The day the sky burned began like any other.
The morning was cold, but not cruel. Frost clung to the edges of the fields, glittering in pale sunlight as if someone had scattered crushed glass over the earth. Maeve hummed a half-forgotten melody as she chopped roots at the table, her knife hitting the wood with a steady, comforting rhythm.
Elian sat by the window, repairing a leather strap with needle and thread. His hands moved slowly, a hint of stiffness in his fingers. Old injuries never fully healed, even in a world of magic.
I watched them both, leaning against the doorframe.
On the surface, nothing was wrong.
No ominous thunder.No screams in the distance.No scent of blood.
Just the normal sounds of a village waking: doors opening, animals bleating, someone cursing at a stubborn latch. Children laughing outside as they raced through the muddy paths.
Everything was… normal.
Too normal.
The feeling in my spine—that low, crawling tension—hadn't faded. It had worsened.
For days, the air had felt too still. Birds abandoned their usual patterns. The forest edge seemed to watch us instead of the other way around.
Inside my chest, my fractured core pulsed with a rhythm that didn't match my heartbeat.
Something is moving, I thought. Something beyond Blackstone.
"Elías," Maeve said, pulling me from my thoughts. "Take these to Old Branik, would you? His hands have been hurting again, and this salve should help."
She held out a small clay jar wrapped in cloth.
I took it. "All right."
"Be polite," she added. "He likes you."
I almost said, He likes that I listen more than I talk, but held my tongue.
Elian glanced up from the strap, studying my face. "Stay inside the village," he said. "Don't go near the forest today."
I met his eyes. "Why?"
"I don't like the wind," he said simply.
To anyone else, it would've sounded like an old man's superstition.
To me, it sounded like instinct honed by experience.
"I'll be careful," I said.
His gaze lingered on me for a moment longer than usual, then he nodded.
The village of Blackstone moved through its routines with practiced ease.
Smoke rose from chimneys. Women scrubbed clothes in cold water near the well. A group of men argued about repairing the northern fence, their voices rising and falling like an unsteady chorus.
I walked the familiar path toward Branik's stall, the jar secure in my hands.
The old man sat on his stool, as always, carving some new charm out of stone. His beard had gone more gray than white, and his eyes squinted from years of staring at small details.
"You're up early," he said without looking at me. "I thought boys your age slept until the sun was halfway to the peak."
"Maeve sent salve," I said, holding out the bundle.
He took it, fingers trembling slightly. "Ah. Good woman, that one. The village doesn't deserve her."
He pried open the cloth, sniffed the jar, nodded appreciatively. "Smells awful. Must work."
His gaze flickered to my face. "You look like you swallowed a stone, boy. Something bothering you?"
The wind. The air. The way my core keeps pulsing like it's trying to warn me that everything is about to fall apart.
"Just tired," I said.
"Hm." His eyes narrowed, but he didn't push. "Well, if you get bored, I've got some spare stones here. Could use someone with steady hands to carve the simpler patterns."
Patterns.
Runes so weak they barely stirred Arcanum, but still… patterns.
"I'll come back later," I said.
"Later," Branik echoed, as if testing the word. "Always later. Be sure later arrives, boy. Sometimes it doesn't."
I left him with that hanging between us.
By midday, clouds had gathered on the horizon—heavy, dark shapes that swallowed the sun's warmth. Not storm clouds. Those carried electricity, scent, sound.
These were… wrong.
They didn't move like real clouds. They advanced too evenly, too purposefully, a dark curtain creeping across the sky, swallowing light in its path.
A chill slid down my spine.
Smoke.
Not from chimneys. Not from fields.
From something larger. Something burning far away—and getting closer.
Around me, the villagers continued their work. A few glanced up, frowned, then returned to their tasks. Suspicion in their eyes. A prickle of unease. But not yet fear.
Humans were talented at ignoring danger until it stood at their doorstep.
I turned toward Duskwood.
The forest loomed as always, its edges a tangle of gnarled trunks and twisted branches. But the darkness between the trees felt thicker now, as if holding its breath.
The monolith pulsed faintly at the edge of my perception.
