Chapter 1: The Flight Through the Woods
Kaelan's lungs burned as he pushed himself harder, weaving between trees with massive trunks and umbrella-shaped canopies. Behind him came the snarls of the shadowspawn.
Three of them. He had counted their distinctive calls as they tracked him through the dense woodland. Massive creatures of twisted flesh and malice, they hunted with a singular purpose, him.
As he ran, his mind flashed back to another time, another place far to the west, across the great sea, where he had first learned what it meant to command the very fabric of existence…
The training courtyard shimmered under the midday sun, twelve children sitting cross-legged in a perfect circle, their faces solemn with concentration. At twelve years old, Kaelan was the youngest of the initiates, his dark hair falling across his eyes.
"Shifting is not merely a technique," Elara said, pacing the circle. Though barely into her twenties, she commanded respect from even the oldest masters. "It is communion with the fundamental truth of our world, that all matter, all substance, possesses its own intelligence."
She stopped before Kaelan, her gaze piercing. "Tell me, young one, what is the first principle of Shifting?"
"Attunement," Kaelan answered without hesitation. "To command atoms to move, we must first know them as they know themselves."
Elara's lips curved in the barest hint of a smile. "Correct. And what follows attunement?"
"Command, pattern-memory, direction, and completion," he recited, counting off on his fingers. "The Five Principles of Transition."
"Well remembered," she said, continuing her circuit of the courtyard. "Today, each of you will attempt your first full-body Shift. Remember, the distance is minimal, merely from one circle to the next." She gestured to the concentric rings carved into the stone floor.
When Kaelan's turn came, his heart hammered against his ribs. He closed his eyes, extending his consciousness inward as Elara had taught them.
"Breathe," he whispered to himself. "Feel every particle."
He attuned to the billions of atoms comprising his body. Each one hummed with its own intelligence, waiting for direction. The sensation was strange, perceiving himself not as solid flesh but as a complex pattern, a living constellation of particles held together by will and design.
With trembling focus, he issued the silent command for disassembly. The process began at his extremities, fingertips and toes dissolving into luminescent mist. The dissolution crept inward, his limbs becoming translucent, then transparent, then nothing but dancing particles of light.
The most difficult moment came when the disassembly reached his core, that brief, terrifying instant when his consciousness existed without a physical brain to house it. Panic threatened to shatter his concentration.
*Hold the pattern. Remember who you are.*
Kaelan maintained his pattern-memory as his form completely separated into a cloud of swirling light. To his fellow initiates, he appeared to transform into a column of golden mist that dispersed into nothingness.
His awareness remained intact, holding the template of himself while simultaneously projecting to his destination, the inner circle, mere feet away from where he had begun.
The journey took less than a heartbeat. One instant he was mist; the next, his atoms rushed together, reassembling in reverse order, core first, then vital organs, then outward to limbs and extremities.
He collapsed as solidity returned, the wave of fatigue overwhelming his young body. Elara was at his side instantly, steadying him with a gentle hand.
"Well done," she murmured, her voice carrying a note of surprise. "Few succeed on their first attempt."
"Will it... always be this... exhausting?" Kaelan gasped between breaths.
Elara's expression softened. "The body adapts, the mind strengthens. With practice, you might Shift twice in a day, perhaps more as you mature. The greatest Luminaries can perform multiple Shifts in succession, though even they must respect their limits."
Kaelan nodded, determination hardening within him despite his exhaustion. One day, he would master this power, bend it to his will as Elara did...
Kaelan's foot caught on an exposed root, yanking him back to the present as he sprawled into a small clearing. He rolled to his feet instantly, years of training overriding the panic that threatened to consume him. No more running. The clearing would be his battlefield.
The first of the shadowspawn burst through the treeline, a hulking beast with mottled gray-green skin and tusks protruding from its lower jaw. A crude blade gleamed in its massive fist. Its companions followed one with a hunched back and arms that nearly dragged along the ground, the other bearing bone spikes that erupted from its shoulders and spine.
"I won't die" Kaelan whispered, centering himself as the creatures advanced.
The tusked shadowspawn charged first, its weapon arcing toward Kaelan's head. He sidestepped, feeling the disturbed air brush his cheek. In that heartbeat, Kaelan locked his focus on the creature's blade, extending his awareness outward until every atom of the weapon sang in his consciousness.
He issued the silent command, and the sword dissolved into a cascade of golden particles, streaming away from the shadowspawn's grasp like a ribbon of sunlight. The creature's momentum carried it forward, confusion replacing bloodlust in its jaundiced eyes.
Maintaining perfect awareness of the sword's pattern its weight, balance, and edge Kaelan directed the stream toward his own outstretched hand. The weapon reassembled in his palm, its heft familiar despite having never held it before. The entire process had taken less than a breath.
*How far I've come since that first day in the courtyard,* he thought fleetingly.
The shadowspawn howled in rage and confusion, but Kaelan was already moving. The borrowed blade whistled through the air, finding the juncture between the creature's neck and shoulder. Dark blood sprayed across the forest floor as the beast collapsed.
