Chapter 1: The Ruins of Veyndor
The wind howled through the shattered land, carrying whispers of a world long forgotten. Elliot Webb clutched the shard in his hand, its warmth the only real sensation anchoring him to reality. His breath came in uneven gasps as he took in his surroundings.
The terrain stretched out in jagged, unnatural formations—floating islands of rock, fractured towers, and crumbling pathways suspended in a void that shimmered with an eerie glow. Tendrils of light pulsed through the cracks in the earth, casting a ghostly luminescence over the desolate landscape.
This wasn't Earth.
Panic clawed at the edges of his mind, but Elliot forced it down. He was a historian, a man of logic. If he had been transported here, there had to be an explanation—some way to retrace his steps, to undo whatever had happened.
His eyes settled on the ruins ahead.
Towers of ancient stone rose from the crumbling earth, their once-proud spires broken and lost to time. If there had ever been life here, it had long since faded. But ruins meant history, and history meant answers.
He took a deep breath and began walking.
The Stranger in the Ruins
Navigating the uneven terrain was treacherous. The ground cracked underfoot, some sections threatening to collapse entirely. The storm overhead rumbled, casting brief flashes of violet light that twisted unnaturally in the sky.
When he finally reached the outskirts of the ruined city, he hesitated. The silence was wrong—too absolute, too heavy, as if the world itself was holding its breath.
Then he felt it.
A presence. Watching.
He turned sharply, scanning the broken streets. Empty. But not abandoned.
"Who's there?" he called out. His voice echoed through the ruins.
Silence.
Then, movement.
A shadow flickered at the edge of his vision—there, near a collapsed archway. Elliot took a step forward, his heart hammering.
"Stay where you are," a voice commanded.
He froze.
The figure emerged from the shadows, stepping into the pale, flickering light.
A woman.
She was tall, her presence commanding, her posture rigid with quiet authority. A long, dark cloak billowed around her, secured by a clasp that bore an unfamiliar sigil. Strands of silver-threaded hair fell over her sharp, angular features, and her piercing eyes glowed faintly—like embers in the dark.
But it was the weapon in her hand that caught Elliot's attention. A blade, curved and dark as obsidian, humming with a strange energy.
"Who are you?" he asked, forcing his voice to remain steady.
The woman studied him for a moment, her grip on the weapon tightening. "I should ask the same of you," she said. "You don't belong here."
Elliot swallowed hard. "Trust me, I know." He hesitated, then raised the shard slightly. "I touched this, and—"
The woman's eyes widened.
"You have the fragment?" Her voice dropped into something almost like a whisper, but not of awe—of alarm.
Elliot glanced down at the shard. "Yeah. And I have no idea what it is."
The woman exhaled sharply. "Then you're in more danger than you realize."
She moved faster than he expected. One moment she was across the ruins; the next, she was standing before him, grabbing his wrist and inspecting the shard. Her fingers were cold, but her expression was burning with intensity.
"You're the Keybearer," she murmured.
Elliot tensed. It was the second time he had heard that word.
"Okay," he said cautiously, "people keep calling me that. What does it mean?"
The woman ignored the question, scanning the ruins with sharp, practiced eyes. "If you have the shard, others will come for it. We need to move."
"Others?" Elliot repeated, his pulse quickening. "Who—"
A deep, guttural roar shattered the silence.
The air trembled. Dust and debris rained from the broken buildings.
Elliot turned toward the source of the sound—and his breath caught.
From the far end of the ruined city, something was moving. A hulking figure, shifting through the darkness, its glowing eyes like twin suns in the void.
The woman cursed under her breath. "Too late."
She turned to Elliot, eyes blazing. "Run."