The Weight of Chains

The sewers stank, a mix of rot and rust, and the walls dripped condensation like a dying beast's last, clammy sweat. Kael squeezed into a tight space, his heart hammering in his chest, his breath shallow and ragged. Somewhere above, the Inquisition's hounds were howling—not like normal dogs, but a twisted, robotic sound. He held his left arm close, the skin there black and numb, like the bone marrow had turned to ash.

The Shard, lodged in his ribs, he felt it, it was quiet for now, its venom like cold, thick sludge in his veins. He had decided to become a shardbearer but now, the thing granting him power was eating him from the inside.

Kael wandered around the sewers searching for an exit, he had noticed that a speck of corrupted flesh had appeared on his wrist, and in return his left arm was now slowly healing. 

He started recalling his experience after absorbing the shard.

'I think i have venom related powers? I dont know, the only thing i actually know is my... what did Jarek call it... ahh, he called it his bond! That serpentine voice said my venom shall sing to my most hated foe... Forget it! now the only thing i have to do is survive and get stronger!'

Kael moved through the tunnels like a ghost, The Shard's corruption was eating him alive, his left arm was corrupting from the elbow down, black veins creeping up towards his shoulder. His breath was rough, his lungs scarred by venom they couldn't get rid of. He had a weird, burnt sugar taste in his mouth, a sign his liver was failing.

He stumbled into a bunch of Husk-Mimics—dead bodies of shardbearer long forgotten. Kael's toxins gave a random weak burst, a little spray of acid that melted the face of the closest creature. The effort left him gagging and spitting up black bile. He ran deeper, the hounds' cries fading behind him.

Dawn found him crawling through a crack into the Galloway Refinery, a dead place full of rusty walkways and broken glass. The air was thick with the smell of oil and ozone, mixed with the sweet, sickening smell of dead Shardbearers. It was a tomb.

Kael collapsed behind an old conveyor belt, his body shaking.

His Shard gave a weak pulse, venom pooling in his hands. He was too weak to use it, and so his own power was killing him.

He started coughing, and when it stopped, his lap was covered in black phlegm. He pulled up his sleeve—the rot had reached his bicep. It wasn't killing him fast enough, just hurting him enough.

He'd seen what it did to others. A street fighter, her ice Shard rotting her lungs until she coughed up frozen bits of herself. A guy with super strength, his bones turning to glass. The Inquisition called it Shardblight, but that was just a fancy name. There was nothing fancy about rotting from the inside.

Kael's vision went blurry. He started daydreaming—Jarek as a kid, grinning through a split lip after taking a beating for him. Jarek now, his face blank under his white helmet, his Shard glowing as he crushed someone's skull.

'Ah... i'm getting dizzy... so this is it? Am i really going to die this young? Only seventeen years old, ah what a shitty word'

Well he was now reaching the age of his parents, after all in the dregs every little hand could help and so many families gave birth to a child as soon as possible, his parents had only been nineteen or something when they gave birth, and when he was four they abandoned him.

'Guess feeding me became to much of a proble...'

The world went fuzzy.

Kael's last memory was the boiler room—the taste of blood, the shaking of his rotting arm, the shadows closing in. Then, he woke up to the smell of antiseptic and the quiet hum of glass vials. His left arm throbbed, the black veins gone, but the numbness was still there.

He was alive. But how?

He was lying on a metal table, straps loose but ready. Shelves of pickled organs and squirming shard pieces lined the walls. A woman was standing by a still, mixing a thick green liquid, humming to herself.

"You're awake already?" she said without turning around. "Your body fights like crazy. Fascinating."

Kael tried to sit up, but his muscles screamed.

"Don't," she said, her voice sharp. "The Blight's just taking a break. One wrong move, and it'll start eating you again."

She turned, holding a syringe filled with a shimmering silver liquid. Her eyes were mismatched—one brown, one milky white, with a tiny, glowing shard for a pupil.

"Mira," she said. "Shardwright and reluctant savior. You're welcome."

Her workshop was hidden under the refinery, behind fake walls and runes that blocked Oblivion power. Her tools were spread out around the room:

A shard-grafting needle humming with stolen venom. A Progenitor-spawn in a cage, its tentacles feeling around the bars. Vials of Kael's blood, separated into layers of red and black.

"Your Shard's corruption is… intense," Mira said, tapping a vial. "But predictable. I can slow it down."

Kael's throat burned. "Why?"

She smiled, showing all her teeth. "Your venom changes. Evolves. I want samples. A trade—temporary cures for vials of your poison."

His stomach twisted. She'll turn it into a weapon. Sell it to the Inquisition. To Jarek.

"No."

Mira shrugged. "Then die here. Your choice."

She pointed to his arm. The black veins pulsed, starting to creep up again.

She was a vulture, a scavenger.

But his body was betraying him. The Blight's fever came back, sweat dripping down his face. His vision went blurry, the room tilting.

Jarek's face flashed in his mind. White armor. The glowing Stonebreaker Shard. Five months.

He needed to stay alive to face him. To make it mean something.

"How… temporary?" he croaked.

Mira held up the syringe. "This? A week. Maybe two for now. but if you collaborate i can assure you, you wont die for at least half a year. Depends how hard you push that Shard."

"And the price?"

"A pint of venom per dose." She tilted her head. "Don't worry. I'll take it slow."

The shot burned like fire. Kael arched against the straps as silver light raced through his veins, fighting the corruption. The black veins disappeared, his arm tingling with feeling again. For a second, he almost cried.

Then Mira pulled out a needle as long as his forearm.

"Now," she said, pressing it to his chest. "Let's get to work."

The extraction was worse than the Blight. His venom fought her, but Mira's hands were steady. When she pulled the needle out, the vial glowed green, swirling with angry energy.

"Amazing," she whispered.

Kael threw up over the edge of the table.

She let him rest in a small room, its walls lined with copper to suppress his Shard. His arm was clean, the Blight quiet for now.

Mira's voice slid through the door: "Rest, little Shardbearer. We start again at dawn."

Kael curled up on the cot, shaking. The deal would buy him time. But every time she took his venom, she'd be building her arsenal. Making him a target.

But alive.

In the dark, he held his Shard close. Somewhere above, the refinery creaked and groaned. Somewhere, Jarek was getting ready.

And Kael, poisoned and used, would have to outlast them all.