The remaining two attacked in unison, forcing Kaelan to retreat. His muscles protested as he parried the long-armed shadowspawn's axe, the impact jarring his bones. The spike-covered one circled, seeking an opening.
Kaelan knew exhaustion would take him any minute. Taking a desperate gamble, he locked eyes with the long-armed shadowspawn and initiated a full-body Shift. His form dissolved into golden particles that streamed through the air like a comet, the sword maintaining its cohesion alongside him.
He reassembled behind the spike-covered shadowspawn, his blade already in motion. The creature had no time to react as steel bit deep into its spine. It fell with an inhuman shriek that echoed through the trees.
The last shadowspawn roared, charging with reckless abandon. Kaelan, already feeling the drain, knew he had one final move. As the creature closed the distance, he Shifted again not away, but directly upward.
The golden particles of his being coalesced 5 feet above the confused shadowspawn. Gravity did the rest. Kaelan descended with his blade pointed downward, driving it through the creature's skull with the full force of his weight and momentum.
The clearing fell silent save for Kaelan's ragged breathing. He staggered away from the fallen beast, his vision blurring at the edges.
His legs gave way beneath him, and he collapsed to his knees among the sparse grass and wildflowers. Twenty-one years of practice since that first day in the courtyard.
The last thing Kaelan saw before consciousness fled was the crimson sunset blazing across the savanna, the silhouettes of distant trees stark against the dying light, painting the world in the same color as the blood that stained his hands.
* * *
Kaelan dreamed of golden lights and distant voices. In his dream, he floated in a sea of luminous particles, each one alive with its own conscious, whispering truths he could almost grasp He floated weightless among them, neither falling nor rising, simply existing in a realm beyond physical constraints.
Each tiny light pulsed with its own rhythm, its own intelligence. Kaelan recognized them, Radiance in their purest form, unbound by matter or structure. They drifted around him, through him, as if he too were nothing but a loose collection of particles barely holding their pattern.
"You speak to us again" a voice called, neither male nor female but somehow both.
Before him, the golden motes gathered, coalescing into a humanoid shape. Not solid, but defined enough to suggest a tall figure with broad shoulders and a bearing that commanded respect. Three more forms took shape beside the first slender and graceful, another compact and sturdy, the last small as a child but radiating wisdom.
"Who are you?" Kaelan asked, his voice creating ripples through the sea of light.
"We are" the tallest figure answered.
The slender figure stepped forward, its form shimmering. "Why now? The light weakens. Darkness comes."
"He who was bound at the moment of creation" the child like figure spoke.
"What comes next will devour everything," added the sturdy form, its voice rumbling like distant thunder.
Kaelan tried to move closer, but distance seemed meaningless in this place. "Who comes?"
The child-sized figure spoke, the sound like crystal bells. "The Radiant's stand divided."
"Look for the Old Spark," the tall figure said. "One who commands Radiance."
The slender figure's light pulsed brighter. "The child will come, but will we listen, will he listen"
"What child, what Spark?" confusion lining each word Kaelan spoke.
"When darkness rises from below and shadow falls from above," the sturdy one continued, "only light can reforge what was broken."
"I don't understand" Kaelan’s brow furrowed in confusion as he looked at the array of figure before him.
"They can not hear you" the slender form responded. "You have not spoken to us for a long time."
"Beware," warned the small figure, extending a hand of golden light toward Kaelan.
The figures began to disperse, their forms breaking apart into individual motes once more.
"Wait!" Kaelan called out.
"You need not find what will seek you out," their voices answered in unison, fading as the sea of Radiance began to dim. "Prepare yourself, Prepare Them. Prepare" . The whispers gave way to the clatter of cookware, the distant bleating of goats, and the giggling of children.
His eyes cracked open. Midday sun streamed through the gaps in the carts slated roof, lighting the dim interior. Heat pressed down like a blanket. The air inside the wagon was thick with the scent of crushed herbs sharp, earthy, and oddly sweet.
He groaned as he tried to sit up. Pain flared through his limbs, a dull fire in every muscle. His head pulsed with a slow, rhythmic ache the signs of over-Shifting.
“Dammit,” he muttered, wincing. This wasn’t the first time he’d pushed himself too far. Two full-body Shifts in rapid succession and before that, five shadowspawn cut down with nothing but borrowed steel and reflex. Eight of the things. What were they doing this far north?
The memory returned in fragments. The fading light as he'd cleared a small campsite, the snap of twigs that made him freeze mid-motion. They had caught him while setting up for the night, emerging from the brush like nightmares given flesh. Three initially, then two more slinking from the shadows, their mottled skin blending with the gathering darkness.
But they had hesitated upon seeing him, surprised to find a lone traveler. That moment of hesitation had been enough. Kaelan had lunged for the closest one, a wiry thing with too many joints, and plunged his knife right into its throat before it could react. Black blood seeped into the earth, carrying with it the stench of decay.
