The air was heavier here, as if the world itself knew what had just occurred at the crater.
Aren stumbled out of the scorched basin, knees dragging through shards of molten crystal and ash-laden soil. Each breath felt like inhaling fire, and the blackened light still coursed faintly beneath his skin, simmering like a storm that had not yet broken. The shard in the crater was gone—or perhaps it had become a part of him. Either way, its resonance pulsed inside his chest, a reminder that nothing could undo what had been awakened.
He paused at the edge of the crater, staring east. The Scorched Pass stretched out like a wound in the earth, jagged obsidian cliffs and molten rivers twisted into patterns of decay. Far off, faint trails of smoke suggested that the Inquisition's hunters had survived—or at least that they had not yet given up.
Good.
Aren's fingers itched, craving confrontation, but he resisted. Control was fragile now. One wrong move, and he would unleash more destruction than even the Starbound Crown itself could contain.
Hours passed—or perhaps only minutes. Time had a habit of bending near zones corrupted by starfall. The horizon blurred, the ash thickening until visibility shrank to mere paces. Aren moved cautiously, following the pull that had drawn him to the shard in the crater. It was a subtle guidance now, more like intuition than a physical tug, a thread of resonance linking him to something ancient and alive.
He had no name for it yet. Only instinct.
The first encounter came suddenly.
A figure stumbled into his path, collapsing into the ash with a coughing fit. Aren barely had time to react before the figure scrambled back, hands raised in desperation.
A young woman, no older than fifteen or sixteen, with hair streaked silver from ash exposure. Her eyes widened as she saw Aren, filled with a mix of terror and awe.
"Don't… don't come any closer!" she cried, voice raw.
Aren slowed, raising his hands in a gesture of non-aggression. "I'm not here to hurt you," he said, voice hoarse from hours of exertion.
The girl didn't lower her hands. "You… you're the Ash-Bound," she whispered, almost to herself.
"Yes," he replied. He hesitated, studying her. Something about her felt familiar—not in memory, but in resonance. A faint pulse, almost like the echo of a star, lingered around her.
"Then… then help me," she said suddenly. Her voice cracked. "Please… they're coming. The hunters… the red-robed ones… they'll kill me."
Aren's eyes narrowed. The Arbiter and the hunters? Already? They had recovered so quickly? He had only just survived the crater.
"Where are they?" he demanded.
The girl pointed shakily east. "Through the Rift Valley… they set a trap. I barely got away."
Aren frowned. The Rift Valley—a labyrinth of jagged rock and half-collapsed star-ruins. Dangerous enough for an ordinary mortal. For someone in his state… it could be death.
"Follow me," he said, deciding quickly. "Stay close. Don't make a sound."
They moved cautiously, navigating the fractured terrain. Aren's blackened light pulsed faintly under his skin, barely controlled, sending ripples across the ash as he adjusted to the new resonance within him. He could feel the shard's influence tightening its grip, urging him to act, to reach, to dominate.
Control, he reminded himself. Focus.
The girl, who introduced herself as Lyra, walked with a limp from exhaustion. She whispered stories as they moved—of Inquisition scouts, of lost villages swallowed by starfall, of survivors who had turned to madness in the ash.
"They… they're collecting fragments," she said. "Every shard they find, they… they use it to control the territories. People disappear if they resist. Some… some never return."
Aren's jaw clenched. The Starbound Crown was more dangerous than he had imagined. Not merely a relic, but a weapon. A key. And now, partially bonded to him, it made him a target.
He glanced at her. "How did you survive?"
Lyra swallowed, avoiding his gaze. "Luck… and the ash. But… the resonance—it… it called to me. I felt it. The shards…" Her voice faltered. "…I think I'm… like you."
Aren stiffened. Another irregular? That could mean either an ally—or a trap.
"Show me," he said cautiously.
She hesitated, then extended a hand. A faint shimmer, barely visible, radiated from her palm—like light trapped under ice. Aren's pulse quickened. The star's influence was alive in her too, though weaker, chaotic, and raw.
So there's more than me…
Before he could think further, a tremor shook the ground. Dust and debris fell from the cliffs around them.
The Arbiter.
Aren grabbed Lyra's arm. "Run!"
They sprinted, the Rift Valley's jagged cliffs echoing with the distant, methodical steps of hunters. The Arbiter's power was unmistakable—a presence that warped the air, bending sound and light around them like they were insignificant insects.
Aren pushed Lyra ahead of him, weaving through narrow crevices and leaping across molten fissures. Behind them, the Arbiter's voice rang out, calm and merciless:
"You cannot escape, Ash-Bound. The Crown will be reclaimed, and you… will be undone."
Aren's blackened energy flared instinctively. A wave of ash exploded outward, throwing loose rock and debris at the hunters. The Arbiter faltered, just enough to give them a lead.
But the crackling resonance within him surged dangerously. Pain lanced through his chest as the shard's voice whispered again, not in words, but in thought:
Claim more. Reach higher. They cannot stop you.
Aren's eyes burned. "Not yet," he growled. "I control this… I am not theirs."
Hours later, they found temporary refuge in a collapsed ruin—a once-sacred star-temple, its walls melted into black crystal by some ancient starfall. The silence inside was heavy, almost sacred. Aren sank to his knees, gripping the edges of the shards embedded in his skin, blackened light coiling faintly around him.
Lyra sat across from him, trembling. "I… I can't do this alone," she admitted. "They… they won't stop."
Aren's voice was quiet, almost unreadable. "Neither will I. But you… you need to learn control. The Crown doesn't just give power. It demands it."
Lyra nodded, swallowing hard. "Teach me?"
Aren stared at the glowing shards along his arms, thinking of the Arbiter and the hunters, of the shattered Starbound Crown and the crater that had birthed this nightmare.
"First," he said finally, voice hard, "you survive tonight. After that… we learn what the ash allows us to become."
Outside, the sky churned. Distant lightning of star-ruins ignited the horizon, reflecting off shards embedded in the ground like bleeding stars. Somewhere far above, the Starbound Crown waited—its fragments scattered across the world, restless, awakening.
And Aren Valecar, the Ash-Bound, had just begun to step into the storm.
The path ahead was uncertain. Dangerous. And probably deadly.
But it was his.
And he would not kneel.