Shadow Shards

The blade slammed into the post again. And again. The sound of metal striking wood cracked through the air like distant thunder, rhythmic, precise, each blow echoing louder than the last.

In the clearing, a boy stood shirtless under the pale sky, sweat dripping down his back. His arms trembled, not from fatigue, but from restraint. Each strike he landed was measured. Held back.

Not far behind him, someone sat cross-legged in the grass, half-shadowed by a crooked tree. They were younger, maybe, or smaller. It was hard to tell. The light made their face hard to read, just the flicker of eyes watching, unmoving.

"You keep holding back," they said softly. "You think it makes you more noble?"

The boy didn't turn. He adjusted his grip and raised the blade again.

"You're always playing the part," the watcher went on. "The calm one. The protector. The guy who takes everything seriously except us."

A pause.

"When will you take us seriously?"

The boy stopped mid-swing.

Wind slipped through the trees. The leaves whispered. The answer never came.

And then the memory vanished, folded in on itself like smoke curling back into the dark.

Haise woke to the weight of the cave pressing in on him. Cold air clung to the back of his throat, rough stone jabbing at his ribs through the thin layers of his jacket. His limbs didn't ache as much as they should have. That worried him more than it soothed.

For a few long seconds, he didn't move.

Karsen's breath filled the quiet. Not steady, but there. Shallow, like someone sleeping with one eye half open. Not peaceful. Just... not dead.

Haise sat up slowly. Every joint in his body felt too loose, like a puppet pulled too many times in the wrong direction. He rubbed at his eyes and squinted toward the far side of the cave, where faint torchlight flickered against the walls.

Karsen shifted, groaning faintly as he tried to roll onto one elbow.

"Still hurts," he muttered, voice dry and cracked.

"You're lucky it doesn't hurt more," Haise said, too quickly.

Karsen chuckled, then winced at his own laugh. "What, not going to ask if I'm alright?"

"You're talking. Good enough for me."

Karsen pushed himself upright with a grunt and leaned back against the wall. His face looked better than it should have. Too clean. No bruises, no swelling. The wound on his head had sealed like it never happened.

"We should go back," Karsen said, dragging a hand through his tangled hair. "They stole my sword. It's mine. I'm not letting some freakish goblin walk off with it."

Haise narrowed his eyes. "They could be anywhere by now. What's the point?"

"We came for supplies, remember? Those crates might still be there."

"They won't be. If the goblins took them, they're already picked clean."

"Then we take what's left. Maybe we get lucky. Maybe there's something they didn't notice."

Haise didn't answer at first. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, rubbing at the spot where his sword belt should have been. He didn't know if it was stupidity or stubbornness, but Karsen didn't seem to grasp how lucky he was to be alive.

"You got one foot in the grave," Haise said flatly. "What makes you think we'll do any better the second time?"

"I don't," Karsen admitted. "But I'd rather go back for my blade than sit here waiting to die."

"You already did die," Haise almost said. But he bit it back, teeth grinding together.

They sat there for a moment, quiet except for the slow drip of water further in the cave.

Karsen shifted again, groaning softly as he laid down on his side. "Fine. We move in the morning."

"I'll take watch."

Karsen didn't argue. His breath was already slowing. "Hey," he murmured, eyes nearly closed. "Thanks. For earlier."

Haise didn't respond. Just stared at the dirt.

Eventually, Karsen's breathing evened out.

The moment he was sure Karsen had drifted into sleep, Haise pulled the card from his coat.

It felt heavier than before. Not just weight-wise. It pressed against his palm like it didn't want to be held. The edges were sharper than they looked, the shape too clean, too rigid. Not paper. Not plastic. Just... wrong.

The surface shimmered faintly. Still that orange glow, pulsing like a heartbeat. Faint script danced along the border, the kind that didn't belong to any language Haise knew.

He turned it slowly, letting the flicker of firelight brush across its surface.

Karsen. No Last Name.

Strength: D

Ability Power: C

Speed: B

Combat Intelligence: C

Intelligence: C

Endurance: E

Mark: Death Touch

It looked so neat. So contained. Like everything that made Karsen who he was could fit inside a rectangle the size of Haise's hand.

His thumb traced the crack near the bottom. It wasn't damaged. It was part of the design. Intentional. Just like the system said.

"You inherit them."

The words wouldn't go away. They just sat there, lodged somewhere in the back of his head like a bad piece of food he couldn't swallow.

Haise turned the card over in his hand. Again. And again.

Would Karsen have made it without it?

He didn't know. Maybe. But not like this. Not with a stable heartbeat. Not with clean skin and steady eyes.

He could still see it. That moment. The way the blade pressed to Karsen's forehead. The way his voice cracked when he said his name. Confused. Like he still thought Haise was on his side.

But Haise had lied.

There was no healing magic.

He'd killed him. Because it was easier than waiting to see what would happen if he didn't.

And now the card sat in his hand like a receipt. Warm. Soft glow. Neat little stats printed across the surface, like that was supposed to make it feel normal.

He tucked it away and wiped his hands down his face. They still felt dirty.

What was he even doing anymore?