The others had attacked then, all at once. The skirmish had been brutal and swift. After what felt like an eternity, all five lay dead. His own body marked with multiple cuts that burned like fire. His hands shook as he reached for his pack to tend to the wounds. That's when he'd heard them the three that had chased him through the woods, drawn by the sounds of combat or the scent of their fallen kin? There had been no time for rest, no chance to bind his wounds. Only flight, and the desperate hope that he could outpace them long enough to recover some of his strength.
The rest came in flashes, running until his lungs burned. The weight of exhaustion dragging at his limbs. The moment when he'd realized running would not save him.
His memory flickered, incomplete in places, but sharp enough to remind him of the cost. The clearing, the blood, the final Shift.
He thought he was going to die, but instead, he was alive. Naked as the day he was born, bandaged and breathing, lying on a rough pallet in a stranger’s caravan.
Someone had tended to him. A poultice clung to the gash on his side, thick with herbs he didn’t recognize. The scent was strong tinged with mint, but darker beneath.
His stomach growled. His throat was dry thick with thirst.
Kaelan scanned the interior simple, lived-in. Bundles of dried herbs dangled from crossbeams, alongside pouches that likely held spices or medicines. A row of carved wooden figurines lined a small shelf, children's toys their features worn smooth by handling.
Beside him lay a folded set of clothes: loose cotton trousers, a tunic stitched with modest embroidery in patterns he recognized from the southern provinces, and a belt woven in earthen tones.
He dressed slowly, clumsily, muscles protesting each movement, still tired from overuse. The tunic hung awkwardly, and he had to wrap the belt twice around his waist, but it would do. Standing made his knees tremble, but the need for water and answers drove him forward.
From outside came the sounds of life. The clink of metal on metal, the bray of a mule, voices raised in friendly conversations the ordinary sounds of life. The smell of cooking drifted faintly through the canvas, spiced and savory, reminding him how long it had been since he’d eaten a full meal.
Fingers brushing the leather ties that held the flap closed, he loosened the ties and stepped out into the hot humid air of the savanna. The brightness momentarily blinded him. Kaelan raised a hand to shield his eyes, blinking away the sunspots that danced across his vision. A circle of twelve wagons stood arranged in a defensive formation, their painted canvas coverings bleached by years of harsh southern sun.
"You should not be standing," came a woman's voice, firm but motherly.
Kaelan turned toward the sound. A woman approached, her dark hair threaded with silver and bound in an elaborate braid. She wore the practical attire of the savanna travelers loose-fitting trousers of undyed cotton beneath a tunic embroidered with ochre thread. Around her neck hung three necklaces of varying lengths, each bearing small tokens of wood, and polished stone. Her skin was weathered by sun and wind, her eyes a striking amber.
"My name is Naria Starwind," she said, studying him with the practiced gaze of a healer assessing her patient. "My husband found you in a clearing three days past. You were half-dead, surrounded by the corpses of shadowspawn. Few survive such an encounter. Fewer still manage to kill 3 of them."
Three days? The realization struck Kaelan. No wonder every muscle ached as though he'd been trampled by horses. He'd grown weak during his years of self-imposed restraint. There was a time, not so long ago, when he could perform more than five full-body Shifts in rapid succession without collapsing. His light had burned brighter then, before everything changed, before he'd begun to question the Church and the Order of Radiance.
Kaelan swallowed, his throat still parched. "I am grateful for your aid."
"Can you walk?" she asked, already moving towards the other caravans. "My husband will want to speak with you. He has... questions."
"I can manage," Kaelan replied, though his legs trembled beneath as he started following Naria through the encampment. Each step was an effort, but Kaelan steadied himself with deliberate breaths. His body might be weakened, but he'd endured worse.
As they walked, life unfolded around them. Two men worked at repairing a wagon wheel, their hands moving with efficiency as they tightened spokes and tested the rim. Near the center of the circle, three women tended a communal cooking fire, the contents of their iron pot releasing a fragrant steam that made Kaelan's stomach clench with hunger. An elderly man sat in the shade of a wagon, carving something from a piece of pale wood, his gnarled fingers moving with surprising dexterity.
"We are traders," Naria explained, noting his observant gaze. "The Starwind Caravan has traveled these routes for four generations. We carry goods between the Bulwark and what remains of the southern and costal villages." Her voice carried a note of pride. "Few dare the paths we tread."
Children darted between the wagons, engaged in some elaborate game that involved much shrieking and laughter. They paused briefly as Kaelan passed, their eyes wide with curiosity before they resumed their play. One small girl, no more than five years old, offered him a solemn wave before disappearing behind a stack of crates.
“Your wounds were severe," Naria continued. "The cuts themselves were minor, but your exhaustion had slowed your body's natural healing. used some old remedies that helped restore your strength, though you'll carry the scars." Her eyes briefly traced the older marks visible at his collar. "Not that these are your first scars, from the look of it”.
Kaelan touched the faded scar that ran along his collarbone. "Thank you, I owe you my life," he said quietly.
