The sky above Veyra bled crimson, a slow, viscous drip of color that clung to the horizon like a wound. Lira stood at the edge of the Obsidian Spire, her fingers curled around the cold iron railing, watching the sun sink into the blackened sea. It had been three weeks since the light began to fade, and still, the Council of Dusk sat in their ivory halls, debating whether to send envoys to the north. They spoke of balance, of cycles, but Lira knew the truth: the world was dying, and no one cared enough to stop it.
She turned from the view, her boots crunching over gravel as she stepped into the shadow of the spire’s base. The air here was different—thicker, heavier, carrying the scent of ozone and something metallic, like blood. A low hum vibrated in her bones, a sound she’d come to associate with the city’s dying pulse. Her hand drifted to the pendant at her throat, a shard of fractured glass that pulsed faintly beneath her fingers. It was all that remained of the Lightweavers, her order, and its flicker was growing weaker by the day.
“You shouldn’t be here,” a voice said behind her. Lira froze, the pendant’s glow intensifying. She recognized the tone—sharp, edged with something like frustration. She turned to see Kael, his dark cloak flaring in the wind, his face half-hidden beneath the brim of his hat. He was a seeker, one of the Council’s enforcers, and he’d been hunting her since the night the Lightweavers’ last beacon died.
“I could say the same about you,” she replied, her voice steady. “You’re not supposed to be in the spire without a permit. Or have they finally decided to execute deserters?”
Kael stepped closer, his boots silent on the stone. “This isn’t a game, Lira. The Council’s lost control. The light’s gone too far. If you keep meddling, you’ll end up like the others.”
She didn’t flinch. “And what exactly did they do to them? Drag them through the streets? Burn their names from the records?” Her voice was bitter, but beneath it, a thread of fear tightened. She’d seen what happened to those who defied the Council. The last Lightweaver, Maren, had vanished three years ago, her name erased from every scroll in the archives. No one spoke of her now.
Kael’s jaw tightened. “You don’t understand. The light isn’t just fading—it’s being taken. Something out there is feeding on it, and if you keep searching for answers, you’ll only drag yourself into the same trap.”
Lira’s grip on the pendant tightened. “Then why are you here? If you’re so worried about me, why not report me?”
For a moment, Kael said nothing. Then he exhaled, a sound like a sigh. “Because I remember what the light used to look like. Before it died. Before the Council turned their backs on us.”
The words hung between them, heavy with unspoken history. Lira studied him, searching for lies, but found only exhaustion in his eyes. She had no reason to trust him, but the weight of the pendant in her hand felt heavier than ever. “If you’re here to stop me,” she said, “you’re too late. I’ve already found something. A place where the light still lives.”
Kael’s expression didn’t change, but his posture shifted, a flicker of tension in his shoulders. “Where?”
She hesitated. The map was etched into her memory, a series of symbols she’d decoded from Maren’s final journal. But sharing it would mean trusting him—and trust was a luxury she couldn’t afford. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, turning away. “You’ll never find it.”
“Lira,” Kael said, his voice lower now, almost pleading. “If you go alone, you’ll die. The path is dangerous. And if the light is still there… it’s not safe for anyone.”
She didn’t look back. “Then don’t follow me.”
The wind howled as she disappeared into the shadows of the spire, her heart pounding with a mixture of fear and resolve. She had no plan, no allies, only the faint glow of the pendant and the memory of a sky that once burned gold. But she couldn’t let the light die. Not again.
—
The journey took three days. Lira traveled by night, avoiding the main roads and the watchful eyes of the Council’s enforcers. The air grew colder as she ventured north, the landscape shifting from jagged cliffs to desolate plains littered with the bones of ancient beasts. She slept in caves, wrapped in stolen blankets, her dreams haunted by flickering images of a sun that no longer shone.
On the fourth night, she reached the Ashen Wastes, a barren expanse where the earth was cracked and blackened, as if scorched by some long-forgotten fire. The air here was thin, almost suffocating, and every step felt like wading through sand. She followed the map’s symbols, tracing a path that led her to a towering stone arch, half-buried in the earth. At its center, a faint light pulsed—dim, but unmistakable.
Lira approached cautiously, her breath shallow. The light was coming from a circular depression in the ground, where a single crystal stood, its surface swirling with hues of gold and crimson. She knelt, reaching out, and the moment her fingers brushed the crystal, a surge of warmth flooded her veins. The pendant at her throat flared brightly, and for a moment, she saw it—the light, pure and unbroken, stretching across the sky like a living thing.
“You found it,” a voice said behind her. Lira spun, her hand flying to the dagger at her belt. Kael stood at the edge of the arch, his cloak dusted with ash, his expression unreadable. “I told you not to come,” she said, though the words felt hollow.
He stepped closer, his eyes fixed on the crystal. “This is it, isn’t it? The last source of light.”
“It’s not just light,” she murmured. “It’s the heart of the world. If it dies, everything does.”
Kael’s gaze flicked to her. “Then why hasn’t the Council taken it? Why let it wither like this?”
Lira shook her head. “They don’t know. Or maybe they do, and they’re too afraid to act. This place… it’s been hidden for a reason.”
A sudden tremor shook the ground, and the crystal flared violently, sending a shockwave through the air. Lira stumbled back as the arch groaned, cracks spidering across its surface. Kael grabbed her arm, pulling her away as the ground split open, revealing a chasm of swirling darkness.
“What is that?” she gasped.
“The hunger,” Kael said, his voice tight. “It’s been waiting for this moment. For the light to die.”
The darkness surged, tendrils of shadow lashing out as if searching for something to consume. Lira tightened her grip on the pendant, feeling its warmth grow stronger. The crystal pulsed in response, and for the first time, she understood: this was no ordinary light. It was a force, a will, and it was fighting back.
“We have to protect it,” she said, her voice firm. “If this place falls, the world dies with it.”
Kael hesitated, then nodded. “Then we’d better move fast.”
Together, they raced to the crystal, Lira’s mind racing with possibilities. The Council had failed. The world had failed. But the light still burned, and she would not let it go out.
—
The battle lasted hours. The darkness was relentless, a living thing that twisted and writhed, seeking to devour the crystal’s glow. Lira and Kael fought side by side, using whatever they could—stones, broken branches, even their own bodies as shields. The pendant pulsed in her hand, its light growing brighter with each strike, until it became a beacon against the encroaching void.
At last, the darkness recoiled, its tendrils retreating as the crystal’s light intensified. The ground trembled one final time, then stilled. The arch stood intact, its surface gleaming with a new, vibrant glow. Lira sank to her knees, her breath ragged, as the weight of what they’d done settled over her.
“It’s not over,” Kael said, his voice low. “The hunger will return. And next time, it won’t be alone.”
She looked up at him, seeing the exhaustion in his face, the same determination that burned in her own chest. “Then we’ll be ready.”
The light of the crystal pulsed once more, a soft, steady rhythm that echoed through the wastes. And for the first time in months, Lira felt something she hadn’t in a long time—hope.
