Chapter 2 – Ash and Awakening
The first thing Kael felt was the wind.
Not air — wind.
Cold, sharp, carrying the taste of rust and dust. It clawed across his skin as if the world itself had forgotten what it meant to touch a living thing.
He stumbled out of the tunnel, half-blind from the sudden brightness.
Above him stretched a sky that wasn't a sky at all — a dome of smoke and shattered light. A faint, dying sun flickered somewhere behind the clouds, bleeding crimson into the horizon.
The world was ruined.
The Obsidian Wastes sprawled endlessly in every direction — jagged plains of black stone, cracked rivers of dried magma, and skeletal remains of towers half-swallowed by ash. Nothing grew here. Nothing lived. The silence was heavier than any chain he'd worn.
Kael dropped to his knees, coughing. Every breath burned. The air was dry and poisoned by the mines' dust.
Behind him, the tunnel had collapsed completely. Whatever had survived inside was buried forever.
He was free.
And yet, he had no idea what freedom meant.
A distant rumble echoed through the plains — slow, rhythmic, like the heartbeat of a dying god.
Kael turned toward the sound and saw it: a pillar of smoke rising from what looked like a fortress carved into the side of a cliff. It was miles away, shimmering in the heat haze. He didn't know who lived there, but if there was smoke, there was life.
Or something pretending to be alive.
He looked down at his hand.
The mark still glowed faintly, threads of silver crawling beneath his skin like living veins. He clenched his fist, and the light pulsed once, responding to his heartbeat.
You are bound, the voice whispered again — softer this time, almost tired.
Kael froze. "You again."
You carry a fragment of the void. Use it, or it will consume you.
He scowled. "You think I asked for this?"
No one asks the dark to choose them. It simply does.
He opened his mouth to curse, but the voice had already faded. The silence that followed felt even heavier.
He walked.
Hours, maybe days — he couldn't tell. The sun never moved; it only dimmed and brightened like a dying ember. Each step sank into ash that whispered beneath his boots.
Once, he found a corpse half-buried in the dust — an Imperial soldier, judging by the armor. The man's skull had caved in, and his sword was cracked clean down the middle.
Kael knelt and pried the blade free. The metal was dull, but balanced.
"Guess I'm not a miner anymore," he muttered.
He kept moving until his legs gave out. He dropped beside a mound of stone and rested his back against it. The wind howled. The mark on his palm kept pulsing, slower now, like it was breathing with him.
Then, faintly — from somewhere behind him — came a sound.
Footsteps.
Kael gripped the sword, eyes narrowing. Out here, there was only one rule: if something walks, it's either starving or hunting.
From the haze emerged a figure.
Tall, cloaked in torn leather, face hidden by a scarf and goggles. A long rifle slung across the back. The stranger moved with careful precision — not the aimless shuffle of a scavenger.
Kael rose slowly. "Stay where you are."
The figure stopped. Then a voice — rough, female, faintly accented — answered, "If I wanted you dead, you wouldn't hear me coming."
"Try me."
A pause. Then the stranger reached up and pulled off her goggles.
Underneath was a face carved by sand and war — dark-eyed, scar across the brow, maybe twenty-five. "You came from the mines," she said. Not a question.
Kael didn't answer.
"Nobody comes out of there alive."
"I did."
"That supposed to make me impressed or worried?"
He lifted the sword slightly. "Depends on whether you're friend or foe."
She smirked. "Neither. But if you stay out here, you'll be neither too — just bones and dust."
She turned and began walking toward the distant fortress. After a few steps, she glanced back. "You coming, or are you planning to duel the wind?"
Kael hesitated. Every instinct told him not to trust her. But his body was failing, and the voice in his head had gone silent. The fortress might have water… or answers.
He followed.
They didn't talk much.
The land was too quiet for conversation. Only the crunch of ash underfoot and the moan of the wind filled the space between them.
