The crystal did not cool.
Even after the smoke faded from Walliam's skin… even after the forest sounds slowly crept back — insects, leaves, distant wind — the shard in his palm still held a living warmth.
Like skin.
Like breath.
Like something that knew it was no longer alone.
"Walliam!"
Lysa burst through the brush first, followed by two others from the village. They stopped dead at the edge of the clearing, eyes wide.
The crater. The scorched trees. The glassed earth.
And him — kneeling at the center, glowing faintly through the seams of his sleeves.
"What did you do?" one of the men whispered.
Walliam tried to answer, but the words tangled in his throat. His heart was still racing, though the second pulse — the deeper one — had slowed to a steady, calm rhythm.
Like it had found what it wanted.
Lysa approached carefully. "Your eyes…" she said.
"What about them?"
"They're not the same."
He blinked. The world looked sharper. Edges clearer. Colors deeper. He could see the faint currents of air moving through the clearing — thin distortions like heat over stone.
He looked down at the crystal.
It pulsed once.
His chest answered.
The villagers stepped back.
Old Mara arrived last, leaning on her carved staff. She took in everything without speaking — the crater, the burned mark on Walliam's shirt, the crystal.
Her face went pale.
"Drop it," she said.
"I can't."
"Drop it, boy."
"It won't let me."
That was the wrong thing to say.
Fear shifted in the air. Heavy. Quick.
Mara moved closer anyway. Slowly. "Look at me," she said.
He did.
"Are you still you?"
Walliam swallowed. "I think so."
She nodded once, like that was the best answer anyone could hope for. Then her gaze sharpened. "We leave. Now. This place is wrong."
She didn't explain. She didn't need to.
Something watched from the treeline.
Walliam felt it now — faint ripples in the air, like pressure waves.
Others had felt the crystal fall.
They made it back to the village without speaking.
People gathered as soon as they saw the crater-smoke on the horizon and the light still threading faintly under Walliam's skin.
Children were pulled indoors.
Doors shut.
Questions rose like a storm.
Mara silenced them with one raised hand. "Inside the storehouse. Just us."
Walliam, Lysa, and three elders followed her into the old grain building. The door shut. Barred.
Dim light filtered through high cracks in the wood.
"Show me," Mara said.
Walliam opened his hand.
The crystal lay against his skin like it belonged there. Faint veins of light stretched from it into his palm — not piercing, not cutting, but connected.
One elder cursed under his breath. "It bonded."
"No," Mara said softly. "It chose."
Walliam looked up. "What is it?"
No one answered immediately.
Finally, Mara spoke. "Stories call them Heartshards."
The word felt heavy.
"Pieces of what?" Lysa asked.
Mara hesitated.
"Of something that should have stayed broken."
Silence thickened.
Walliam stared at the shard. "It saved me."
"It marked you," an elder said.
"From what?"
Mara looked toward the door. Toward the forest beyond. "From things that hunt them."
Right on cue, the wind outside shifted.
A low vibration hummed through the walls.
Everyone felt it.
"Too fast," Mara muttered.
A scream rang out from the edge of the village.
They ran outside.
The air had gone dark — not from clouds, but from something like smoke moving against the wind.
A shape flowed between houses. Tall. Bent. Edges fraying like torn cloth. No face — only a hollow stretch of deeper black.
Another scream.
A man was dragged across the ground by nothing visible except the distortion around him.
"Inside!" Mara shouted. "Don't touch it!"
Walliam's pulse slammed hard.
The shard flared in his hand.
The shadow thing turned.
It felt him.
It released the man, who collapsed, gasping.
Then it came.
The world slowed.
Walliam didn't remember deciding to move — he was just suddenly standing between the creature and the others.
Fear roared in his ears.
The crystal burned.
Light surged down his arm — not fire, not lightning, but something sharper.
The creature lunged.
Walliam threw his hand forward.
Light exploded outward in a curved arc — instinct shaped into form. It cut the air with a sound like splitting glass.
The shadow hit it —
—and tore apart.
Shredded into drifting black ash that evaporated before it hit the ground.
Silence crashed over the village.
Walliam stood frozen, arm extended, breath shaking.
A faint blade of light still hummed from his hand.
He stared at it.
It faded.
Gasps rose behind him.
Mara approached slowly. "What did it feel like?"
Walliam's voice barely worked. "Like… it already knew how."
She closed her eyes briefly.
"That's worse," she whispered.
Night fell heavy.
No one slept.
Torches burned along the village edge. Watches doubled.
Inside Mara's house, Walliam sat at the table, crystal resting against his chest now, tucked under his shirt. It felt right there.
Mara poured tea with shaking hands.
"They'll come now," she said.
"Who?"
"Those who worship them. Those who hunt them. Those who fear them. The world beyond our cliff is not empty, boy. It's waiting."
Walliam stared into the cup. The surface reflected faint light from his skin.
"I didn't ask for this."
"No one ever does."
A knock came at the door.
Too calm. Too steady.
Mara froze.
Another knock.
Then a voice from outside — smooth, unfamiliar.
"We know what fell."
Walliam's pulse deepened.
"We felt it awaken."
The air pressed inward, like the house itself was being held.
"Bring us the boy," the voice said gently, "and no one else needs to be harmed."
Mara's grip tightened on her staff.
Walliam stood.
Fear trembled through him — but beneath it, something else stirred.
Not fear.
Recognition.
Like a door inside him had just opened.
And something ancient had stepped closer to the light.