They approached a large wagon at the head of the circle. Unlike the others, this one was built for function rather than appearance. Its wooden frame showed signs of countless repairs and reinforcements the evolution of a vehicle that had traversed the dangerous southern routes for decades. The canvas covering, once vibrant blue, had faded to a weathered indigo, patched in places with mismatched fabric. Iron bands reinforced the wheel hubs, a common modification for vehicles that regularly crossed the rough savanna terrain.
"My husband awaits" Naria said, gesturing toward the wagon. "Thalor Starwind leads our caravan. He will want to hear your story and to understand what brings a lone wanderer so deep into the south."
As they reached the steps of the lead wagon, a tall figure emerged from within. Thalor Starwind stood silhouetted against the canvas opening, his broad shoulders and commanding presence marking him instantly as the caravan's leader.
Kaelan had to tilt his head upward to meet the man's gaze unusual for someone of his own height. Thalor Starwind stood a full hand taller, with arms like tree trunks and shoulders broad enough to carry a wagon by himself. His face was sun-darkened and weathered by years on the road, black hair cropped short and a scar bisected his right eyebrow, giving him a perpetually questioning expression.
"I'm glad to see you awake," Thalor said, his voice deep. He stepped down from the wagon with surprising grace for a man of his size. "I told Naria I thought you wouldn't make it, even with her care."
Kaelan inclined his head in acknowledgment. "I've been told I'm difficult to kill."
"Are you hungry?" Thalor asked, turning toward the center of the encampment. "I imagine three days without food will do that to a man." He beckoned with a casual wave. "Come, we can speak over a meal."
The eating area occupied the heart of the wagon circle five long wooden tables with benches set up beneath a canopy of canvas that provided blessed shade from the relentless southern sun. Caravan folk moved about with the easy familiarity of those who had shared countless meals together, some finishing their portions while others were just beginning. Children darted between the tables, carrying wooden cups and occasionally earning gentle reprimands when their exuberance threatened to spill the contents.
As they walked, Thalor's progress was marked by a steady stream of interruptions. A woman with arms stained to the elbow with indigo dye approached with a question about storage space. A gray-bearded man consulted briefly about the dwindling storage supplies. Each person was met with the same measured attention Thalor listened, responded with clear direction, and sent them on their way with neither impatience nor unnecessary delay.
They arrived at the cooking station where three iron pots hung above carefully maintained coals. The woman tending them, silver-haired and straight-backed despite her advanced years ladled generous portions of a rich stew into wooden bowls without being asked. The aroma of mutton and herbs made Kaelan's mouth water, his body suddenly reminding him of its desperate need for sustenance.
"My thanks," he said as he accepted the bowl.
Thalor led them to the end of one of the tables where a small space cleared almost immediately. Respect, Kaelan noted, these people followed their leader willingly.
"Now," Thalor said after they had settled, "perhaps you might explain how a lone traveler ended up unconscious in a clearing surrounded by shadowspawn corpses."
Kaelan took a spoonful of the stew, savoring the warmth and flavor before answering. "I was making my way west towards the coast, when they emerged from the brush. No warning, no time to retreat." He shook his head, recalling the attack. "Eight of them, unusual to see them hunting in such numbers, especially this far north."
"Three," Naria corrected quietly. "There were three bodies when Thalor found you."
Thalor and Naria exchanged a look that Kaelan couldn't quite interpret.
"Something has changed in the south," Thalor said, his voice lowered though not quite to a whisper. "The shadowspawn grow bolder this year. Villages that have stood for generations have been overrun. The fishing settlements along the coast are being abandoned."
"We're bound for The Bulwark," Naria added, "but our path has been anything but direct. Each day brings news of another route closed, another settlement lost."
Kaelan studied the encampment with new eyes. "This is a larger caravan than one typically sees in the Contested Lands. I'm surprised you haven't drawn their attention before now."
"That," Thalor said grimly, "is precisely our fear. We've been fortunate thus far, but luck is a currency that eventually runs out. Soon we'll have no choice but to make for the Bulwark directly, regardless of the risks."
"You could travel with us," Naria offered, her tone casual though her eyes were evaluating. "Safety in numbers, as they say, and it seems you know your way around shadowspawn "
"I…" Kaelan began, but his response faltered as movement caught his eye.
A boy of perhaps fourteen summers approached one of the nearby tables, carrying an armload of maps. He was tall for his age, with the lankiness of youth not yet filled out. His dirty blonde hair fell across his forehead, partially obscuring eyes of an unusual grayish-blue. As he turned to respond to someone's question, Kaelan caught sight of something distinctive a golden fleck in the boy's right eye, catching the light like a coin at the bottom of a clear pool.
Something about the boy stirred a memory, a familiarity that Kaelan couldn't quite place.
"Our son, Toren," Naria said, following Kaelan's gaze.
Thalor smiled with obvious pride. “He has a gift for cartography spends more time with his maps and measurements than anything else. The boy can recreate terrain he’s seen only once, down to the smallest stream.”
Kaelan nodded, still trying to place that sense of recognition. "Thank you for the offer. I'll... consider it."
But even as he spoke, his attention remained on the boy, that nagging sense of familiarity refusing to fade.
