance has been disturbed.”
Reya sheathed her sword, her eyes darting between Maros and the distant landscape. “What does that mean for us?”
Before Maros could answer, the ground beneath them shuddered.
The tremor was faint at first, a subtle vibration that rippled through the earth, barely noticeable. But within seconds, it grew stronger, the ground trembling beneath their feet with a force that sent loose rocks tumbling from the nearby cliffs. Zarin’s heart raced as he struggled to keep his balance, his hand instinctively going to the pendant around his neck.
“What the—” Reya began, but her words were cut off by a deafening crack.
The sky above them darkened, the thick clouds swirling violently as the wind picked up, howling through the air with a ferocity that made it difficult to hear. The ground continued to shake, the tremors growing more intense, and Zarin felt a surge of panic rise in his chest as the world around them seemed to come alive with chaos.
“What’s happening?” Zarin shouted over the roar of the wind.
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Maros’ eyes were sharp, his expression grim. “The Old Magic is responding to something. Something powerful.”
Zarin could feel it too—a deep, pulsing energy that seemed to rise from the very heart of the Wastes. It wasn’t just the tremors or the wind. It was something far more dangerous, something that had been awakened.
Without warning, the ground beneath them split open, a jagged fissure tearing through the earth with a deafening roar. Zarin stumbled backward, his heart pounding in his chest as the crack spread, cutting through the camp and sending chunks of stone tumbling into the chasm below.
Reya barely had time to react before the ground beneath her gave way, the fissure widening at an alarming rate. With a shout, she leaped to the side, her body moving with the speed and precision of a trained warrior, but the edge of the crack crumbled beneath her feet, sending her tumbling toward the abyss.
“Reya!” Zarin shouted, his blood running cold.
Without thinking, Zarin reached out with his magic, the energy surging through him as he focused on the crumbling edge of the fissure. The pendant around his neck glowed faintly, its warmth spreading through him, calming his nerves as he directed the power toward the ground. The earth responded, the edges of the fissure stabilizing just long enough for Reya to regain her footing and pull herself away from the brink.
She landed on solid ground, breathing heavily, her face pale but determined. “That was close.”
Zarin nodded, his heart still racing as he tried to process what was happening. The tremors continued, the wind howling around them, and the air seemed to crackle with energy.
“We need to move,” Maros said sharply, his voice cutting through the chaos. “Now.”
Reya sheathed her sword, her gaze snapping to Maros. “Move where? The whole ground is falling apart!”
Maros’ expression was grim, his eyes filled with a sense of urgency that Zarin hadn’t seen before. “The Spire. We need to reach it—now.”
Zarin’s stomach twisted. They had been preparing for this journey for weeks, waiting until they were ready to face whatever trials the Spire would throw at them. But now, with the Wastes unraveling around them, it was clear that they had no choice.
“Why now?” Zarin asked, his voice barely audible over the roar of the wind.
Maros turned to him, his gaze intense. “The Wastes are responding to something at the Spire. Something powerful has been awakened, and if we don’t reach it soon, the entire land could be consumed.”
Zarin’s blood ran cold. He had always known that the Spire held immense power, but the idea that it could affect the very fabric of the Wastes, that it could cause this level of destruction, was terrifying.
Reya’s jaw tightened, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword as she took in Maros’ words. “Then we don’t have any time to waste.”
Maros nodded, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the horizon. “Gather what you can. We leave now.”
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They moved quickly, the chaos of the Wastes urging them forward as they packed their belongings and prepared to leave. The tremors continued, the ground shifting beneath their feet as if the very earth was rebelling against them. The wind was relentless, whipping through the camp with a force that made it difficult to see more than a few feet ahead.
Zarin’s heart raced as they prepared to leave, his mind still reeling from the suddenness of it all. One moment, they had been training, preparing for the journey ahead, and now they were being forced to move, to abandon their camp and head toward the Spire far earlier than expected.
“Are we ready for this?” Zarin asked, his voice low as he strapped his pack to his shoulders.
Reya glanced at him, her expression serious. “We don’t have a choice.”
Zarin nodded, the weight of her words settling over him. They had been through so much already, had faced trials and dangers that had pushed them to their limits. But this… this felt different. The very world around them was changing, and whatever lay ahead at the Spire, it was clear that they weren’t as prepared as they had hoped.
But there was no turning back now.
Maros led the way, his staff glowing faintly as they navigated the treacherous terrain. The fissures in the ground had spread, cutting deep into the earth, and the air was thick with dust and debris. The wind howled around them, carrying with it the distant sound of something far more ominous—a deep, rumbling growl that seemed to echo from the very heart of the Wastes.
Zarin’s heart pounded in his chest as they pressed forward, his eyes fixed on the distant silhouette of the Spire. It loomed in the distance, its dark, jagged form barely visible through the thick clouds that churned above. The closer they got, the more oppressive the atmosphere became, as if the Spire itself was drawing them in, pulling them toward something they couldn’t yet understand.
“We’re close,” Maros said, his voice barely audible over the wind.
Zarin glanced at Reya, her face set with determination. Whatever was waiting for them at the Spire, they would face it together.
As they continued their journey, Zarin couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning. The Wastes had changed, and so had they. Whatever was happening at the Spire, it was far more dangerous than they had ever imagined.
And they were running out of time.