The journey toward the fourth shard began before our wounds had even closed.
Ashen insisted we rest, but the leyline wouldn't allow it.
The land itself seemed restless pulsing, shifting, breaking open new paths that hadn't existed the night before. Memory was leaking into reality faster than we could seal it.
Lucas kept his swords drawn even while we traveled.
Ashara barely slept, scribbling frantic notes, trying to predict what the leyline might do next.
And my son...
He walked ahead of us now.
Not like a boy leading his family.
But like a fire guiding lost souls through the dark.
The third shard had changed him beyond what I could pretend to ignore.
His steps were lighter, but his shadow burned brighter.
Sometimes he spoke in languages none of us knew.
Sometimes the earth itself bent toward him, whispering ancient words of loyalty or warning.
I didn't know which.
All I knew was that he was running out of time.
And so were we.
