The Road to Ruins

The Wastes whispered louder now.

The wind wasn't just wind anymore. It carried voices Kael couldn't understand—echoes from somewhere far ahead, or maybe far behind. Time worked differently out here. Sometimes, Kael thought the world had forgotten which way it was supposed to turn.

And beneath it all, pressed to his chest, the shard pulsed.

Soft and steady.

Like the heartbeat of something that should have died long ago.

Or something that hadn't been born yet.

He didn't know what it meant, only that he couldn't let it go.

Not now.

Not ever.

The ridge ahead was steep, jagged rocks jutting up like broken teeth. But Kael scaled it anyway, every muscle aching from the climb. Beyond the summit, the Iron Spire rose from the horizon—a massive, rusted tower stabbing straight into the clouds, marking the edge of the Last Sanctum.

Or what was left of it.

But Kael wasn't alone.

At the base of the Spire, three figures waited.

Cloaked. Armed. Moving with the purpose of people who'd been looking for someone exactly like him.

Kael dropped flat behind the wreck of an old crawler tank, peeking over its rusted hull.

They bore the same symbol he'd seen etched into forgotten walls, scrawled like warnings across the ruins of dead cities:

A jagged spiral devouring a crown.

The mark of the Ashen Blight.

Scavenger stories called them corpse-harvesters. Relic-seekers. Worshippers of the old wars who believed that the fallen empires had left behind weapons too dangerous to stay buried. And worse—they believed the Forsaken weren't people, just resources. Flesh for labor. Bones for barter.

They weren't here by coincidence.

They were here for the shard.

And by extension... for Kael.

"Great," he muttered under his breath, sliding the rifle from the dead hunter's pack. "First a miracle relic, now assassins. Guess that's how my luck works."

The shard's pulse quickened.

Urgent. Alive.

Almost like it wanted him to fight.

Maybe it did.

Kael took a slow breath, steadied his shaking hands on the rifle. He'd only fired one once. Missed by a mile. But it wasn't like he had options.

"Alright. Let's see what happens."

He lined up a shot on the nearest Blight scout.

Before he could squeeze the trigger, the shard flared in his chest—a pulse of heat that shot down his arm, into his fingertips. The air rippled. The barrel of the rifle glowed faintly blue for just a second.

And Kael fired.

The shot wasn't just a shot.

It tore through the air, spiraling like a comet, slicing through the first scout's shoulder and detonating against the rocks behind him. The explosion sent the others scrambling.

Kael didn't wait. He ran.

Down the ridge. Over the shattered ground. Toward the Spire and the Sanctum beyond. If he could reach the outer gates, maybe—just maybe—someone inside would help.

Or at least, they'd have walls he could die behind.

> "He's got it!" one of the Blight shouted from behind. "The shard's active!"

Active?

Kael didn't have time to figure out what that meant. He just kept running, heart pounding, lungs burning, the shard's pulse now syncing perfectly with his own.

Behind him, footsteps thundered. Shots cracked the air. One bullet tore through his coat, grazing his side. Pain bloomed sharp and hot, but Kael didn't stop. Couldn't.

As he neared the Spire's base, something unexpected happened.

A figure emerged from the shadows of the ruins—a woman draped in gray, face hidden behind a porcelain mask carved with a single vertical crack.

> "This way," she said, her voice calm like a blade sliding from its sheath.

Kael barely thought before following. She led him through the skeletal remains of an old skyship, ducking between its broken ribs as gunfire echoed behind them. They climbed, weaved, dodged.

And when Kael finally dared to glance back, the Blight were gone. Vanished into the storm gathering behind the ridge.

For now.

The woman stopped in the shade of the Spire, turning toward him.

> "You have no idea what you're carrying, do you?"

Kael shook his head, panting.

"No. But people keep trying to kill me for it, so I figure it's valuable."

She tilted her head, studying him through the mask.

> "It's more than valuable. That shard... it's a fragment of the first Crown. The piece that broke reality the first time."

Kael frowned.

"First time?"

> "There will be others." She pointed toward the horizon, where the storm churned. "You've only just started the story, boy. And the Blight? They're just the opening act. Others will come. Factions. Legends. Things you aren't ready to believe in yet."

Kael glanced down at the shard.

It pulsed softly. Steady. Waiting.

"What happens if they get it?"

> "Then the Fracture starts again. The Crown falls. Reality collapses. You know. The usual."

Kael laughed. He wasn't sure why. Maybe it was all just too absurd not to.

"Perfect." He glanced toward the walls of the Sanctum beyond the Spire. "What about them? Will they help?"

The woman shook her head.

> "They'll want the shard, too. Everyone will. You don't give something like that away. You protect it. Or you die for it."

Kael slid the shard deeper into his pack.

"Guess I better learn how to fight, then."

> "Good. You're going to need more than a rusty knife and stolen rifle where this road leads."

And as the storm swallowed the ridge behind them and the Spire loomed above, Kael took his first real step into the legend of the Endless Fracture.

The Forsaken boy who should have died in the dirt was now the only thing standing between the world and its end.

And far beyond the clouds, in places Kael couldn't yet imagine, forgotten names stirred.

Waiting for him to rise.

Or to fall.

Because whether he wanted it or not, the crown had already begun to break.