Kaelan's lungs burned as he pushed himself harder, weaving between trees with massive trunks and umbrella-shaped canopies. Behind him came the snarls of the shadowspawn.
Three of them. He had counted their distinctive calls as they tracked him through the dense woodland. Massive creatures of twisted flesh and malice, they hunted with a singular purpose, him.
As he ran, his mind flashed back to another time, another place far to the west, across the great sea, where he had first learned what it meant to command the very fabric of existence…
The training courtyard shimmered under the midday sun, twelve children sitting cross-legged in a perfect circle, their faces solemn with concentration. At twelve years old, Kaelan was the youngest of the initiates, his dark hair falling across his eyes.
"Shifting is not merely a technique," Elara said, pacing the circle. Though barely into her twenties, she commanded respect from even the oldest masters. "It is communion with the fundamental truth of our world, that all matter, all substance, possesses its own intelligence."
She stopped before Kaelan, her gaze piercing. "Tell me, young one, what is the first principle of Shifting?"
"Attunement," Kaelan answered without hesitation. "To command atoms to move, we must first know them as they know themselves."
Elara's lips curved in the barest hint of a smile. "Correct. And what follows attunement?"
"Command, pattern-memory, direction, and completion," he recited, counting off on his fingers. "The Five Principles of Transition."
"Well remembered," she said, continuing her circuit of the courtyard. "Today, each of you will attempt your first full-body Shift. Remember, the distance is minimal, merely from one circle to the next." She gestured to the concentric rings carved into the stone floor.
When Kaelan's turn came, his heart hammered against his ribs. He closed his eyes, extending his consciousness inward as Elara had taught them.
"Breathe," he whispered to himself. "Feel every particle."
He attuned to the billions of atoms comprising his body. Each one hummed with its own intelligence, waiting for direction. The sensation was strange, perceiving himself not as solid flesh but as a complex pattern, a living constellation of particles held together by will and design.
With trembling focus, he issued the silent command for disassembly. The process began at his extremities, fingertips and toes dissolving into luminescent mist. The dissolution crept inward, his limbs becoming translucent, then transparent, then nothing but dancing particles of light.
The most difficult moment came when the disassembly reached his core, that brief, terrifying instant when his consciousness existed without a physical brain to house it. Panic threatened to shatter his concentration.
*Hold the pattern. Remember who you are.*
Kaelan maintained his pattern-memory as his form completely separated into a cloud of swirling light. To his fellow initiates, he appeared to transform into a column of golden mist that dispersed into nothingness.
His awareness remained intact, holding the template of himself while simultaneously projecting to his destination, the inner circle, mere feet away from where he had begun.
The journey took less than a heartbeat. One instant he was mist; the next, his atoms rushed together, reassembling in reverse order, core first, then vital organs, then outward to limbs and extremities.
He collapsed as solidity returned, the wave of fatigue overwhelming his young body. Elara was at his side instantly, steadying him with a gentle hand.
"Well done," she murmured, her voice carrying a note of surprise. "Few succeed on their first attempt."
"Will it... always be this... exhausting?" Kaelan gasped between breaths.
Elara's expression softened. "The body adapts, the mind strengthens. With practice, you might Shift twice in a day, perhaps more as you mature. The greatest Luminaries can perform multiple Shifts in succession, though even they must respect their limits."
Kaelan nodded, determination hardening within him despite his exhaustion. One day, he would master this power, bend it to his will as Elara did...
Kaelan's foot caught on an exposed root, yanking him back to the present as he sprawled into a small clearing. He rolled to his feet instantly, years of training overriding the panic that threatened to consume him. No more running. The clearing would be his battlefield.
The first of the shadowspawn burst through the treeline, a hulking beast with mottled gray-green skin and tusks protruding from its lower jaw. A crude blade gleamed in its massive fist. Its companions followed one with a hunched back and arms that nearly dragged along the ground, the other bearing bone spikes that erupted from its shoulders and spine.
"I won't die" Kaelan whispered, centering himself as the creatures advanced.
The tusked shadowspawn charged first, its weapon arcing toward Kaelan's head. He sidestepped, feeling the disturbed air brush his cheek. In that heartbeat, Kaelan locked his focus on the creature's blade, extending his awareness outward until every atom of the weapon sang in his consciousness.
He issued the silent command, and the sword dissolved into a cascade of golden particles, streaming away from the shadowspawn's grasp like a ribbon of sunlight. The creature's momentum carried it forward, confusion replacing bloodlust in its jaundiced eyes.
Maintaining perfect awareness of the sword's pattern its weight, balance, and edge Kaelan directed the stream toward his own outstretched hand. The weapon reassembled in his palm, its heft familiar despite having never held it before. The entire process had taken less than a breath.
*How far I've come since that first day in the courtyard,* he thought fleetingly.
The shadowspawn howled in rage and confusion, but Kaelan was already moving. The borrowed blade whistled through the air, finding the juncture between the creature's neck and shoulder. Dark blood sprayed across the forest floor as the beast collapsed.
