Lirien's boots slammed against the cracked stone of the ruins, their breath coming in sharp gasps as they sprinted after Toren. The Veil loomed above, its silver-violet glow flickering like a storm-tossed sea, the crack from earlier now a faint scar pulsing with menace. The shard in their cloak burned against their chest, its hum syncing with their racing heart, a constant reminder of the chaos they'd unleashed. Airship engines droned closer, their arcane hum cutting through the night, and the distant buzz of Glimmerwings echoed from the shadows. Lirien's scar—a jagged line across their collarbone—throbbed, tying them to the Wyrmlings they'd barely survived and the mysterious System that had saved them.
"Move faster, kid!" Toren shouted, his cloak flapping as he vaulted a fallen pillar. His staff glowed faintly blue, casting jagged light across the rubble. "Unless you want the Council's hounds on you!"
"I'm not a kid," Lirien snapped, voice sharp despite their heaving lungs. Trusting Toren was a gamble, but the airship's roar and those glowing words—Survive—left them no choice. The System hadn't reappeared since the Wyrmling fight, but the shard's warmth felt like a promise of more power. Or a curse. They dodged a jagged stone, their patched cloak snagging on a rusted spike. The ruins of Varn's Hollow gave way to a sparse forest, its trees twisted by Veil energy, their branches glowing faintly like Glimmerwings. The air carried a metallic tang, and Lirien's scar burned sharper, forcing them to stumble.
"What is this thing?" they muttered, clutching the shard through their cloak. Its silver-violet glow pulsed, whispering in a language they couldn't grasp. Their nonbinary identity had always set them apart in the Hollow—whispers of "freak" or "choose a side" had followed them for years. Now, this shard marked them as something else entirely, something the Council would kill to control.
Toren slowed, glancing back, his sharp eyes catching the Veil's light. "That shard? It's a Veil fragment, a piece of the barrier itself. The Council's hunted them for centuries to keep the Otherworld locked away." He pointed to the sky, where the airship's silhouette loomed, its arcane lights sweeping the forest. "Your little stunt back there lit a beacon. And those Glimmerwings? Just the start. The Otherworld's got worse—Shadowstalkers, Etherbeasts, things that'll eat Wyrmlings for breakfast."
Lirien's stomach twisted. "Worse than those venomous lizards?" The Wyrmlings' red eyes and snapping jaws still haunted them, and the Glimmerwings' stinging swarm had nearly blinded them. They couldn't imagine bigger threats.
Toren's smirk was grim. "Wyrmlings are pests. Shadowstalkers hunt in packs, slip through shadows like ghosts. You're holding a key to their world, and they can smell it." He gestured to a narrow path winding through the glowing trees. "Safehouse is that way. Move, or we're dinner."
Lirien followed, their mind spinning. The Council, creatures, a shard that gave them forbidden magic—it was too much. They'd scraped by in the Hollow, dodging slurs about their identity, hiding their scar from prying eyes. Now they were running from mages and monsters, with a System no one else could see. Heir of the Veil, the Shardwraith had whispered. They felt less like an heir and more like a hunted animal.
The forest thickened, its glowing branches casting eerie shadows. A low growl stopped them cold. Toren froze, raising his staff. "Don't move," he whispered. Yellow, slitted eyes glowed from the underbrush—too large for any natural beast. Then another pair. And another. Shadowstalkers emerged, their wolf-like bodies flickering like smoke, claws silent on the ground. Their fur shimmered, blending with the darkness, and their teeth gleamed with a hunger that made Lirien's skin crawl. One bared its fangs, a low snarl vibrating the air.
Lirien gripped their knife, heart pounding. The shard pulsed, and the System flickered to life:
[Threat Detected: Shadowstalkers, Tier 2]
[Skill Available: Chaos Pulse, Level 1]
[Skill Available: Beast Ward, Level 1]
[Objective: Escape or Eliminate]
"Escape sounds better," Lirien muttered, backing away. Toren's staff flared, and a gust of wind—sharp as a blade—sliced through the nearest Shadowstalker. It yelped, dissolving into mist, but the others circled, their forms blurring. Lirien raised the shard, willing the Beast Ward to activate. A faint barrier shimmered, pushing one beast back, but the effort made their head spin. The System flashed: [Energy Low: 20%].
