By late afternoon, the Spire dominated the horizon, its black stone walls rising like a jagged wound against the sky. The air grew colder as we approached, thick with a tension that set my teeth on edge. Every step forward felt heavier, as though the shard in my pocket was dragging me down.

  Lyra stopped abruptly at the edge of a shallow ridge, peering down at the sprawling ruins that surrounded the Spire. The crumbling remnants of ancient walls and half-buried towers dotted the landscape, their surfaces etched with faintly glowing runes.

  “Welcome to the end of the world,” Lyra said, crossing her arms. “Charming, isn’t it?”

  “It’s worse than I thought,” Aeryn muttered, her shadows curling around her feet. “The Rift’s influence has spread further than it should have.”

  I stared at the Spire, its twisted silhouette sending a chill down my spine. “What’s inside?”

  “Everything we’re trying to stop,” Aeryn said.

  “And probably a lot of people trying to kill us,” Lyra added with a grin. “That’s usually how these things go.”

  We descended into the ruins cautiously, every sound amplified by the oppressive silence. The shard pulsed faintly in my pocket, its whispers rising and falling like a distant tide.

  “Stay close,” Aeryn said, her violet eyes scanning the shadows. “This place has been abandoned for centuries, but it’s never truly empty.”

  “Lovely,” Lyra said, twirling one of her daggers idly. “You’re really selling the whole ‘dangerous and foreboding’ vibe.”

  Aeryn shot her a sharp look. “This isn’t a game.”

  “I know that,” Lyra said, her smirk softening slightly. “But if we’re all going to die here, we might as well enjoy the ambiance.”

  Despite her words, I noticed how tightly Lyra gripped her daggers, her eyes darting to every shadow as we moved.

  We reached the massive gates of the Spire just as the sun dipped below the horizon. The twin doors were carved with intricate symbols that seemed to writhe and shift when I looked at them too long.

  “Now what?” Lyra asked, tilting her head.

  Aeryn stepped forward, her shadows reaching out to trace the symbols on the gate. The runes flared briefly, then dimmed.

  “It’s warded,” she said, her tone grim. “The magic here is ancient. I can weaken it, but the shard will have to do the rest.”

  “Of course it will,” I muttered, pulling the shard from my pocket. Its glow brightened as I held it up, the warmth seeping into my palm.

  Aeryn turned to me, her expression serious. “Focus, Sion. The ward will resist you. If you force it, the backlash could—”

  Stolen story; please report.

  “Kill me. Yeah, I got it,” I said, cutting her off.

  Lyra leaned casually against the wall, watching me with an amused glint in her eye. “No pressure, Vale. Just the weight of the world resting on your shoulders.”

  “Thanks for the pep talk,” I muttered.

  I stepped closer to the gate, raising the shard. The runes flared to life, their light clashing with the shard’s glow in a cascade of shifting colors.

  The whispers in my head sharpened, their words becoming clearer: “Sever the chain. Open the path.”

  I focused on the shard, willing its energy into the gate. The runes resisted at first, their light flaring brighter, but I pressed harder, shaping the shard’s power into something precise—a blade, cutting through the threads that bound the ward.

  The gate trembled, the air around us vibrating with a low hum.

  “You’re doing it,” Aeryn said, her voice steady.

  “I’m trying,” I gritted out, sweat beading on my forehead.

  The runes pulsed violently, and a shockwave rippled through the air, knocking me back. Aeryn caught me before I hit the ground, her arms steady despite the impact.

  “You okay?” she asked, her voice softer now.

  “Yeah,” I said, though my head was spinning. “Did it work?”

  The gates groaned, the symbols on their surface dissolving into faint trails of light.

  Lyra whistled. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  The air inside was colder, heavier, as if the Spire itself were holding its breath. Shadows danced along the walls, cast by the faint blue glow of the shard.

  The central chamber was vast and circular, its walls lined with towering pillars carved from the same black stone as the exterior. The floor was a mosaic of shattered glass and glowing threads, weaving and unweaving in patterns that hurt my eyes to follow.

  “This place is… wrong,” I said, the shard’s hum growing louder in my hand.

  “It’s become the heart of the Rift,” Aeryn said, her shadows curling protectively around her. “The further we go, the worse it will get.”

  “Fantastic,” Lyra muttered, gripping her daggers tightly.

  We moved cautiously through the chamber, the shard’s glow casting eerie shadows on the walls. As we approached the center of the room, a low rumble echoed through the Spire.

  A figure emerged from the shadows—a towering, humanoid shape cloaked in shifting darkness. Its eyes burned like molten gold, and its voice was a guttural growl.

  “You should not be here,” it said, its words reverberating through the chamber.

  “Another welcome committee,” Lyra muttered, stepping into a defensive stance.

  Aeryn’s blade formed in her hand, her expression hard. “It’s a guardian. Bound to the Spire by the Threads. It won’t let us pass without a fight.”

  “Great,” I said, gripping the shard tightly. “Because we haven’t fought enough monsters already.”

  The guardian began its assault, its massive arms swinging in wide arcs that sent shockwaves through the room. Aeryn darted forward, her shadows striking out in precise, cutting arcs.

  Lyra flanked the creature, her daggers flashing as she struck at its legs. The Guardian roared, swiping at her, but she ducked beneath the blow with a laugh.

  “Come on, big guy,” she taunted. “You’ll have to try harder than that.”

  I focused on the shard, its energy surging through me. I shaped it into a blade, striking at the threads that bound the guardian’s form together. Each cut sent ripples of light through its body, weakening it.

  Aeryn’s shadows wrapped around its arms, holding it in place long enough for Lyra to leap onto its back, driving her daggers into its shoulders.

  The guardian let out a final, deafening roar before collapsing into a pile of ash and glowing embers.

  As the dust settled, I felt the shard pulse in my hand, its whispers louder now.

  “Did you hear that?” I asked, looking at Aeryn.

  She nodded, her expression grim. “The Threads are fraying. The shard is reacting to the damage.”

  Lyra glanced between us. “Care to share with the class?”

  “The Rift is spreading faster, the guardian was linked to the Threads,” Aeryn said. “If we don’t act soon, there won’t be anything left to save.”

  I stared at the glowing threads on the floor, their shifting patterns more chaotic now. “Then we’d better keep moving.”

  Aeryn nodded, her shadows curling protectively around her once more. “Stay close. The worst is yet to come.”

  As we moved deeper into the Spire, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were being watched.

  And for the first time, the shard’s whispers felt less like a guide—and more like a warning.