The Warden’s presence filled the room like a storm waiting to break. His voice carried the weight of authority, commanding attention even in the stillness. Though I couldn’t see him, I felt the intensity of his gaze as if it were stripping away the layers I tried to hide behind. The shard in my chest pulsed faintly, an almost imperceptible hum as though acknowledging the power before me.

“You tread on cursed ground,” the Warden said, his tone measured but firm. “Do you know what you’ve stepped into?”

Aric shifted uncomfortably beside me. “We’re here to investigate the disappearances,” he said, his usual bravado muted in the Warden’s presence. “If you have answers, speak plainly.”

The Warden ignored him, focusing entirely on me. “And you? Why are you here, child of Veylora?”

His words sent a chill down my spine. He knew who I was. Or perhaps he knew what I carried. “Because it’s my duty,” I said quietly, gripping my cane tightly. “And because I can feel it—this magic. It’s wrong.”

The Warden’s expression softened slightly, though his voice remained grave. “The magic you sense is ancient. It predates your kingdom and your ancestors. It is tied to forces that should have been forgotten.”

“Then why hasn’t it been?” I asked, my voice firmer than I expected. “Why is it still here?”

The Warden hesitated. “Because it was left unfinished.”

He led us deeper into the ruins, his steps echoing softly against the stone. The air grew heavier with every step, the faint hum of the shard growing sharper in my chest. I could feel the remnants of magic clinging to the walls like an old wound refusing to heal.

“The disappearances are no coincidence,” the Warden said, stopping in front of what felt like a carved pedestal. “This place is a remnant of the Age of True Magic. Long ago, it contained powerful artefacts—relics with immense, uncontrollable energy.”

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“Relics?” Resna asked her voice tight with caution. “You mean... like the shard?”

The Warden turned toward me, his gaze heavy. “What you carry is but a fragment of that power. A shard of something far greater.”

The shard pulsed sharply, almost as if in recognition of his words. I clenched my fist, the medallion pressing into my palm. “What happened to the relics?”

“They were destroyed,” the Warden said, his tone grim. “Or so we thought. But it seems fragments survived, buried and forgotten. Until now.”

“And these fragments are causing the disappearances?” Aric asked, his scepticism evident.

The Warden nodded. “The magic in these fragments corrupts. It twists the land, the creatures, and even the people around it. The villages that vanished... they were consumed by that corruption.”

The weight of his words settled over us like a shroud. I tightened my grip on my cane, the shard’s hum steadying me. “If these fragments are still out there, can they be stopped?”

The Warden hesitated. “It is possible. But it will not be easy. The magic they hold is unlike anything you’ve faced before. Even your shard...” He trailed off, his tone laced with doubt. “It may not be enough.”

“We have to try,” I said firmly. “If we don’t, more villages will be lost. More lives will be destroyed.”

The Warden studied me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he nodded. “Very well. But know this: you cannot turn back from the path you walk. Once you begin, the magic will change you.”

I felt the shard pulse sharply, its rhythm aligning with my heartbeat. “It already has.”

The Warden provided us with a map of the region, marking the locations where the fragments were believed to be hidden. Each site was tied to an old legend, a story that hinted at the magic’s power and the destruction it had caused.

Resna and Aric poured over the map as we prepared to leave, their voices a mix of strategy and caution. I stood a little apart, the shard’s quiet but insistent hum urging me forward.

“Caelan,” the Warden said, drawing my attention. He stood at the edge of the ruins, his figure outlined faintly in the dim light. “A word before you go.”

I approached him, the shard’s energy sharpening my senses as I drew closer. “What is it?”

“You carry a great burden,” he said, his tone low. “The shard you possess is both a gift and a curse. It will guide you but also demand more than you can imagine.”

I nodded, my grip tightening on the medallion. “I’m ready for that.”

“Perhaps,” the Warden said, though his voice carried a note of doubt. “But be careful, Caelan. Magic like this has a way of testing the soul. You may find yourself becoming something... unrecognizable.”

His words lingered as we left the ruins, the map in hand and the shard’s hum growing sharper with every step. The path ahead was clearer now, but it was also more dangerous. The magic we sought wasn’t just a threat to the world—it was a threat to ourselves.