They reached the edge of the ravine by dusk, and the storm was already alive above it.
Veilstorms weren't supposed to form this fast. They were unpredictable, yes — but this one spun with purpose. Like it knew they were coming.
Kaelen stood at the cliff's edge, his boots dug into loose shale, the wind pushing back his hood. His eyes flickered with the strange sheen they'd held since the third shard sank into his skin.
He saw the storm differently now.
Everyone else saw clouds.
Kaelen saw mouths.
Openings. Wide and breathing. Waiting to consume.
"They're not weather anymore," he muttered.
Bren, behind him, tightened the straps on his pack. "What are they, then?"
"Doors," Kaelen said. "Twisting through themselves. Eating time."
Yreya didn't respond. She was staring at the center of the storm, where a spire of black stone jutted out from the earth like a dagger aimed at the sky.
"That's where the fourth shard is, isn't it?" she asked quietly.
Kaelen nodded. "That's where it wants me to go."
"Wants," Bren repeated. "Great. The thing has opinions now."
They descended just before nightfall, cutting through the outer ring of dead trees. The Veilstorm didn't strike yet, but the pressure pressed against their skin like they were moving through water.
Kaelen led. He didn't question why.
The path bent in ways it shouldn't. Time slipped — the sun stalled, shadows ran backward, their own voices echoed before they spoke.
They reached the spire by what felt like morning. It rose sharp from the cracked earth, spiraled with vein-like ridges pulsing faintly beneath the surface.
Yreya staggered as they approached. "It's loud. Gods, it's so loud."
Kaelen could hear it too. Not with ears — with blood.
A sound like screaming metal and soft weeping layered into one.
At the base of the spire, carved in bloodglass, was a phrase:
"BEHOLD THE KEY THAT BREAKS HER."
Kaelen stepped forward.
The fourth shard wasn't hidden. It sat exposed in the center of a black stone altar, floating half an inch above it, wrapped in threads of unmoving lightning.
It was different.
Wounded.
And alive.
He didn't touch it.
He spoke.
"I'm not your weapon," he said quietly.
The shard pulsed once. Not in anger. In recognition.
Bren moved behind him. "Kael, whatever this thing is—"
"I know," Kaelen said. "It's not a shard."
Yreya's eyes went wide. "Then what is it?"
Kaelen reached out — not with hands, but with thought. With will.
The lightning coiled, then bent. The shard lowered into his palm like it had always been his.
His vision went black.
He was in a tower, alone.
Ashra stood before him.
Not burning. Not broken.
Whole.
"You're waking up too fast," she said, voice sad and soft. "You'll tear before you understand what you are."
Kaelen tried to speak, but no words came.
She stepped closer.
Laid a hand on his chest.
"You are the echo of my failure," she whispered. "And my last chance."
Kaelen woke screaming.
Bren held him down. Yreya wiped blood from his nose.
The fourth shard had disappeared.
Kaelen's veins glowed faintly beneath his skin — not with fire, but with symbols. Words he didn't know, carved in light and moving slowly under his flesh.
No one said anything.
There was nothing left to say.