The air in Veylan’s Hollow reeked of damp earth and decay, a stench that clung to Kael’s skin like a second layer. He knelt beside the riverbank, fingers sifting through gravel, searching for the shard his mother had whispered about. The water hissed as it slid over stones, its voice a low murmur that seemed to pull at his thoughts. Somewhere in the distance, a raven croaked, its call sharp and brittle. Kael’s breath came in short bursts, his pulse hammering against his ribs. He had three days before the light died.
The shard was buried deep, half-buried beneath a tangle of roots that coiled like serpents. Kael dug with frantic urgency, nails splitting as he scraped at the soil. When he finally pulled it free, the stone gleamed faintly, its surface etched with symbols that pulsed like veins. A warmth spread through his palm, and for a moment, he swore he heard a voice—soft, layered, and ancient. It spoke of a tower, of fire that had once burned in the sky, and of a boy who would never grow old.
Kael pocketed the shard, his hands trembling. The village elders had warned him about the old stories, about the ruins that dotted the forest like scars. But he hadn’t believed them. Not until the light began to fade. It started as a whisper—a dimming of the sun’s edge, a flicker in the sky that no one else seemed to notice. Then it spread, a slow unraveling of the world’s brightness. Crops withered. Animals grew restless. And the people of Veylan’s Hollow began to talk about the end.
He reached the edge of the forest just as dusk settled, the sky a bruised purple. The trees loomed taller here, their trunks twisted and gnarled, bark peeling in long strips. Kael’s boots crunched over fallen branches, each step echoing in the stillness. A shadow shifted at the periphery of his vision, and he froze. Something was watching him. He turned, but the forest was empty, save for the rustle of leaves in a wind that hadn’t blown in days.
The tower stood ahead, its stones dark and slick with moss. Kael approached cautiously, his breath shallow. The entrance was a gaping maw of black stone, and as he stepped inside, the air grew colder. Faint light filtered through cracks in the ceiling, casting jagged shadows on the walls. He traced his fingers along the carvings—scenes of figures with elongated limbs, their hands raised toward a burning sky. A chill ran down his spine. The voice returned, clearer this time, and he realized it wasn’t speaking to him. It was speaking through him.
A door groaned open ahead, and Kael hesitated. The air here was thick, heavy with the scent of old wood and something metallic—blood, maybe. He stepped forward, heart pounding. The chamber beyond was vast, its walls lined with braziers that flickered without flame. In the center stood a pedestal, and on it rested a crystalline sphere, pulsing with a faint blue light. Kael approached, mesmerized. The moment his fingers touched the sphere, a surge of energy coursed through him, and the world tilted.
He saw flashes—cities rising from the earth, rivers flowing upward into the sky, people with eyes like stars. Then came the collapse: fire raining from above, the ground splitting open, and a scream that echoed through time. Kael gasped, stumbling back. The sphere dimmed, its light fading. A voice echoed in his mind, not speaking but *knowing*—the tower was a beacon, a remnant of a world that had burned. And he was its last hope.
Kael ran, the corridor narrowing as if the walls were closing in. The sphere glowed faintly in his hand, its light casting long shadows on the stone. He didn’t know where he was going, only that he had to keep moving. The air grew heavier, and the walls seemed to pulse with a life of their own. A low hum filled his ears, and for a moment, he thought he heard his mother’s voice—calling him home.
He emerged into a clearing, the sky now a deep crimson. The tower stood behind him, its form flickering like a mirage. In the distance, the horizon was jagged, as if the earth itself had been torn apart. Kael clutched the sphere to his chest, his breath ragged. The light was gone now, replaced by an endless twilight. He had to find the source, had to stop it before the world ended.
The journey took him through desolate plains and rivers that ran black. He encountered others—scavengers, wanderers, and a woman with silver eyes who spoke in riddles. They warned him of the thing in the dark, a presence that fed on light and memory. Kael didn’t believe them until he saw the shadows move on their own, stretching and twisting as if alive. He buried the sphere deep in his pack, its light dimming with each step.
Finally, he reached the heart of the darkness—a cavern where the air was thick with static. The walls shimmered with veins of blue light, and at the center stood a figure, its form shifting like smoke. Kael stepped forward, the sphere in his hand glowing faintly. The figure turned, and Kael saw its face—his own, but older, wearier. It spoke without words, and Kael understood: this was the end of the world, and he was the only one who could stop it.
The battle was silent, a clash of wills that sent shockwaves through the cavern. Kael’s body burned, his mind tearing apart as the darkness tried to consume him. But he held on, clinging to the shard, to the memories of his mother’s voice, to the last flicker of light. When it was over, the cavern was empty, and the sphere had crumbled to dust in his hand. The world was still, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Kael breathed.
He returned to Veylan’s Hollow as the first light of dawn broke over the horizon. The air was different now, lighter, as if the weight of the world had lifted. The villagers gathered, their faces etched with wonder and fear. Kael didn’t explain what had happened. Some things couldn’t be put into words. He walked to the riverbank, where the shard had once been buried, and knelt beside it. The water was clear again, reflecting the sky in perfect clarity. And somewhere in the distance, a raven called, its voice sharp and brittle, like the beginning of a new story.