Whatever was coming did not originate from the forest.
It came from beyond.
From the world I had only heard whispers about: empires, armies, Orders.
I folded my arms, watching the line of smoke crawling closer overhead.
This isn't random.
Someone had decided to move their pieces.
And for some reason, those pieces were heading toward us.
That evening, the air felt heavier.
Dinner was quieter than usual. Maeve's hands moved automatically—serving stew, refilling water, adjusting the logs in the fire—but her gaze kept drifting to the window.
Elian ate slowly, jaw tight, the lines around his eyes deeper than usual.
The silence stretched.
"Something is wrong," Maeve said at last.
Elian exhaled. "You feel it too."
She nodded.
"Smoke," I said. "From the west."
Two pairs of eyes turned toward me.
"How do you know it's the west?" Maeve asked.
"Wind direction. The way the clouds travel," I replied simply.
Elian's expression didn't change, but something in his eyes sharpened. "How far?"
I closed my eyes briefly, pulling in a breath through my nose.
The smell of smoke was faint but distinct. Not wood alone. Something sharper beneath. Oil. Metal. Burning leather.
"Not here yet," I said. "But close. Maybe… hours."
Maeve set her spoon down carefully. "Do you think—"
"I don't know," Elian cut in. His fingers drummed against the table once, twice, then stilled. "But just in case… Elias, listen to me."
I met his gaze.
"If anything happens," he said, voice dropping to a low, hard tone I hadn't heard since I was a baby, "you don't try to fight. You don't try to help. You run. Do you understand?"
Run?
In my past life, I had only run to reposition. To survive long enough to strike again.
But Elian wasn't thinking about tactics.
He was thinking like a father.
Maeve swallowed. "Elian—"
"No." His hands curled into fists. "We can't pretend nothing's coming. Not anymore."
He looked at me again. "Elias. Say it."
I held his gaze for a heartbeat.
In my chest, the fractured core pulsed, shadow coiling tighter.
"I'll run," I said. "If things go wrong, I'll run."
His shoulders dropped, tension easing marginally.
Maeve reached across the table, taking his hand.
For a brief moment, they were just two tired people holding on to each other in a world that didn't care about their courage.
I looked away.
This is why it hurts to care, I thought. Because the world doesn't negotiate with your attachments. It crushes them for leverage.
Outside, the wind shifted.
The smell of smoke grew stronger.
The first scream came just after nightfall.
I was standing near the window, watching the line of darkness overhead thicken, when a sharp, strangled cry cut through the air—a child's voice, high and terrified.
More shouts followed. Not playful. Not routine.
Panicked.
Maeve dropped the bowl she was washing. It shattered on the floor, shards skittering under the table.
Elian was already moving.
He grabbed the old sword propped against the wall. The blade was scarred and notched, but the way his hand wrapped around the hilt told me he remembered exactly how to use it.
"Maeve," he said. "Pack what you can carry. Keep it light. Warm clothes. Dried food."
Her face turned pale, but she didn't freeze. She lunged for the shelves, hands moving in a blur.
I stepped away from the window.
"What do you see?" Elian asked, not looking at me as he strapped on the sword belt.
I moved closer to the door, opened it a crack.
The night outside was no longer peaceful.
Flames flickered at the western edge of the village—small at first, like campfires scattered between houses. But they spread quickly, unnatural in their speed, licking higher than normal flames should.
Dark figures moved in front of the light.
Not villagers.
Armored silhouettes. Helms catching the glow. Metal glinting with purposeful malice.
I saw the emblem etched on one breastplate as its owner passed through a band of firelit smoke.
A hammer striking an anvil surrounded by stylized chains.
My mind catalogued it instantly.
Not local. Not a small raiding band. This is organized.
"I don't recognize their symbol," I said. "But they're moving in formation. Not random."
Elian cursed under his breath.
"Elias," Maeve said, voice tight. "Come here."
I turned.
She had packed two small bundles—one for her, one for me. Cloaks. Bread wrapped in cloth. Dried meat. A small pouch of coin.
