The wind whispered over the highlands as the camp settled for the night. Auren sat alone by the fire, his shardstone pulsing faintly against his chest. It was warm again—warmer than before. Like it had a heartbeat.
And lately… it wasn't just warmth.
It was words.
Faint. Unclear. But words all the same.
He didn't tell the others. Not yet.
Not when trust was starting to bend.
Lys watched him from a distance, arms crossed. She'd seen the way his eyes flickered now when he thought no one noticed. The way his shadow stretched oddly when the moon rose.
"Do you think it's the Shard?" she whispered to Kael.
Kael nodded. "Or what's inside it."
"Should we ask him?"
He didn't answer. Instead, his gaze drifted to the scar on Auren's palm—the one that bled light during the last skirmish.
Something wasn't right.
Back at the capital, the Crown's Whisperglass—an ancient window that revealed hidden truths—was stirred to life. Queen Thalira stood before it, the reflection in the glass murky and pulsing.
"Show me the boy," she ordered.
The mist cleared.
Auren appeared in the vision—eyes closed, his shardstone humming.
Then…
He looked up.
Right at her.
The Queen flinched, stepping back. The vision shattered.
"That's impossible."
But deep down, she knew it wasn't.
Somehow, he saw her.
In the Southern Marches, the trees had begun to change.
Rotting from the inside. Bark weeping black sap. Birds flying in circles, then dropping dead mid-air.
The group passed through a silent village where every house stood empty—no signs of struggle, no signs of peace.
Just absence.
Auren felt it.
Kael felt it too.
"This land is dying," Kael whispered. "And we're walking right into its grave."
That night, when the fire dimmed and the others slept, Lys finally sat beside Auren.
"You're changing," she said quietly.
He didn't deny it.
"I don't know if it's the Shard," he said. "Or if it's me."
"Or both."
He gave her a sideways glance. "Are you scared?"
"A little."
"Of me?"
"Of what's coming for you."
She reached out and took his hand.
And for a moment—just a heartbeat—his Shard fell quiet.
In the dark hills beyond, a figure watched their camp with glowing eyes. A cloak of silence wrapped around it, and in its hands it held a whisperglass shard of its own—black and cracked.
"The Crown sees only light," it muttered. "But what they should fear… is what hides beneath it."