Calder adjusted his coat as he sauntered into the bustling marketplace, the midday sun casting harsh shadows over the chaotic rows of stalls. The air reeked of spice, sweat, and something unmistakably rancid. Merchants bellowed their wares, voices clashing into a cacophony of desperation and commerce. He jostled through the crowd of townsfolk. He stopped to inspect an overripe apple at a nearby cart, tossing a coin onto the counter without waiting for change.

It was the sort of day he liked best—loud, busy, and utterly unremarkable.

A crate emitted a low, rumbling growl and then exploded.

The wooden slats splintered outward with a deafening crack, showering the crowd in debris. A creature—or what had once been a creature—lurched free. Its crystalline hide shimmered unnaturally under the sunlight, jagged shards protruding at impossible angles. The shape was vaguely bear-like, but its movements were wrong: too sharp, too deliberate, like a puppet under invisible strings.

Calder swore under his breath, dropping the apple as the crowd erupted into chaos. People screamed, scattering like leaves before a gale. Guards were nowhere to be seen, as usual.

The creature took a swipe at one of the stall holders, the body being launched through the air like a child's rag doll before landing with a dull thud several yards away.  

“Well,” Calder muttered, drawing his dagger, “not quite your average market day. Still at least it's not the tax collectors.”

A figure to his left was already moving, his broad frame pushing through the panicked masses with the ease of a boulder rolling downhill. A dwarf, Calder thought, he hadn't seen one in years, Not since… Well, it didn’t matter how long. Too long, anyway.. They'd all locked themselves up in the mountains protected by their Forgeweaving. This one looked like he belonged there, hammer and all, yet here he was, wading through chaos like it was an old friend

The dwarf hefted a large hammer, his eyes narrowing at the creature.

“A weave-beast,” he growled. “Of course it’s a bloody weave-beast.”

Calder sidestepped as the creature charged, its crystalline claws gouging deep furrows into the cobblestones, sending sharp splinters flying into Calder’s cheek. Its fetid breath reeked of decay and something metallic, like blood turned to rust.. “Don’t tell me you’ve seen one of these before.”

“Not like this,” the dwarf admitted, swinging his hammer in a measured arc. The hammer’s impact rang out like a bell tolling for the dead, and Calder felt the reverberation deep in his bones. “But anything shiny and deadly—aye, I’ve had a few run-ins.”

Calder and the dwarf played cat and mouse with the bear. Calder darted in when he could, his knife flashing fast and sharp while the dwarf beat a steady rhythm on the creature's unnatural hide. Calder snatched a glance at the dwarves' hammer, it looked like. But no it couldn't be. That hammer was a legend, long lost, he thought. But the way the dwarf swung it, it sang with each hit, as though it thirsted for battle. 

The beast's claws were unnaturally large, elongated by the crystalline growths marring its body. Even with his speed Calder had a hard time avoiding them and once or twice he felt the rush of air as a near miss near took his eye out. The creature’s claws leaving faint trails of shimmering dust in their wake

"Great he thought, just what would help one less eye as well."

One of its crystalline claws grazed his coat, tearing through fabric like paper and tossing him backwards. Calder staggered to his knees, cursing as the beast loomed over him, jagged teeth glinting.

"Getting slow Calder," he thought.

The dwarf saved him, barrelling in from the side, throwing his bulk against the bear's larger size. It was enough, Calder rolled out of the bear's reach and then spotting an opening, Calder flashed the dwarf a roguish grin—a silent, ‘Watch this.’

Calder leapt, his boots finding precarious purchase on the creature’s jagged hide. The sharp scent of burning Sangralite stung his nostrils as he drove his dagger down, the blade biting through one of the larger crystals with a sickening crunch. He hoped it was the right one. Calder rolled over the creature and narrowly avoided purple, steaming ichor spraying like molten glass. The beast let out a shriek that rattled his bones before crumpling in a heap, its crystalline body dimming to gray.

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Calder wiped purple ichor from his blade, muttering a curse under his breath. Around him, the crowd crept back into the square, their fear giving way to curiosity as the weave-beast lay motionless. It wasn’t the first monster he’d slain, but it was the first that left him feeling…uneasy. Something about the way it moved, like the puppet’s strings had been cut…

The square fell silent, save for the distant wails of frightened children.