"I don't want to leave you," she whispered, eyes shining with something dangerously close to panic. "But if they're coming… if they're like the stories…"
"Maeve," Elian said sharply. He stepped forward, placing a calloused hand on her cheek. "Listen to me. You go with him."
Her eyes widened. "What?"
"I'll slow them," he said. "Buy you time."
"No!" The word ripped from her. "I'm not leaving you behind!"
"You married a soldier," he said softly. "Even if I laid down my sword, that part of me never left. If this is an organized force, then someone needs to stall them, draw their attention. The boy needs a chance."
"He's not 'the boy.' He's our son!" she snapped.
Elian's gaze flickered to me.
Not mine.
But close enough.
The urge to say something sharp, something pragmatic and emotionless, rose to my tongue.
Splitting forces is dangerous. You should stay together. Two untrained villagers won't slow an army.
Except… Elian wasn't untrained. And if they ran as a group, they'd move slower. More visible. Easier to track.
Sometimes, sacrifice wasn't a dramatic choice. It was basic math.
I swallowed the argument.
"The northern path," Elian said. "Through the rocks, past the old well. You remember it?"
Maeve nodded jerkily.
"Take Duskwood," he continued. "Go deeper than you ever wanted to. Don't stop until you're far from here. Don't look back."
The screams outside grew louder. Something exploded—wood splintering, glass shattering. A pillar of fire shot up near the village square.
They were burning us from the inside out.
"Elian," Maeve whispered.
He kissed her forehead. Then he turned to me.
"Elias."
I met his gaze.
"Protect her," he said simply.
He didn't ask if I could.He didn't ask if I would.
He just… trusted me.
A strange weight settled on my chest. Not guilt. Not yet. But something like it.
"I will," I said.
He nodded once, sharply, as if sealing a contract.
Then he grabbed the door, pulled it open wider, and stepped into the chaos.
The world outside had become a painting of fire and metal.
Flames clung to rooftops. Smoke billowed between homes, thick and choking. Villagers ran in every direction—some with buckets, some with weapons, some with nothing but their bare hands and desperate eyes.
A house near the square collapsed in a roar of embers and splintering wood.
Between the flames, soldiers moved like a dark tide.
Their armor was uniform: dark metal, reinforced leather, visored helms. The emblem of the hammer-and-anvil glowed faintly on their chests, illuminated by reflected firelight.
They weren't raiders. They weren't bandits.
They were an Order.
One of many across the world that believed their laws were worth more than the lives under their boots.
Elian didn't hesitate.
He stepped into their path, sword flashing in the firelight.
I didn't watch.
If I started counting how many ways he could die, I might hesitate.
And I didn't have time for hesitation.
"Elias!" Maeve grabbed my arm. "We go. Now."
We ran.
The back of the house opened into a small, uneven yard. A fence stood half-collapsed where years and weather had done more damage than any enemy.
We climbed over it, boots sinking into damp earth.
Around us, the village roared and burned.
I kept my eyes forward, tracing the path in my mind.
North. Through the rocks. Past the old well. Toward Duskwood.
The forest had always been a threat.
Tonight, it was our only shelter.
"Stay low," I said, glancing over my shoulder.
Maeve nodded, breathing hard. She clutched her bundle tight, knuckles white.
Behind us, a man screamed. A woman shouted his name, voice cracking.
Metal clashed.Something heavy hit the ground.
Don't look back.
We cut through a narrow alley between two houses. Flames licked at one rooftop, sending sparks raining down. Smoke stung my eyes and scratched my throat from the inside.
"Cover your mouth," I said. "Use your sleeve. Don't breathe too deep."
She obeyed without argument.
We emerged near the small storage sheds at the edge of the village. Beyond them, rocks jutted from the earth like broken teeth, forming a narrow passage most villagers avoided.
Too easy to twist an ankle there. Too easy to get lost.
Perfect.
"Through there," I said.
Maeve grabbed my hand.
We moved as quickly as the terrain allowed, feet scrambling on loose stone. The world narrowed to shallow breaths, pounding footsteps, the distant roar of flames.
"Elias…" Maeve gasped. "Elian—"
"Is buying us time," I said, forcing my voice to remain steady. "Don't waste it."
