Haraza stepped between the crater's rim and the Covenant Shard, heart pounding with a fire not entirely his own. The wind whipped across the smoldering field, carrying dust and sparks and the weight of what had been released. The light behind him—the last rays of a bleeding sun—cast long shadows between him and the figure now rising from the impact.
This was no ordinary foe.
The Shard stood nearly two heads taller than Haraza, its armor chiseled with runes from a forgotten age. Beneath its mirrored helm, there was no face—only a shimmer, a moving reflection of himself.
("Haraza Genso. Sleeper. Vessel. Unbinder.")
Its voice came again, clearer this time. Measured. Almost reverent.
("You walk the world carrying a wound no man should ever bear. You have broken the seal that preserved the Pattern. You have unchained the Dream. And now…")
It raised its glaive, the edges whispering as if cutting the very air.
("You must be judged.")
Haraza didn't flinch.
Lirien unsheathed both her blades beside him. ("We run.")
("No,") Haraza said, stepping forward. ("If this thing was forged by the Accord, then it answers to the old laws. Those laws are broken. It shouldn't even be awake.")
The Shard tilted its head. > ("The Dream is undone. The Accord's foundation trembles. My kind—what remains—are awakening. Recalled by the unshackling of the Seed.")
("Then you're not here to destroy me,") Haraza said carefully. ("You're here because you have no choice. You're responding to a code that no longer governs this world.")
("That is… correct.")
The glaive lowered, only slightly.
("Yet in absence of law, will becomes the arbiter. Yours. Mine. This world's.")
Lirien narrowed her eyes. ("So this is a duel of ideology.")
The Shard's helm turned toward her.
("This is inheritance. He bears the echo of the Sleeper. But he is not the Sleeper. His judgment—his choice—is untested.")
Haraza took another step forward. ("Then let it be tested. Not with blades. Not yet. Tell me your purpose.")
The wind fell silent.
The Shard turned its glaive and struck it into the earth. The impact echoed like a bell tolling through stone. Around them, the dust parted, revealing old glyphs beneath the soil—circles of invocation, marks of ancient alignment.
("I was forged in the last century of the Accord. My oath: to ensure the world did not collapse into chaos if the Dream failed. I was one of thirteen. Each of us bound to a dominion of the world's balance—Time, Memory, Will, and more.")
Haraza's voice was hoarse.( "And your dominion?")
The Shard's mirrored helm shimmered.
("Choice.")
The weight of that word hit like a hammer.
Lirien whispered, ("It's your opposite. Your twin in principle.")
Haraza nodded. ("That's why it came here. Not to stop me. Not immediately. But to test me.")
The Shard extended a gauntleted hand. A shimmer of light danced in its palm—three threads of energy, each twisting like strands of fate.
("These are echoes. Paths you may walk. None guaranteed. All binding. Choose one.")
Haraza didn't step forward immediately. He stared at the threads.
The first glowed red—a road of fire and steel, cities burning in its wake. The second was silver—a quiet spiral, full of silence, shadow, and secrets. The third was gold, pulsing like a heartbeat, moving toward a rising sun.
("What are they?") he asked.
("Echoes of your possible selves. Not prophecy. Potential. This is what I was made to measure. If you walk this world bearing the Unbinding, you will become one of these three. Perhaps not exactly. But close enough.")
Haraza hesitated.( "And if I refuse to choose?")
("Then the world will choose for you. And I will judge again.")
Lirien stepped forward. ("You don't have to play by its rules.")
Haraza shook his head. ("Maybe not. But I need to understand what I'm becoming.")
He reached out.
And touched the golden thread.
For an instant, the world split.
—He saw himself standing atop the Tower of Wills, a banner in one hand, a sword of light in the other, surrounded by a world reborn in freedom. Kingdoms rising. Wars ending. He was no god, but a guide. A man made of trials and mercy.
—He saw the faces of those he'd save. And those he'd fail.
—He saw the weight of hope, heavier than any blade.
And then—
He was back.
The thread snapped.
The Shard nodded. > ("You have chosen mercy. Not weakness. But hope.")
Its glaive vanished.
("Then I shall not strike. Not yet.")
Haraza exhaled, his knees buckling for a second before he caught himself.
The Shard turned. "One of thirteen. I do not speak for the others. They awaken as we speak. Some may not agree with your path."
("What then?") Lirien asked.
("Then they will seek to erase it. As they were designed to.")
Haraza narrowed his eyes. ("Can they be reasoned with?")
("Perhaps. But know this: the world was never meant to survive without the Accord. The Dream was a shield—not a prison. You have removed that shield.")
It faced the horizon.
("Now the world will bleed truth.")
And with that, it vanished—folding into itself in a spiral of black wind and light.
Haraza dropped to one knee, breath heavy.
Lirien crouched beside him. ("Are you all right?")
("No,") he whispered. ("But I chose.")
And that mattered more than anything.
They camped in the ruins of a sky-temple that night, one of many slowly rising from the crust of the world as the Veil thinned. Haraza sat alone for hours, watching the stars.
They no longer spun in perfect patterns.
They had changed.
Moved.
As if recognizing that the order they once served had been rewritten.
He felt it—deep in his marrow. The world was awake. For the first time in ages, it was no longer dreaming.
But waking meant reckoning.
And reckoning meant war.
Lirien returned with wood for a small fire. She dropped it beside him and sat without speaking for a long time. When she finally did, her voice was soft.
("You realize what's coming, don't you?")
He nodded. ("Every city built under the Accord's shadow will fall into panic. Every power that clung to the Dream for stability will feel the ground shake. And the Shards…")
("They'll try to restore it. Forcefully.")
He didn't answer.
Lirien stared at the fire. "What if we're wrong? What if the Dream—what if the Accord was the only thing keeping this world from destroying itself?"
Haraza met her eyes.
("Then let the world decide that for itself. Not the Accord. Not the Shards. Not the ghosts of those who thought they knew better. But the people living in it.")
She smiled slightly. ("You sound like someone who wants to build something.")
("Not build,") he said.
("Rebuild.")