Echoes of the Craft

After opening the gate, Zami stood at the edge of the village, feeling the strange weight of the Bone Monarch's shard hidden beneath his cloak. The village stretched before him—rows of stone and wooden buildings that blended seamlessly with the natural landscape. Tall trees, their trunks thick and gnarled, stretched into the sky like ancient guardians, casting long shadows over the village. The air was thick with the scent of burning wood and fresh earth, a comforting and unsettling mix.

He adjusted his cloak and walked toward the center of the village, where a group of humanoid creatures gathered. Their appearance was unlike the monsters he had faced. They were slender, tall, with elongated limbs and pointed ears, their features a mixture of beauty and menace. Their eyes gleamed with intelligence, and as Zami walked through their midst, they regarded him with both curiosity and wariness.

Zami's silver eyes scanned the area, searching for a familiar sight. He needed information—answers about the shard and the katana forged from the stone that had been worshipped by mindless monsters. The creatures here might be able to help him. They spoke a language he had learned over time, a language of clicks and growls, but also with rich, varied tones that hinted at something deeper.

He found the craftsman's shop near the village's center, a humble structure with tools hanging from the walls and strange implements scattered across a workbench. The craftsman himself was tall, like the others, with translucent skin and glowing blue veins running beneath it. His eyes were amber, sharp and observant, as he worked on a piece of metal, hammering away with steady rhythm.

Zami stepped forward, his presence commanding but silent, and the craftsman looked up, his expression flickering with intrigue. Zami didn't waste time on pleasantries.

"I have something you might find interesting," Zami said in the language of the creatures, his voice low but clear. He pulled the katana from his back, the blade gleaming with a dark, ominous glow. Then, he unwrapped the shard of the Bone Monarch, placing it on the counter.

The craftsman's amber eyes narrowed as he studied both items with an intensity that could cut through stone. After a long moment of silence, the craftsman spoke, his voice a deep, resonant hum.

"This katana," he began, his gaze flickering between Zami and the blade, "it was made from something ancient... something that shouldn't exist in this world. The stone you speak of—the one worshipped by the mindless monsters—was once part of a much older artifact. Not just a weapon, but a conduit. A connection to something beyond." He paused, running a hand over the hilt of the katana, as if searching for more. "You've felt it, haven't you? The weight of its power. It's not merely forged—it's born of something... alive."

Zami nodded. He had felt the strange pull of the sword for years, ever since he forged it from the stone. It had grown with him, adapted to his presence, as though it were a part of him.

"But this..." The craftsman's gaze fell to the shard. He hesitated, clearly wary. "This is something entirely different. The Bone Monarch was never meant to be bound by stone. This fragment," he gestured toward the shard, "it is cursed. Not just a piece of bone, but an extension of the monarch's will. It's a fragment of their very essence, and its presence here... it defies the natural order. The Bone Monarch was the keeper of a great power, and this shard holds a fraction of that."

Zami's mind raced. The craftsman's words confirmed what he had felt deep within him. The shard was more than just a relic—it was a part of something much larger, something far more dangerous than he had ever imagined. He'd seen it in the way the Bone Monarch fought, the way it controlled its surroundings, manipulating bones with ease.

"I need to know more," Zami said, his voice steady, though his mind churned with questions. "Do you know how to control its power? Can it be used?"

The craftsman regarded Zami for a long time, his eyes filled with a depth of knowledge that Zami could never have guessed. Finally, he spoke.

"You should leave that shard where it belongs," he said softly. "That power is not meant to be wielded by mortals, not even those as far beyond the human realm as you."

Zami's silver eyes gleamed coldly. He had lived for thousands of years, faced countless enemies, and survived impossible battles. He wasn't a mortal anymore. But the craftsman's warning echoed in his mind, and for a moment, he felt the weight of the shard heavy in his hands.

"I can't go back," Zami said quietly. "This path is mine to walk."

The craftsman didn't argue, though his expression remained grave. "Then be careful, warrior. Some things are better left unknown."

Zami left the shop, the words of the craftsman lingering in his mind. As he walked through the village, the weight of the shard felt heavier with each step, and the katana, still burning with a dark energy, seemed to hum softly at his side. The next chapter of his journey had already begun.