My own words cut deeper than I intended.
I'm not here to comfort you, I reminded myself. I'm here to keep you alive.
That was the contract.
I had no right to pretend it was anything else.
We reached the old well—a circle of crumbling stones half-swallowed by grass. The path from there to the forest was quicker, but exposed. No cover, no houses to hide behind.
I paused at the top of the slope.
The village below us was burning in earnest now. Flames devoured rooftops, turning familiar shapes into jagged silhouettes wreathed in fire. Smoke coiled upward in thick, choking columns, merging with the unnatural darkness above.
Soldiers moved with cold efficiency.
Groups of them kicked down doors. Others drove villagers toward the center of the square like herders forcing animals into pens. The few who resisted were cut down quickly, bodies left where they fell.
This wasn't just an attack.
It was a purge.
Maeve followed my gaze, hands trembling.
"Why?" she whispered. "We're just a village. We have nothing. Why would anyone…?"
Because that's what power does, I thought. It crushes anything that looks like it might inconvenience the design later.
But I said nothing.
A horn sounded—low, commanding.
Several soldiers turned, following the sound like hounds responding to a whistle.
The leader rode into view atop a dark-coated horse. His armor was heavier than the rest, layered and engraved. His helm bore a crest shaped like a stylized hammer.
He surveyed the burning village with a calm, assessing gaze.
No satisfaction.No rage.
Just… appraisal.
Behind him, a figure in dark robes walked slowly, hands clasped. A faint shimmer surrounded them—Arcanum gathered like a thin mist.
A mage.
I narrowed my eyes.
If they had a mage with them, this wasn't random at all.
"Elias," Maeve said, voice small. "We should go. Please."
I turned away from the sight.
She was right.
Blackstone was already lost.
What remained was whether we joined it in the ashes.
"We run to the forest," I said. "Once inside, we move deeper. No stopping."
"Won't they follow?" she asked.
"Maybe." I looked at the distant line of trees. "But Duskwood eats the careless. They'll be cautious."
Or arrogant enough to think the forest obeyed them.
Either way, the trees gave us a chance we didn't have here.
We started down the slope.
We didn't make it far.
"THERE!"
The shout cut through the crackle of fire.
I looked up.
Three soldiers had broken away from the main group, running in our direction. Their armor clinked softly, movements efficient despite the uneven terrain.
One pointed at us.
"Run," I said.
We sprinted.
The open ground between the village and the forest stretched longer than it ever had before. My legs burned. The bundle Maeve carried bounced against her hip. Her breath came out ragged, too loud.
Behind us, boots pounded rock and dirt.
"Stop!" one of the soldiers shouted. "By Order of the Ironbrand, halt!"
Ironbrand.
So that was their name.
I didn't slow.
They were faster. Trained. Armored, but not weighed down enough to matter.
One of them lifted a hand.
Arcanum flared—a hot, crackling pulse.
"Down!" I snapped, grabbing Maeve and dragging her sideways.
A bolt of searing orange light streaked past where we'd been moments ago, striking the ground ahead. Dirt and stone exploded upward, showering us with debris.
Maeve cried out as a rock clipped her shoulder.
Pain flared along my back as something sharp grazed me, but I kept moving, pulling her with me.
Too slow. Too exposed. This won't work.
The forest loomed ahead, but it was still too far.
If they fired again with proper aim…
My fractured core pulsed, shadows stirring deep within.
I hated relying on something I didn't fully understand.
But I hated dying more.
"Keep running," I told Maeve. "Whatever happens, don't stop."
"What are you—"
"Go."
I let go of her hand and pivoted sharply, boots digging into the dirt.
The soldiers were closer now—close enough that I could see the edges of their visors, the scratches on their armor. Their steps faltered when I turned to face them instead of fleeing.
One of them laughed. "Brave, aren't you?"
Foolish, his tone implied.
Maybe I was.
But they hadn't met many people like me.
I raised my hand.
Inside my core, I reached not for the gentle flow of ordinary Arcanum, but for the fracture.
The crack.
The place where shadow and broken law had fused.
