The ridge was silent—too silent. Ash swirled around my boots as I pressed my back against the jagged rock wall, ears straining. Every instinct screamed that danger was near. I could hear it in the distant crunch of gravel, the faint scrape of boots against stone, the whisper of movement that didn't belong to the wind.
I swallowed, glancing down at the satchel. Lunaris pulsed faintly against my side, a heartbeat of silver light. My fingers itched to touch it, to call upon the power I had glimpsed in the Rift. But fear held me back. What if I fail?
A soft, cold whisper slithered into my mind.
"You felt the Rift, bearer. You survived. You can fight like them… all of them. You only need to reach."
Vaelor. His voice was sharper now, almost impatient. He wasn't teasing. He was commanding.
I exhaled slowly, muscles tensing. My heart hammered, lungs burning from the climb up the ridge, adrenaline still thrumming in my veins. I wasn't going to run forever. It was time to test Lunaris.
I knelt, pressing the artifact lightly against my palm. Its silver surface quivered like liquid metal. I closed my eyes and imagined the movements—the strikes, the precision, the speed. I imagined myself as the warriors I had seen in the flashes the night before, moving with deadly grace.
"Focus," Vaelor whispered. "Reach. Claim. Fight."
A tiny spark of light flared from Lunaris. I gasped. My fingers trembled as I tried to direct it, to call the power to me. But the glow was weak, almost timid, like a child refusing to obey. A tendril shot out—thin, writhing like a serpent—and wrapped around my ankle. I stumbled, yelping as I fell sideways, scraping my hands and knees against jagged stone.
"Ugh!" I cursed, flailing, trying to shake it off. The artifact pulsed again, and this time the tendrils surged stronger, tangling me in the debris at my feet. My satchel tipped over, spilling half my supplies, scattering rations and tools into the ash.
The crunch of boots on stone snapped me out of my panic. Figures emerged from the fog below—the first real threat beyond the Rift. Imperial scouts. Lean, fast, weapons drawn, their eyes glinting with ruthless intent. They had been tracking me, or perhaps they had followed the aftermath of Scarface's crew. Either way, there was no hiding now.
I scrambled to my feet, tugging at Lunaris. Help me, I begged it silently. Please, just this once.
The artifact pulsed, a single tendril lashing out—not to strike them, but to shove me backward. I stumbled over a jagged rock, hitting my shoulder hard. Pain flared, sharp and immediate. My stomach flipped, and I landed in a heap against the cliffside. The scouts advanced, boots striking stone with deadly rhythm.
Vaelor's voice hissed in my mind, impatient, almost furious:
"Weakness is death. Use it, now!"
I clenched my teeth, forcing myself to rise. The tendrils writhed around me, unpredictable, thrashing against my movements. I swung my dagger at a scout, barely grazing his arm. A tendril from Lunaris shot out at the wrong moment, knocking me off balance again, sending me sliding down the ridge toward the foggy edge.
"Argh!" I screamed, clutching the satchel, my fingers slipping against the smooth surface of the orb. One hand caught it just before it slipped free entirely. The artifact pulsed violently, almost angry, thrumming against my palm.
The scouts laughed, cruel and mocking, thinking I was stumbling helplessly. They weren't wrong.
I scrambled to regain my footing, kicking ash and rocks behind me, trying to put some distance between myself and them. But two scouts broke off from the main group, moving with precision to cut me off. They pinned me against the cliff face. One pressed a blade to my ribs while the other circled, dagger ready. I could feel the cold steel bite through my tunic.
Vaelor's whisper cut through the fear, calm but terrifying:
"Do not hesitate. Strike. Or die."
I gritted my teeth and touched the orb again. Lunaris responded—but not as I had hoped. Tendrils of light flared violently, snapping outward, not guided by my will. One wrapped around the scout's ankle, pulling him off balance. Another whipped against the cliff face, dislodging rocks that tumbled down the ridge. And then—one huge, uncontrolled surge shot backward, hurling me sideways like a rag doll.
I hit the ground hard, pain flaring from bruised ribs and scraped skin. My satchel slid a few feet out of reach. I reached for it, gasping, heart hammering.
"Catch me, bearer… or you will fall," the orb whispered urgently, its voice now almost alive, demanding.
I lunged, fingers brushing against it just in time. The moment I touched Lunaris again, the tendrils recoiled like snakes stung, giving me a brief moment of clarity. I scrambled to my feet, sweat and ash coating every inch of me.
The scouts, recovering from the chaos, moved again. My dagger was still clutched in one hand, satchel in the other. I realized then—if I continued to fight like this, relying on Lunaris without understanding it, I could kill myself faster than anyone else could.
A frantic thought shot through my mind: I need distance.
I abandoned part of my pack—rations, tools, even my spare dagger—throwing them over the edge. The scouts hesitated, glancing at the scattered supplies, then lunged after me.
Using the chaos, I leapt down a narrow crevice, sliding through ash and debris, the fog swallowing me. My chest burned, lungs screaming, every muscle aching. And yet, I was alive. Barely.
I leaned against the cliff's edge, panting, heart racing, staring down at the faint light of my satchel nestled at my side. The artifact pulsed, softer now, almost contemplative.
Vaelor's voice, calm and terrifying, filled my mind, cutting through the ragged rhythm of my breathing:
"You're inefficient. I will correct that."
A shiver ran down my spine. I had survived, but barely. I had glimpsed power, and it had thrown me around like a child's toy. Lunaris was not a tool—it was a force, sentient, demanding, dangerous. And I was just beginning to understand how little control I actually had.
I hugged the satchel to my chest, the fog wrapping around me like a living thing. My ears caught the faint sound of distant footsteps—more scouts, more danger. But for the first time, I didn't feel completely helpless. The power had been there, however chaotic, and it had kept me alive.
But Vaelor's voice lingered in my mind, icy and insistent:
"I will teach you. And when I do… you will not fail."
I swallowed hard. My body screamed for rest, my mind screamed for clarity, and yet, deep down, a spark of determination flared.
I will survive. I have to.
The fog shifted. The ridge below was empty—silent—but the feeling remained. Watching. Waiting.
Somewhere, beyond the haze, something more dangerous than humans was stirring. And I had no idea if I was ready.