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The Wastes stretched endlessly before them, an expanse of cracked earth and jagged obsidian spires. The air was heavy, carrying with it the faint hum of the Abyss. Arin felt it constantly now—the shard’s whispers growing louder since his battle with the construct.
Each step was an exercise in control. The shadows within him begged to be unleashed, but with every indulgence came the risk of losing himself.
Meera led the way, her silence speaking volumes. She had barely spoken since they left Kael’s fortress. Arin wasn’t sure if she was angry, worried, or both.
"How far until the next trial?" Arin asked, breaking the uneasy quiet.
Meera glanced back at him, her expression guarded. "The Wastes are unpredictable. Distance means little here. It could take hours… or days."
Arin nodded, though her answer did little to ease his unease.
The First Vision
By the time night fell, they had reached a cluster of crumbling stone ruins, half-buried in ash. The air was colder here, the shadows deeper. They made camp in the hollow of a collapsed wall, the only sound the distant wail of the wind.
As Arin settled against the cold stone, the shard pulsed within him. His vision blurred, the world around him dissolving into darkness.
When the shadows lifted, he was no longer in the ruins. He stood in a vast, featureless void, the ground beneath him slick and black like oil. Ahead, a figure waited—a reflection of himself, but distorted. Its eyes glowed a sickly green, its form wreathed in writhing shadows.
"You’ve tasted power," the shadow said, its voice a haunting echo of his own. "But power always comes with a price."
"I didn’t ask for this," Arin shot back, his voice trembling.
The shadow laughed, a sound that sent chills through him. "No one ever does. But you’ve taken the shard, boy. Its path is now yours. You can fight it, resist it, but in the end… the Abyss always wins."
The void around him shifted, the ground cracking open to reveal a churning abyss of black and crimson. The shadow stepped closer, its hand outstretched.
"Embrace it," it whispered. "Only then will you be strong enough to survive."
Arin’s chest tightened, the weight of the shard pressing down on him. But just as he felt himself slipping, a voice broke through the void—a familiar voice.
"Arin! Wake up!"
A Harbinger in the Wastes
Arin jolted awake, his body drenched in sweat. Meera was crouched beside him, her hand on his shoulder.
"You were screaming," she said, her eyes sharp with concern.
"It was… a vision," Arin muttered, his voice hoarse. "The shard… it spoke to me."
Meera’s expression darkened. "The shard doesn’t speak. The Abyss does. And its whispers are never to be trusted."
Before Arin could respond, a low growl echoed through the ruins. Both of them froze, their eyes scanning the shadows.
The growl came again, closer this time. From the darkness emerged a massive beast, its body a twisted amalgamation of bone and sinew, its eyes glowing with an eerie green light.
"A Harbinger," Meera whispered, her voice tight with fear.
"What is it?" Arin asked, already drawing on the shadows within him.
"A guardian of the Abyss," she replied, unsheathing her blade. "They hunt those who wield its power. And they don’t stop until their prey is dead."
The Harbinger lunged, its claws tearing through the air. Arin barely dodged, the shard flaring to life within him. Shadows erupted from his hands, forming jagged tendrils that lashed out at the beast.
Meera darted in, her blade slicing through one of its legs. The Harbinger roared, its wounds spilling a thick, black ichor that hissed and sizzled as it hit the ground.
"Don’t let it touch you!" Meera shouted.
Arin focused, his shadows weaving into a barrier between them and the beast. But the Harbinger was relentless, smashing through his defenses with raw, brutal force.
"You’re holding back!" Meera yelled. "If you don’t give the shard what it wants, we’re both dead!"
Her words hit harder than the Harbinger’s strikes. Arin closed his eyes, letting the shadows surge freely. They wrapped around him like a second skin, amplifying his strength and speed.
This time, when the Harbinger lunged, Arin met it head-on. His shadow-clad fists struck with the force of a storm, each blow driving the beast back.
Finally, with a roar of his own, Arin plunged his hand into the Harbinger’s chest. The shadows within him surged into the beast, tearing it apart from the inside.
When the battle was over, Arin stood amidst the ruins, his body trembling from the effort. The Harbinger’s remains dissolved into ash, leaving only silence in its wake.
The Abyss’s Toll
"You did it," Meera said, though her tone was far from celebratory.
Arin nodded, but his victory felt hollow. The shard’s whispers were louder now, their tone almost… pleased. He could feel its hunger, its desire for more.
"How many more will come?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Meera sheathed her blade, her expression grim. "As long as you carry the shard, they’ll keep coming. The Abyss doesn’t let go of its own."
Arin looked down at his hands, still trembling with power. The shadows lingered around him, refusing to fade completely.
He had won, but at what cost?
As they resumed their journey, Arin couldn’t shake the feeling that the shard wasn’t just a weapon—it was a prison. And every time he used it, he stepped closer to locking himself inside.