Pain lanced through my chest immediately, sharp and cold, like a blade of midnight driven between my ribs.
My vision darkened at the edges.
Move, I ordered the energy.
It responded.
A thin thread of shadow slipped outward from my core, through veins and bone and skin. It gathered in my extended hand, invisible to normal eyes, visible only to my altered perception.
The soldiers charged.
I whispered a single word in my mind—more intention than sound.
Fracture.
The thread of shadow snapped forward.
Not a bolt. Not a beam. More like a ripple.
It touched the ground between us.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then the earth itself… stuttered.
The air distorted. The soldiers' steps faltered mid-stride, as if the world had miscounted distance for a fraction of an instant. One of them stumbled, his boot landing half a foot to the side of where he intended. Another's knee buckled as momentum twisted wrong.
It wasn't a clear attack.
It wasn't powerful.
But it broke their rhythm.
Just enough.
I turned and ran.
The pain in my chest flared white-hot. My lungs spasmed. Spots danced across my vision.
Too much, I thought. Too early. I'm not ready for sustained use.
But I didn't stop.
Maeve had reached the first trees of Duskwood.
"Elias!" she shouted, half terror, half plea.
I plunged after her, branches clawing at my clothes, shadows swallowing the last of the open ground behind us.
The forest closed around us like a living thing.
Bootsteps thundered at the edge of the tree line.
Then—
They hesitated.
Duskwood did not welcome everyone.
The soldiers muttered among themselves.
"Captain said not to go deep," one warned. "The beasts here—"
"We just need to drag them out," another snapped. "He won't care how we do it."
"Should we call the mage?"
A pause.
"No. Not for this. Three of us is enough."
Their voices grew fainter as we pushed deeper, weaving between trees, ducking under low branches. Roots grabbed at our boots; thorns snagged our clothes.
My breathing grew harsh.
The pain from using the fracture trickled into a dull, gnawing ache.
Maeve stumbled once, twice, but didn't fall. Fear lent her strength.
"Elias," she gasped, "I… I can't… how much farther?"
"Far enough they have to think," I said between breaths. "Soldiers don't like thinking when they can avoid it."
Behind us, someone cursed as a branch snapped.
They had followed.
Of course they had.
The forest hadn't scared them enough.
Yet.
I slowed, pulling Maeve behind a wide, moss-covered trunk.
"Stay here," I whispered. "Don't move. No matter what you hear."
Her fingers tightened around my sleeve. "Where are you going?"
"Making sure they get lost," I said. "Or worse."
"Elias—"
I met her eyes.
For once, I didn't bother to hide what I was.
Cold.Calculated.Ready to do whatever it took.
She flinched—not from fear of me, but from the realization that the quiet boy she'd raised was capable of violence she'd never taught him.
"I'll come back," I said. "If I don't… keep going north. Follow the slope."
Her lips trembled. Words formed, then died on her tongue.
She let go.
I slipped away into the darkness between trees.
The forest welcomed me like an old acquaintance.
I pressed my back against a trunk, closed my eyes briefly, and listened.
Three sets of footsteps.Armor brushing against bark.Labored breathing from one who wasn't used to running in rough terrain.
The soldiers moved with discipline, but the forest disrupted their cohesion. Roots forced them to break formation. Low branches made them duck, twist, curse.
Good.
I moved parallel to them, keeping my steps light, my path indirect. The shadows seemed deeper around me, as if responding to the fracture in my core.
Fine, I thought. Then help me.
I spotted them through a gap in the undergrowth.
They were close now—too close.
One of them scanned the trees warily. "He can't have gone far. Kid like that doesn't know how to move in this kind of terrain."
You'd be surprised.
The man at the front slowed, raising a hand.
"Stay sharp," he warned. "Forest or not, orders are orders. Those who run are to be captured or killed."
"Why?" one of the others asked. "They're just villagers."
"Not our concern," the leader said flatly. "Ironbrand doesn't question. Ironbrand executes."
Ironbrand.
Good to have the name confirmed.
I waited until they passed the tree where I crouched, then moved behind them, silent as the breath between heartbeats.
My mind ran calculations.
