Veilstrum

The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting the sky in hues of amber and crimson. Arkan's body protested every step, his wounds and exhaustion weighing heavily on him. Yet he pressed on, the shard's faint glow his only guide. His thoughts spiraled, wrestling with the burden of the journal's revelations and the oppressive silence of his isolation.

When the first signs of movement appeared on the edge of his vision, he thought it was a trick of the fading light. But then he heard it—the rhythmic clang of metal on stone. His heart quickened, and he forced himself to move faster, each step heavier than the last.

A woman stood in the clearing ahead. Her form was graceful but battle-worn, framed by the last rays of sunlight. She was sharpening a long, curved blade, the weapon's edge gleaming with a silver light. Her silver bob-cut hair shimmered faintly in the twilight, and her piercing emerald eyes seemed to cut through the distance, locking onto him before he could say a word.

Arkan hesitated, his instincts screaming at him to turn back, but the sight of her—alive, solid, real—shattered his defenses.

"Hey!" he called, his voice raw and weak.

The woman rose fluidly to her feet, the blade in her hand gleaming brighter as she shifted her weight. Her emerald eyes narrowed in suspicion, her stance radiating a quiet but palpable danger.

"You look like you're about to drop dead," she said flatly, lowering her blade just a fraction. "Or are you another shade sent to waste my time?"

"I'm no shade," Arkan managed, clutching his side. "I just… need help."

She studied him for a moment longer before sheathing her blade. "Help? You've picked the wrong time for charity."

Arkan staggered closer, holding up the shard. "This… it led me here."

Her expression changed in an instant. The calm, aloof exterior cracked, replaced by something sharper—confusion, recognition, and a flash of anger. She stepped forward, her movements precise and deliberate.

"Where did you get that?" she demanded, her voice low and dangerous.

Arkan's grip tightened on the shard, suddenly wary. "I found it. In the ruins of my hometown. Nullborn—"

"Nullborn attacked you, and you lived?" she interrupted, her emerald eyes narrowing further. "That shard should've burned you alive if you weren't chosen."

"I didn't ask to be chosen," Arkan snapped, his frustration bubbling over. "I didn't ask for any of this! I just… I don't know what I'm doing, and I'm trying to survive."

Her gaze softened, just barely. "What's your name?"

"Arkan Veris."

The woman tilted her head slightly, as if weighing his words. "Kaelith," she said finally. "And if that shard chose you, it's not just survival you'll have to worry about."

Arkan wanted to question her, to demand answers, but his legs buckled beneath him. He hit the ground hard, the impact sending a fresh wave of pain through his body.

"Damn it," Kaelith muttered. She was by his side in an instant, her hand brushing against his forehead. "You're burning up. Whatever fight you just crawled away from, it nearly killed you."

He felt her lift him, her strength surprising for her lean frame. "Why… are you helping me?" he rasped.

"Because that shard of yours just made things a lot more complicated," she replied, her tone clipped. "And because I don't need another corpse on my conscience."

Kaelith carried him to a nearby campfire, its warmth a small comfort against the encroaching night. She set him down carefully, then rummaged through a leather satchel for supplies.

"Drink this," she said, handing him a small flask.

Arkan hesitated but relented, the liquid burning his throat before settling into a soothing warmth. He watched as Kaelith worked with practiced efficiency, cleaning his wounds and wrapping them in fresh bandages.

"You're a fighter," he said softly, his voice tinged with awe.

"I'm a survivor," she corrected, not meeting his gaze. "Like you, apparently."

For a while, they sat in silence, the crackling fire the only sound between them. Kaelith finally broke it.

"That shard… it's not just some trinket," she began, her voice quieter now. "It's tied to the Source Core itself. If the Nullborn are after you, it's because they see you as a threat."

"I don't even know what it's supposed to do," Arkan admitted, staring at the shard in his palm. Its glow was faint, pulsing in time with his heartbeat. "All it's done is nearly get me killed."

Kaelith gave a bitter laugh. "Power doesn't care about what you want, Arkan. It chooses. And it demands everything in return."

Her words carried a weight that made Arkan look at her more closely. There was pain in her emerald eyes, buried beneath the armor of her demeanor.

"What about you?" he asked quietly. "Why are you out here? What are you fighting for?"

Kaelith didn't answer immediately. She stared into the fire, her expression unreadable.

"Redemption," she said at last, the word heavy with unspoken meaning.

Before Arkan could press further, the shard in his hand pulsed violently, its light flaring. Kaelith's blade resonated in response, humming with an otherworldly energy. Both of them froze, their eyes locking.

"What the—" Arkan started, but Kaelith silenced him with a sharp gesture.

"They've found us," she said grimly, rising to her feet. Her blade was in her hand again, its edge glowing faintly.

From the shadows beyond the firelight, shapes began to emerge—twisted, unnatural forms that moved with a predatory grace. Nullborn.

Arkan struggled to stand, his body protesting every movement. Kaelith glanced at him, her expression hard.

"Stay behind me," she ordered.

"I can fight," Arkan insisted, clutching the shard.

"Not like this, you can't."

The first Nullborn lunged, and Kaelith moved like lightning. Her blade sliced through the creature, its body disintegrating into ash. The resonance between her weapon and the shard grew stronger, the air around them humming with raw energy.

Arkan felt the shard's power stir within him, responding to Kaelith's strikes. Threads of light sparked to life in his hand, more stable than before.

"Focus," Kaelith barked, cutting down another Nullborn. "If you're going to fight, then fight!"

Gritting his teeth, Arkan wove the light into a makeshift barrier, blocking a Nullborn's attack. The effort left him winded, but the shard's voice urged him onward.

"Stand. Fight. Survive."

Kaelith's movements were a blur, her strikes precise and deadly. But even she couldn't hold them off forever. The Nullborn swarmed, their hisses growing louder, their movements faster.

Arkan pushed himself harder, weaving unstable threads that lashed out like whips, striking the creatures with bursts of light. For a moment, it seemed like they might hold their ground.

But then a shadow larger than the others loomed from the darkness, its presence suffocating. A Nullborn unlike any Arkan had seen stepped forward, its glowing eyes burning with intelligence.

Kaelith's grip tightened on her blade. "This one's different," she muttered.

Arkan's heart pounded. The shard pulsed in his hand, its light flaring brighter than ever.

And then the Nullborn spoke.

"Shard-bearer," it hissed, its voice a jagged echo. "You cannot run from us. The void claims all."

Arkan's blood ran cold. The fight was far from over.

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