The Blazing night

The night was a scar of fire and screams.

Callen stumbled through the smoke, his lungs burning with each breath. The encampment was chaos, but he had to save his family. Figures ran in every direction, some carrying children, others wielding weapons in a futile attempt to fight back. The Dawn Reavers were relentless, their black armor flashing in the light of the burning tents. Taking the blade of a fallen neighbor, he ran, the shard within him making him feel light, the earth itself pushing him forward, leaving raised dirt in his wake, the land behind him resembling freshly plowed dirt, the adrenaline coursing through him allowing him to ignore the draining ache he felt with each use of his shard.

His hand gripped the arm of his wife, Ryna, as he reached her, swinging his blade he cut down the reaver dragging her after him, and he ran. Her eyes were wide, her breath ragged, and in her other arm, she clutched their youngest daughter, barely more than a toddler. Ahead of them, Callen’s eldest, a boy of eight named Kael, sprinted toward the forest, his face streaked with ash.

“Keep running, Kael!” Callen called out, his voice hoarse. “Don’t stop for anything!”

Kael didn’t look back. The boy vanished into the shadows of the tall grass, heading for the dense tree line beyond. Callen clung to the hope that he would make it—that his son could escape where so many others would not.

“Callen!” Ryna’s voice cracked with terror. He turned in time to see her stumble, her body jerking forward as a Reaver’s spear tore through her back.

“No!” Callen roared. He spun, slashing his blade blindly at the Reaver who had struck her. The soldier fell with a gurgling cry, but more were coming.

Ryna’s eyes met his for one fleeting moment. Blood stained her lips as she mouthed a single word: Go.

Callen’s heart shattered, but there was no time to grieve. He tore the sobbing child from Ryna’s slackened arms and bolted. Behind him, the Reavers gave chase, their boots pounding the ground. The tall grass whipped against his legs, obscuring his vision as he ran. His daughter clung to his neck, her tiny fingers digging into his shoulders.

“Hold on,” he whispered, though he didn’t know if she could hear him over the cacophony.

The treeline loomed ahead. If he could reach the forest, they might stand a chance. But the Reavers were fast, and the weight of his daughter slowed him. He could hear them now, shouting to one another, closing the gap.

A sharp pain exploded in his side as something struck him—a javelin grazing his ribs. He staggered, but didn’t fall. The forest was so close.

“Go, little one,” he gasped, setting his daughter down on her feet. “Run! Find Kael!”

She didn’t understand. She shook her head, her face streaked with tears.

Callen grabbed her shoulders, his voice firm despite the pain. “RUN!”

She sobbed but turned, her small form disappearing into the shadows of the forest just as the Reavers reached him. Callen spun to face them, his blade raised, his stance unsteady. There were three of them—more than enough to end him.

The first charged, and Callen swung, his blade cutting through the man’s thigh. The soldier fell, but another drove his shield into Callen’s chest, sending him sprawling to the ground. His vision blurred as he tried to rise, his fingers clawing at the dirt, his fatigue finally catching up to him as the world began to blur.

One of the Reavers raised his sword for the killing blow—

And then an arrow struck the man’s throat.

The Reaver dropped without a sound. The others turned, startled, just as a small group of warriors emerged from the forest, their bows drawn and blades gleaming.

“Get him!” a voice barked.

Callen felt hands grab him, dragging him back toward the trees as the newcomers engaged the Reavers. He tried to fight them off, but his strength was gone. His vision swam, the edges darkening.

“Keep him awake,” someone said.

“Who is he?” another asked.

“Doesn’t matter. He’s one of the shard-touched. Tobin will want to see him.”

Shard-touched. The words echoed faintly in Callen’s mind as darkness claimed him.

Callen’s Escape and Tobin’s Tribe

When Callen awoke, it was to the faint crackle of a fire and the cool touch of damp cloth on his forehead. He opened his eyes slowly, grimacing as a dull ache pulsed through his ribs. The air smelled of smoke, but not the acrid, **** kind from the Reavers’ fires—this was the scent of a campfire, mingled with roasted meat and earth.

He tried to sit up, but a firm hand pressed him back down. “Easy there, friend,” a deep voice said. “You’ll tear your stitches.”

Callen turned his head and found himself staring at a large man with graying hair and a weathered face. His arms were thick with muscle, and his clothes were rough-spun, adorned with tribal markings.

“Where…” Callen’s throat was dry, his voice barely audible. “Where am I?”

“You’re safe,” the man replied. “For now. You’re lucky my scouts found you when they did, or the Reavers would’ve finished the job.”

Callen blinked, the memories returning in a rush—Ryna’s ****, his children’s escape, the Reavers’ blades. He gripped the blanket covering him, his chest tightening.

“My… my daughter,” he rasped. “Did she—did she make it?”

The man’s expression softened. “We found no children with you,” he admitted. “But the forest is vast. If she ran, she may yet be alive.”

Callen slumped back against the ground, his body trembling with exhaustion and grief. Kael. My daughter. Please, let them be safe.

The man stood and stepped back. “Rest for now. You’ll need your strength. When you’re ready, I’ll take you to Tobin.”

“Tobin?” Callen asked weakly.

“Our chief,” the man replied. “And, by the looks of it, your only chance at surviving what’s coming.”

Selyn’s Resolve

Miles away, Selyn crouched in the shadows of a fallen tree, a young boy laying at her feet, breathing if just barely, him having been left alive was a trap the reavers laid for shardborn like her. Her shard-born powers twisted at the edges of her consciousness, the shadows tugging at her like eager dogs. She had tried to run, to hide, but the Dawn Reavers were everywhere. The encampment was lost.

She closed her eyes, steadying her breath. You have to fight, she told herself. You have to stop running.

The shadows seemed to respond to her resolve, coiling tighter around her arms and legs, growing darker and sharper. For years, she had feared the power the shard had given her—feared what it made her. But tonight, she would use it.

The Reavers were hunting her people, slaughtering them like animals. She couldn’t let it continue. She wouldn’t.

With a whisper, the shadows swallowed her whole, and Selyn disappeared into the night, the shadows wrapping around the boy as if having a mind of their own, his form disappearing into darkness, and then raising from shadows far from where he was, leaving him laying on a cot in tobins camp, startling one of the people resting nearby. "T-TOBIN! The man shouted in fright, several of the soldiers rushing forwards.

Rathic's obsession

From the crest of a hill, Commander Rathic watched the fires consume the plains. His soldiers moved like a tide, sweeping over the encampment and driving the survivors into the forest. It was messy, but it would do.

Beside him, one of his captains approached, saluting sharply. “Most of the shard-touched have been driven into the woods, sir. We’ll pursue at first light.”

“And the shards themselves?” Rathic asked, his voice even.

“Recovered, or soon to be,” the captain replied. “We’ll scour the camp for any we missed.”

Rathic nodded. “Good. The shards are our priority. The shard-touched are secondary. They will run, but they cannot hide forever.”

His gaze shifted to the forest, where the last survivors had fled. He wondered how long they would last—how far they would run before his men dragged them back.

The Heavens’ schism

High above, Seraphiel watched the fires with a heavy heart.

“The mortals suffer,” he said softly. “And the balance crumbles further.”

Beside him, Raziel folded his arms. “This is what comes of their greed. They covet power, and now it destroys them.”

“Is it greed?” Seraphiel asked, his voice tinged with sorrow. “Or is it desperation? They are not so different from us, brother.”

Raziel turned away. “We cannot interfere. You know that.”

“And yet,” Seraphiel whispered, his gaze lingering on the faint glow of a child fleeing into the forest, “I wonder how long we can stand by and do nothing.”