Figures stepped out from the shadows, their movements unnervingly synchronized, dragging a wagon behind them. Their hollow eyes and gaunt faces marked them as Lost —those cursed enough to survive Sangralite’s corruption, though barely human anymore. Feint glowing purple veins traced across their faces, signs of the Sangralite coursing through their bodies. 

They moved as one, eyes fixed on some distant point only they could see. The creaking of their wagon wheels was the only sound, like a death knell echoing through the square. As The Lost started to load the beast onto the wagon , the Ash Warden, their silent shepherd, raised his right hand, the brand on his palm glowing with faint purple embers that pulsed like a dying star.. The dwarf mirrored the gesture. Calder didn’t. He had met a Warden once—briefly—and hadn’t liked it. Too much quiet, too much control. This one was no different.

“Wait,” commanded a figure stepping from the crowd. The voice cut through the chaos, sharp and calm. Calder turned to see a woman stepping forward, her presence cut through the crowd like a blade, each step deliberate and unhurried, as if she were untouched by the panic around her. Calder couldn’t decide if it was arrogance or something else entirely..

“The creature will need a binding ritual for its journey to the Corruption.”

The Embered woman knelt gracefully, drawing a small knife to shave a sliver of crystal from her staff. The faint glow from the crystal shard bathed her face in ethereal light and then it ignited with a soft hiss, and a faint, metallic scent filled the air. The vapor rose like ghostly tendrils, wrapping around her hands. Calder fought the urge to step back as the air grew heavy, the faint metallic tang of ozone filling his nostrils. But he also felt drawn by an urge to breathe it in.  As she inhaled the vapor, her eyes glowed faintly, and her voice deepened, the ancient syllables carrying weight beyond their sound. Her chant echoed unnaturally, as though the words themselves carried weight and then the prayer faded.

"Blood binds blood and embers fade, all is not lost until the last day" she intoned.

The crowd took up the chant "Blood binds blood and embers fade" they repeated.

Calder looked awkward, he's heard the ritual many times of course, but it wasn't his. These weren't his people. Damn it all, what was he even doing here?

The Embered turned to the Ash Warden. “You'll need an escort. The roads aren’t safe and the ritual will only hold in my presence.”

The man nodded, nothing he didn't already know. He was glad one of the Embered had been near. The Lost didn't usually have to deal with corrupt animals in the marketplace.

The dwarf snorted. “Lady like you can’t be unescorted out there.”

Calder shrugged, flipping his dagger absently in his hand. “"Because of course the grumpy hammer-swinger would volunteer to play escort. What about the Lost? They seem more than capable of looking after her.”

Drathin’s silence spoke volumes, his jaw tightening as he slung his hammer over his shoulder. Calder sighed, "An Embered. Fantastic. As if a shiny monster and a grumpy dwarf weren’t enough, now I'll be stuck with one of the sanctimonious spark-bearers...Fine. But if I get mauled by another shiny monstrosity, you’re buying the ale.”

"Still, that staff of hers might fetch a small fortune if the right opportunity came up," Calder thought.

The three of them fell in step behind the wagon, the Lost leading a sombre, slow procession through the city streets. The figures moved as one, their steps fixed on some distant, unknowable horizon. 

"Going to take the rest of the day at this rate," muttered Calder then raising his voice "Step it up Ash Warden, I have places to be", he called out.

As they continued on, the dwarf approached Calder.

"Not bad for a slippery human,” the dwarf grunted, adjusting his hammer. “Quick with a knife, I’ll give you that. Not many know how to take down a weave-beast like that.”

“Drathin,” the dwarf added.

“Calder,” he replied, offering his left hand.

Drathin stared at it, his brows furrowing deeply.

"What kind of man sticks his hand out like that?" He snorted, folding his arms instead.

“It’s a custom,” Calder said, retracting his hand.

“Odd man,” Drathin muttered, folding his arms, and his eyes narrowed. His eyes flicked to Calder’s dagger, then back to his face. “Too quick with that blade for my liking.Not from here then?"

“Not here,” Calder murmured, the words heavy with regret, “Not here”.

Too many years, too many places. And none of them felt like home anymore.

The city walls receded behind them, the marketplace a distant memory. Calder adjusted his coat and flicked a glance at his unusual companions and with every step, he felt the growing weight of a bad decision. He’d survived worse roads, but this time, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was walking straight into another wound—a deep one, and this time, he wasn’t sure it would heal.”