Three enemies. One half-usable trick. No weapons. No backup. No formal training in this body. Disadvantage in strength, advantage in terrain and unpredictability. Objective: delay or cripple, not kill all three.
Killing all three was possible.
But at what cost?
My core was already fragile.
If I pushed too far and collapsed, Maeve's chance evaporated.
Delay it is.
I crouched beside a low shrub, pressing my palm to the earth.
The shadow inside me responded more reluctantly this time, as if annoyed by how quickly I'd called on it again.
Pain returned, sharper.
I bore it.
Just once more.
I gathered what little I dared to pull from the fracture. Instead of pushing it outward in a crude ripple, I tried something different.
Shape.Direction.Path.
The patterns I'd studied in the forest.The fragments of runes near the monolith.
I traced a rough echo of those forms in my mind, then pushed the shadow along it.
The ground beneath the soldiers flickered.
Roots shifted.
For a brief instant, the forest remembered it was part of a formation much larger than any soldier could comprehend.
The man at the back screamed as something clamped around his ankle.
A root, previously buried, twisted like a living snake, tightening. He crashed to the ground, armor clanging against stone.
The others spun.
"What—?!"
Another root lunged, wrapping around the leg of the second soldier. He hacked at it with his sword, cursing, but the movement unbalanced him. He fell forward, hitting the ground hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs.
The leader managed to keep his feet, but even he stumbled as the terrain under him seemed to shift half a step to the left without physically moving.
I clenched my teeth as agony ripped through my nerves.
This wasn't just drawing on the fracture.
It was using it as a key to tug at something buried deep within Duskwood's ancient formation.
Too much, I thought again. Too soon. Too—
My knees buckled.
I braced myself against the tree, breath ragged.
Through the haze of pain, I heard their confusion.
"What happened?!""The ground—something grabbed me!""Get up! It's just roots, damn it—cut them!"
Roots didn't hold long. Whatever echo I'd briefly awakened faded, the forest returning to its quiet watchfulness.
But I had bought time.
Maybe seconds.
Maybe enough.
I staggered backward, muscles shaking, vision pulsing with my heartbeat.
Move. Get back to Maeve. Deeper into the forest. Away from here.
I pushed off the trunk, forcing my feet to move.
Behind me, a soldier roared in anger.
"You little—! I'll rip his legs off when I find him!"
Their boots pounded the ground again.
They weren't giving up.
Of course they weren't.
Ironbrand didn't question.
Ironbrand executed.
I half-ran, half-stumbled through the undergrowth, every breath scraping against my ribs like broken glass. My core felt like it was on fire and freezing at the same time.
Branches whipped my face. Thorns tore at my sleeves.
For a moment, I wanted to stop.
Just stop and collapse and let the forest take me.
But then I thought of Maeve, crouched behind a tree, alone in the dark with nothing but a bundle and a fading sense of safety.
No.
Not yet.
Not like this.
I pushed harder.
Shadows clung to me more tightly than before, as if reluctant to let me go.
We're not done, I told them.
Or maybe I told myself.
I didn't know.
All I knew was that the quiet years were over.
The world had finally come knocking.
And I was bleeding in a forest, hunted by an Order that didn't even know yet what kind of mistake they were making.
I broke through a patch of thick brush—
And froze.
The space where I had left Maeve was empty.
No bundle.No mother.No footprints obvious at first glance.
Just darkness.
I scanned the ground, forcing my eyes to adjust.
There—faint depressions, leading further north.
She had moved, just as I'd told her to.
Relief flickered.
Then—
A twig snapped behind me.
I turned slowly.
At the edge of the clearing, half-shadowed by twisted roots and moonless dark, a figure stood watching me.
Not a soldier.
Not a villager.
Something else.
Its outline was wrong for a human. Too still. Too slender. Eyes glinting faintly with a light that wasn't fire, wasn't moon, wasn't anything I recognized.
The forest around it seemed to lean away.
Behind me, the soldiers crashed through branches, close now, cursing and spitting.
I stood between two predators.
My core pulsed, the fracture within it whispering possibilities and pain.
The night the sky burned hadn't reached its peak yet.
It was only beginning.