The remaining two attacked in unison, forcing Kaelan to retreat. His muscles protested as he parried the long-armed shadowspawn's axe, the impact jarring his bones. The spike-covered one circled, seeking an opening.
Kaelan knew exhaustion would take him any minute. Taking a desperate gamble, he locked eyes with the long-armed shadowspawn and initiated a full-body Shift. His form dissolved into golden particles that streamed through the air like a comet, the sword maintaining its cohesion alongside him.
He reassembled behind the spike-covered shadowspawn, his blade already in motion. The creature had no time to react as steel bit deep into its spine. It fell with an inhuman shriek that echoed through the trees.
The last shadowspawn roared, charging with reckless abandon. Kaelan, already feeling the drain, knew he had one final move. As the creature closed the distance, he Shifted again not away, but directly upward.
The golden particles of his being coalesced 5 feet above the confused shadowspawn. Gravity did the rest. Kaelan descended with his blade pointed downward, driving it through the creature's skull with the full force of his weight and momentum.
The clearing fell silent save for Kaelan's ragged breathing. He staggered away from the fallen beast, his vision blurring at the edges.
His legs gave way beneath him, and he collapsed to his knees among the sparse grass and wildflowers. Twenty-one years of practice since that first day in the courtyard.
The last thing Kaelan saw before consciousness fled was the crimson sunset blazing across the savanna, the silhouettes of distant trees stark against the dying light, painting the world in the same color as the blood that stained his hands.
* * *
Kaelan dreamed of golden lights and distant voices. In his dream, he floated in a sea of luminous particles, each one alive with its own conscious, whispering truths he could almost grasp He floated weightless among them, neither falling nor rising, simply existing in a realm beyond physical constraints.
Each tiny light pulsed with its own rhythm, its own intelligence. Kaelan recognized them, Radiance in their purest form, unbound by matter or structure. They drifted around him, through him, as if he too were nothing but a loose collection of particles barely holding their pattern.
"You speak to us again" a voice called, neither male nor female but somehow both.
Before him, the golden motes gathered, coalescing into a humanoid shape. Not solid, but defined enough to suggest a tall figure with broad shoulders and a bearing that commanded respect. Three more forms took shape beside the first slender and graceful, another compact and sturdy, the last small as a child but radiating wisdom.
"Who are you?" Kaelan asked, his voice creating ripples through the sea of light.
"We are" the tallest figure answered.
The slender figure stepped forward, its form shimmering. "Why now? The light weakens. Darkness comes."
"He who was bound at the moment of creation" the child like figure spoke.
"What comes next will devour everything," added the sturdy form, its voice rumbling like distant thunder.
Kaelan tried to move closer, but distance seemed meaningless in this place. "Who comes?"
The child-sized figure spoke, the sound like crystal bells. "The Radiant's stand divided."
"Look for the Old Spark," the tall figure said. "One who commands Radiance."
The slender figure's light pulsed brighter. "The child will come, but will we listen, will he listen"
"What child, what Spark?" confusion lining each word Kaelan spoke.
"When darkness rises from below and shadow falls from above," the sturdy one continued, "only light can reforge what was broken."
"I don't understand" Kaelan’s brow furrowed in confusion as he looked at the array of figure before him.
"They can not hear you" the slender form responded. "You have not spoken to us for a long time."
"Beware," warned the small figure, extending a hand of golden light toward Kaelan.
The figures began to disperse, their forms breaking apart into individual motes once more.
"Wait!" Kaelan called out.
"You need not find what will seek you out," their voices answered in unison, fading as the sea of Radiance began to dim. "Prepare yourself, Prepare Them. Prepare" . The whispers gave way to the clatter of cookware, the distant bleating of goats, and the giggling of children.
His eyes cracked open. Midday sun streamed through the gaps in the carts slated roof, lighting the dim interior. Heat pressed down like a blanket. The air inside the wagon was thick with the scent of crushed herbs sharp, earthy, and oddly sweet.
He groaned as he tried to sit up. Pain flared through his limbs, a dull fire in every muscle. His head pulsed with a slow, rhythmic ache the signs of over-Shifting.
“Dammit,” he muttered, wincing. This wasn’t the first time he’d pushed himself too far. Two full-body Shifts in rapid succession and before that, five shadowspawn cut down with nothing but borrowed steel and reflex. Eight of the things. What were they doing this far north?
The memory returned in fragments. The fading light as he'd cleared a small campsite, the snap of twigs that made him freeze mid-motion. They had caught him while setting up for the night, emerging from the brush like nightmares given flesh. Three initially, then two more slinking from the shadows, their mottled skin blending with the gathering darkness.
But they had hesitated upon seeing him, surprised to find a lone traveler. That moment of hesitation had been enough. Kaelan had lunged for the closest one, a wiry thing with too many joints, and plunged his knife right into its throat before it could react. Black blood seeped into the earth, carrying with it the stench of decay.
