Whispers of the Shard

The forest was silent, save for the quiet snap of burning twigs. Aethon Kaelin sat by the fire, watching the flames. Eira slept a few feet away. Nearby, Leloid sat with his back against a tree, eyes closed but not asleep. He hadn't said much since they escaped Lyrex's ambush.

It felt too easy, slipping past someone like her.

Aethon's hand hovered near the leather pouch at his side. The shard was inside, and it hadn't stopped humming since last night. Ever since Lyrex had let them go, no pursuit, no tricks, just her voice echoing behind them:

"It's all going according to plan."

Aethon wasn't sure what that meant. But he didn't like it.

He reached into the pouch, fingers brushing the shard's sharp edge. It pulsed with warmth, and his thoughts dulled. The tension in his muscles eased, not from peace, but a strange kind of surrender.

He clenched it.

Instantly, the forest sounds vanished.

No fire crackle. No leaves rustling. Just cold stillness, and a whisper:

"You were never whole, Aethon."

He opened his eyes, but the world had changed.

He stood inside his old mage training hall, the one where he and Leloid first practiced summoning. But it was warped, stretched with shadow, cracked with old memories. The benches floated, scrolls hovered mid-air like trapped thoughts. The sky outside the high windows was black.

And in the middle of the hall, the same twisted figure he had seen once before, faceless, cloaked in flickering shadow.

"You carry me," it said. "You are me. Not yet… but soon."

The shard in his hand glowed brighter, until he could no longer see anything — just light, and pressure, and heat.

"Aethon!" The voice was real. Eira.

He jerked back into the real world, gasping. His palm burned. The shard was dim again, but warm. Too warm.

Eira crouched beside him. "You touched it again," she said. "I told you—"

"I needed to know what it wanted," he said, still breathing hard. "It said I'm not whole. That I am it."

Behind her, Leloid had opened his eyes. His shadow magic stirred lightly around him — subtle, but present. "And it's not lying," he said softly. "The shard knows its bearer. I used to feel it too."

Aethon turned toward him. "You remember more now?"

"Pieces," Leloid answered. "But one thing is clear, this shard isn't just a key. It's a chain. And you're linked to something older than any of us."

Eira frowned. "Then why would Lyrex let us go?" she asked. "She could've easily wiped us out or delayed us."

Aethon stood, brushing the dirt from his coat. "Because this — all of this — is part of whatever plan she's running. We're moving exactly where she wants us."

The next morning, fog rolled low across the forest as they resumed their journey toward the Sand Temple. The trees gave way to dry stone paths and jutting canyon ridges. Every now and then, Aethon caught Leloid glancing toward him — not with suspicion, but concern. Maybe even regret.

He didn't ask. Not yet.

At a rocky bend overlooking the valley, they paused. The sun was rising — red and slow.

Eira unfurled the map, brushing off a layer of dust. "We're close," she said. "Another two days if we don't run into trouble."

Aethon nodded, then turned to Leloid. "You said the shard connects me to something older. What exactly does that mean?"

Leloid hesitated. "It means you're not the first person it's tried to bind to. But you're the only one who's survived holding it this long."

"And what happened to the others?"

Leloid looked away.

"They didn't survive long enough to ask."