After what felt like an eternity, the cliff-fortress loomed above — carved from the bones of an ancient titan, its ribs forming spires that reached into the smoky sky. Torches flickered along the walls, guarded by figures in patchwork armor.
"This place," Kael said finally, "who rules it?"
"No one rules the Wastes," the woman replied. "But the Black Hollow takes care of its own."
"Your name?"
"Lyra."
"Kael."
She glanced sideways. "You don't look like a miner anymore, Kael. You look like a storm pretending to be a man."
He didn't respond. But deep down, he wondered if she was right.
At the gates, two guards lowered spears.
"Another stray?" one sneered. "You know the rules, Lyra. No outsiders without proof of worth."
Lyra tossed something at his feet — a pouch of black crystals. Nightglass shards. "Proof enough?"
The guard hesitated, then nodded. "Fine. Both of you, inside. Don't cause trouble."
As they entered, Kael felt the mark on his hand flare again. The shadows of the fortress walls seemed to lean toward him, drawn by something unseen.
He shivered.
Lyra noticed. "You're carrying something, aren't you?"
He looked at her. "What makes you think that?"
"Because the air bends around you. Like the world's holding its breath."
Kael said nothing.
She sighed. "Fine. Keep your secrets. Just know — in the Hollow, secrets have a price."
Inside, the fortress was alive with movement — scavengers trading relics, smiths hammering weapons from scrap, children running barefoot through the dust. For the first time in his life, Kael saw something like a community. Broken, harsh, but real.
Lyra led him through narrow corridors into a chamber lit by flickering lamps. "You'll stay here tonight," she said. "Don't wander. The Hollow doesn't like strangers."
Kael sank onto the cot, exhausted. "Why help me?"
She looked at him for a long moment. "Because once, someone dragged me out of the dark too. And because…"
Her gaze dropped to his hand. "That mark of yours — it's not human, is it?"
Before he could reply, the ground trembled.
Dust fell from the ceiling. A deep hum filled the air, like the echo of a thousand voices whispering in unison.
Lyra's eyes widened. "What is that?"
Kael didn't answer. He knew.
It was the shard — and it was awakening again.
The lamps flickered out. The fortress plunged into shadow.
And in the dark, Kael heard the voice return — no longer a whisper, but a command.
The Loom stirs. The first thread unravels. Find the others before they find you.
The Hollow of Shadows
The lamps flickered back to life one by one.
The tremor faded, leaving only the faint hum of tension clinging to the air. Dust drifted through the shafts of pale light, catching in Kael's hair.
Lyra's hand was already on her rifle.
She scanned the walls, the ceiling, the shadows — everything. "It's gone," she said finally, voice low. "Whatever that was."
Kael didn't answer. He was staring at his hand. The mark had changed again — thin silver veins now extended from it, crawling up his wrist like living roots. Each pulse of light throbbed with quiet power.
He could feel it moving inside him, threading through his veins, whispering to the rhythm of his heart.
The first thread unravels.
The words still echoed in his skull, refusing to fade.
Outside, the fortress stirred with unease. Bells rang. Voices shouted orders.
Kael followed Lyra into the courtyard, where torches threw wild shadows against the ribbed walls of the Hollow. Soldiers in scavenged armor gathered, forming ranks around a central firepit.
A man stood before them — tall, draped in black fur, a jagged scar running down his cheek. His presence was enough to silence the crowd.
"That's him," Lyra whispered. "Commander Raithe. He runs the Hollow."
Raithe's gaze swept across the people, hard as stone. "Something just woke beneath us," he said. "The ground itself moved. I want eyes on every tunnel. No one rests until we know what it was."
One of the scouts spoke up. "Could've been a quake, sir."
"Then find the fault line. I don't care what it takes."
Kael's mark pulsed harder. He turned away before Raithe's gaze could find him, but Lyra caught the movement.
"What aren't you telling me, Kael?" she asked quietly.
He looked at her. "You wouldn't believe me."
"Try me."
He hesitated. The weight of the truth pressed against his throat. Then, finally, he said, "I touched something in the mines. It… changed me. That tremor — it wasn't the earth. It was me."