The others had attacked then, all at once. The skirmish had been brutal and swift. After what felt like an eternity, all five lay dead. His own body marked with multiple cuts that burned like fire. His hands shook as he reached for his pack to tend to the wounds. That's when he'd heard them the three that had chased him through the woods, drawn by the sounds of combat or the scent of their fallen kin? There had been no time for rest, no chance to bind his wounds. Only flight, and the desperate hope that he could outpace them long enough to recover some of his strength.
The rest came in flashes, running until his lungs burned. The weight of exhaustion dragging at his limbs. The moment when he'd realized running would not save him.
His memory flickered, incomplete in places, but sharp enough to remind him of the cost. The clearing, the blood, the final Shift.
He thought he was going to die, but instead, he was alive. Naked as the day he was born, bandaged and breathing, lying on a rough pallet in a stranger’s caravan.
Someone had tended to him. A poultice clung to the gash on his side, thick with herbs he didn’t recognize. The scent was strong tinged with mint, but darker beneath.
His stomach growled. His throat was dry thick with thirst.
Kaelan scanned the interior simple, lived-in. Bundles of dried herbs dangled from crossbeams, alongside pouches that likely held spices or medicines. A row of carved wooden figurines lined a small shelf, children's toys their features worn smooth by handling.
Beside him lay a folded set of clothes: loose cotton trousers, a tunic stitched with modest embroidery in patterns he recognized from the southern provinces, and a belt woven in earthen tones.
He dressed slowly, clumsily, muscles protesting each movement, still tired from overuse. The tunic hung awkwardly, and he had to wrap the belt twice around his waist, but it would do. Standing made his knees tremble, but the need for water and answers drove him forward.
From outside came the sounds of life. The clink of metal on metal, the bray of a mule, voices raised in friendly conversations the ordinary sounds of life. The smell of cooking drifted faintly through the canvas, spiced and savory, reminding him how long it had been since he’d eaten a full meal.
Fingers brushing the leather ties that held the flap closed, he loosened the ties and stepped out into the hot humid air of the savanna. The brightness momentarily blinded him. Kaelan raised a hand to shield his eyes, blinking away the sunspots that danced across his vision. A circle of twelve wagons stood arranged in a defensive formation, their painted canvas coverings bleached by years of harsh southern sun.
"You should not be standing," came a woman's voice, firm but motherly.
Kaelan turned toward the sound. A woman approached, her dark hair threaded with silver and bound in an elaborate braid. She wore the practical attire of the savanna travelers loose-fitting trousers of undyed cotton beneath a tunic embroidered with ochre thread. Around her neck hung three necklaces of varying lengths, each bearing small tokens of wood, and polished stone. Her skin was weathered by sun and wind, her eyes a striking amber.
"My name is Naria Starwind," she said, studying him with the practiced gaze of a healer assessing her patient. "My husband found you in a clearing three days past. You were half-dead, surrounded by the corpses of shadowspawn. Few survive such an encounter. Fewer still manage to kill 3 of them."
Three days? The realization struck Kaelan. No wonder every muscle ached as though he'd been trampled by horses. He'd grown weak during his years of self-imposed restraint. There was a time, not so long ago, when he could perform more than five full-body Shifts in rapid succession without collapsing. His light had burned brighter then, before everything changed, before he'd begun to question the Church and the Order of Radiance.
Kaelan swallowed, his throat still parched. "I am grateful for your aid."
"Can you walk?" she asked, already moving towards the other caravans. "My husband will want to speak with you. He has... questions."
"I can manage," Kaelan replied, though his legs trembled beneath as he started following Naria through the encampment. Each step was an effort, but Kaelan steadied himself with deliberate breaths. His body might be weakened, but he'd endured worse.
As they walked, life unfolded around them. Two men worked at repairing a wagon wheel, their hands moving with efficiency as they tightened spokes and tested the rim. Near the center of the circle, three women tended a communal cooking fire, the contents of their iron pot releasing a fragrant steam that made Kaelan's stomach clench with hunger. An elderly man sat in the shade of a wagon, carving something from a piece of pale wood, his gnarled fingers moving with surprising dexterity.
"We are traders," Naria explained, noting his observant gaze. "The Starwind Caravan has traveled these routes for four generations. We carry goods between the Bulwark and what remains of the southern and costal villages." Her voice carried a note of pride. "Few dare the paths we tread."
Children darted between the wagons, engaged in some elaborate game that involved much shrieking and laughter. They paused briefly as Kaelan passed, their eyes wide with curiosity before they resumed their play. One small girl, no more than five years old, offered him a solemn wave before disappearing behind a stack of crates.
“Your wounds were severe," Naria continued. "The cuts themselves were minor, but your exhaustion had slowed your body's natural healing. used some old remedies that helped restore your strength, though you'll carry the scars." Her eyes briefly traced the older marks visible at his collar. "Not that these are your first scars, from the look of it”.
Kaelan touched the faded scar that ran along his collarbone. "Thank you, I owe you my life," he said quietly.