"Run!" Toren shouted, hurling a fireball that lit the forest in orange flames. The Shadowstalkers scattered, their growls echoing. Lirien sprinted, branches snagging their cloak, the shard's hum urging them on. The airship's lights cut through the canopy, and a beam of arcane energy blasted a tree, showering them with splinters. The Shadowstalkers regrouped, their eyes glinting in the dark, and a new sound joined the chaos—a faint, buzzing hum.
"Glimmerwings!" Toren cursed, pointing to a swarm of glowing insects pouring from the trees, their tiny wings sparking with Veil energy. The swarm swirled, stinging Lirien's arms with electric shocks, disorienting them. The System blinked: [Status: Disoriented]. Lirien swatted at the Glimmerwings, but a Shadowstalker lunged, its claws grazing their shoulder. They stumbled, pain flaring, and thrust the shard forward. A Chaos Pulse erupted, weaker than before, knocking the beast back but not killing it.
"They're tracking the shard!" Toren yelled, pulling Lirien behind a boulder. "You've got to dampen its energy, now!"
"How?" Lirien snapped, panic rising. Their shoulder burned, and the Glimmerwings' buzz was deafening. "It's not like it came with a manual!"
Toren's eyes flicked to their scar, visible where their scarf had slipped. "That mark—it's tied to the shard. Focus on it. Will it to quiet."
Lirien clenched their jaw, gripping the shard. They pictured their scar, the searing pain that had haunted them since childhood, and pushed, willing it to still. The shard's hum dulled, its glow fading. The System flashed: [Shard Energy Suppressed: 10% Output]. The airship's lights veered, scanning another part of the forest, and the Glimmerwings dispersed, their buzz fading. The Shadowstalkers hesitated, sniffing the air, then retreated into the shadows.
Toren exhaled, slumping against the boulder. "Not bad. You might live longer than I thought."
"Stop calling me kid," Lirien growled, but relief softened their voice. Their shoulder throbbed, blood seeping through their cloak, but they ignored it, following Toren deeper into the forest. The safehouse—a crumbling shack in a ravine—came into view, its walls etched with glowing runes to ward off creatures. Inside, the air was musty, lit by a single lantern flickering with Veil-touched light. Lirien collapsed against a wall, catching their breath, the shard still warm in their hand.
Toren barred the door, his staff dimming. "We're safe for now, but the Council won't stop. Those Shadowstalkers will be back, and the shard's waking worse things." He paused, studying Lirien. "You felt it, didn't you? The Veil's call. It's in your scar, your blood."
Lirien's fingers brushed their scar, unease creeping in. "What do you know about it?"
Toren hesitated, then sighed. "I was a Council mage, before they exiled me. I saw things—experiments, rituals, shards like yours. They think they control the Veil, but it's breaking because of them. I tried to stop it, and it cost me everything."
Lirien's eyes narrowed. "And the System? The words in my head, giving me skills?"
Toren frowned, confused. "Words? Skills? What are you talking about?"
Before Lirien could explain, a crash shook the shack. A figure dropped through a hole in the roof, landing in a crouch. A young woman, nineteen or so, with short black hair and a smirk, held a dagger in one hand and a glowing vial in the other. Her leather armor was patched, and her eyes gleamed with mischief. "Well, well," she said, voice dripping with amusement. "Didn't expect a party."
Toren's staff flared, but Lirien raised a hand, the shard pulsing. The woman's gaze locked on it, her smirk widening. "That's what I came for," she said, tossing the vial. It shattered, releasing a cloud of glowing dust—Glimmerwing essence, Lirien realized, as their vision blurred, the System flashing: [Status: Disoriented].
"Who are you?" Lirien coughed, raising their knife, fighting the dizziness.
"Name's Sylva," she said, dodging Toren's wind blast with eerie grace. "And that shard's worth more than both your lives." She lunged, but a Shadowstalker's howl cut through the night, closer now. The shack's runes flared, and Sylva froze, cursing under her breath.
"Friends of yours?" Toren snapped, readying another spell.
Sylva laughed, bitter. "Not mine. Yours, shard-bearer." She glanced at Lirien, then the door, where claws scratched furiously. The airship's drone returned, louder, its lights piercing the shack's cracks. The System flickered:
[Threat Detected: Shadowstalkers, Tier 2]
[Objective Updated: Defend or Flee]
Lirien's heart raced, their shoulder burning, the shard's hum louder than ever. Trapped between a thief, monsters, and the Council, with a System no one else could see, they gripped their knife tighter. The shack shook as a Shadowstalker rammed the door, and Sylva's smirk vanished. "Choose fast, hero," she said, twirling her dagger. "Fight, or we're all dead."