Lyra froze. "You're saying—"
Before she could finish, a voice cut through the crowd.
"Bring him forward."
Raithe was looking straight at Kael.
Two guards stepped up. Kael's grip tightened on the hilt of his sword.
Lyra stepped between them. "He's with me," she said. "He's not the cause of—"
"Move, Lyra."
Raithe's tone was calm, but it carried a weight that silenced her instantly.
Kael didn't resist as they dragged him into the open. He met Raithe's eyes without flinching.
The commander studied him for a long moment, then nodded toward Kael's hand. "That mark — it wasn't there when you entered the Hollow."
Kael didn't answer.
"I've seen many things in the Wastes," Raithe continued, circling him slowly. "Men twisted by Aether. Others cursed by the Void. You, boy… you smell of both."
He stopped in front of Kael. "Where did you get it?"
Kael met his gaze. "From the mines. It called to me."
That earned a ripple of murmurs from the gathered soldiers. Even Raithe's expression shifted, ever so slightly. "You heard it?" he said.
Kael nodded once. "A voice. It called itself a Shard."
At the word Shard, the air changed. Every torch flickered lower, as if afraid.
Raithe's eyes hardened. "You bring that word into my Hollow and expect me to believe you're no danger?"
"I didn't ask to bring anything," Kael said through his teeth. "I didn't choose this."
"No one ever does."
Raithe motioned to the guards. "Lock him below. If he's telling the truth, we'll see whether the darkness favors him."
Lyra stepped forward. "You can't just throw him—"
Raithe's glare cut her short. "Do you vouch for him with your life, then?"
Silence. Lyra's jaw clenched, but she said nothing.
The guards grabbed Kael by the arms and led him toward the lower tunnels.
The Hollow's underbelly was colder than the mines. The walls glistened with damp stone and the faint shimmer of trapped Aether. Chains hung from the ceiling, relics of something older than the fortress itself.
They threw Kael into a small chamber and bolted the iron gate. The door groaned shut, echoing down the corridor.
He sat there in the dark, breathing slow.
For the first time, the silence didn't feel empty. It felt alive.
He could sense it — the web of threads surrounding him. Each one connected to something beyond: the walls, the torches, even the guards' hearts beating above. He reached out, instinctively, and the mark on his hand flared.
You are the weaver now, the voice whispered. Pull, and the world bends.
Kael hesitated. Then he lifted his hand.
The air shimmered. Threads of faint light stretched from his fingers, weaving through the darkness like spider silk. He could feel them — warm, electric, vibrating with life. He tugged one, and a distant chain rattled. Another, and a torch flared brighter.
Power.
Real, tangible power.
But with it came pain — sharp, searing pain behind his eyes. The threads snapped back, and he gasped, clutching his head.
"You pull too early," the voice said. "Your body is not yet the loom."
Kael gritted his teeth. "Then tell me how to make it one."
In time. For now, survive.
He didn't know how long he sat there. Hours, maybe days. No one came.
Until finally, footsteps echoed down the corridor.
Lyra appeared at the gate, holding a torch and a small bag of food.
"They're calling you cursed," she said, sliding the food through the bars. "Half the Hollow wants you dead. The other half thinks you might be a sign."
Kael smirked weakly. "A sign of what?"
"That the old gods aren't as dead as we thought."
He stared at the torchlight dancing in her eyes. "And what do you think?"
Lyra hesitated, then whispered, "I think whatever's inside you isn't done yet."
Before he could respond, a shout echoed from above — frantic, panicked.
"Breach at the eastern wall! Shadows— the shadows are moving!"
Lyra froze. The torch flickered violently.
Kael stood, the mark on his hand igniting like molten silver.
The walls shook. Screams followed.
And from the cracks in the ceiling, tendrils of black smoke began to seep down, twisting like living serpents.
The voice in Kael's head whispered once more — not in words this time, but in hunger.
The dark remembers its own.