They approached a large wagon at the head of the circle. Unlike the others, this one was built for function rather than appearance. Its wooden frame showed signs of countless repairs and reinforcements the evolution of a vehicle that had traversed the dangerous southern routes for decades. The canvas covering, once vibrant blue, had faded to a weathered indigo, patched in places with mismatched fabric. Iron bands reinforced the wheel hubs, a common modification for vehicles that regularly crossed the rough savanna terrain.
"My husband awaits" Naria said, gesturing toward the wagon. "Thalor Starwind leads our caravan. He will want to hear your story and to understand what brings a lone wanderer so deep into the south."
As they reached the steps of the lead wagon, a tall figure emerged from within. Thalor Starwind stood silhouetted against the canvas opening, his broad shoulders and commanding presence marking him instantly as the caravan's leader.
Kaelan had to tilt his head upward to meet the man's gaze unusual for someone of his own height. Thalor Starwind stood a full hand taller, with arms like tree trunks and shoulders broad enough to carry a wagon by himself. His face was sun-darkened and weathered by years on the road, black hair cropped short and a scar bisected his right eyebrow, giving him a perpetually questioning expression.
"I'm glad to see you awake," Thalor said, his voice deep. He stepped down from the wagon with surprising grace for a man of his size. "I told Naria I thought you wouldn't make it, even with her care."
Kaelan inclined his head in acknowledgment. "I've been told I'm difficult to kill."
"Are you hungry?" Thalor asked, turning toward the center of the encampment. "I imagine three days without food will do that to a man." He beckoned with a casual wave. "Come, we can speak over a meal."
The eating area occupied the heart of the wagon circle five long wooden tables with benches set up beneath a canopy of canvas that provided blessed shade from the relentless southern sun. Caravan folk moved about with the easy familiarity of those who had shared countless meals together, some finishing their portions while others were just beginning. Children darted between the tables, carrying wooden cups and occasionally earning gentle reprimands when their exuberance threatened to spill the contents.
As they walked, Thalor's progress was marked by a steady stream of interruptions. A woman with arms stained to the elbow with indigo dye approached with a question about storage space. A gray-bearded man consulted briefly about the dwindling storage supplies. Each person was met with the same measured attention Thalor listened, responded with clear direction, and sent them on their way with neither impatience nor unnecessary delay.
They arrived at the cooking station where three iron pots hung above carefully maintained coals. The woman tending them, silver-haired and straight-backed despite her advanced years ladled generous portions of a rich stew into wooden bowls without being asked. The aroma of mutton and herbs made Kaelan's mouth water, his body suddenly reminding him of its desperate need for sustenance.
"My thanks," he said as he accepted the bowl.
Thalor led them to the end of one of the tables where a small space cleared almost immediately. Respect, Kaelan noted, these people followed their leader willingly.
"Now," Thalor said after they had settled, "perhaps you might explain how a lone traveler ended up unconscious in a clearing surrounded by shadowspawn corpses."
Kaelan took a spoonful of the stew, savoring the warmth and flavor before answering. "I was making my way west towards the coast, when they emerged from the brush. No warning, no time to retreat." He shook his head, recalling the attack. "Eight of them, unusual to see them hunting in such numbers, especially this far north."
"Three," Naria corrected quietly. "There were three bodies when Thalor found you."
Thalor and Naria exchanged a look that Kaelan couldn't quite interpret.
"Something has changed in the south," Thalor said, his voice lowered though not quite to a whisper. "The shadowspawn grow bolder this year. Villages that have stood for generations have been overrun. The fishing settlements along the coast are being abandoned."
"We're bound for The Bulwark," Naria added, "but our path has been anything but direct. Each day brings news of another route closed, another settlement lost."
Kaelan studied the encampment with new eyes. "This is a larger caravan than one typically sees in the Contested Lands. I'm surprised you haven't drawn their attention before now."
"That," Thalor said grimly, "is precisely our fear. We've been fortunate thus far, but luck is a currency that eventually runs out. Soon we'll have no choice but to make for the Bulwark directly, regardless of the risks."
"You could travel with us," Naria offered, her tone casual though her eyes were evaluating. "Safety in numbers, as they say, and it seems you know your way around shadowspawn "
"I…" Kaelan began, but his response faltered as movement caught his eye.
A boy of perhaps fourteen summers approached one of the nearby tables, carrying an armload of maps. He was tall for his age, with the lankiness of youth not yet filled out. His dirty blonde hair fell across his forehead, partially obscuring eyes of an unusual grayish-blue. As he turned to respond to someone's question, Kaelan caught sight of something distinctive a golden fleck in the boy's right eye, catching the light like a coin at the bottom of a clear pool.
Something about the boy stirred a memory, a familiarity that Kaelan couldn't quite place.
"Our son, Toren," Naria said, following Kaelan's gaze.
Thalor smiled with obvious pride. “He has a gift for cartography spends more time with his maps and measurements than anything else. The boy can recreate terrain he’s seen only once, down to the smallest stream.”
Kaelan nodded, still trying to place that sense of recognition. "Thank you for the offer. I'll... consider it."
But even as he spoke, his attention remained on the boy, that nagging sense of familiarity refusing to fade.