The stars were wrong.
Not absent, not dimmed, but *wrong*—their light twisted into jagged spirals, as if the heavens had been clawed open by some unseen talon. Beneath them, the world of Aelthar shuddered, its black seas churning with currents that defied nature. The air carried a metallic tang, like blood spilled on rusted iron, and the wind whispered secrets no mortal was meant to hear.
Kaelith Varn knelt at the edge of the Shatterveil, a jagged cliff of obsidian that marked the boundary between the known world and the Void Beyond. Her gloved hands gripped the hilt of her star-forged blade, its blade etched with runes that pulsed faintly, as if struggling to remember their purpose. Her silver eyes, flecked with motes of starlight, scanned the horizon where the sky bled into darkness. The Veil was thinning again, and the whispers were louder tonight.
"Do you hear it?" she murmured, her voice barely audible over the wind.
Beside her, Torren, her shadow-sworn companion, shifted uneasily. His form flickered, half-corporeal, half-wreathed in smoke, a remnant of the pact he'd made with the Umbral Court. His eyes, voids of endless black, avoided the sky. "I hear nothing but madness," he said, his voice a low rasp. "You'd do well to ignore it, Kaelith. The Void speaks to those who listen too long."
She didn't reply. Ignoring the Void was like ignoring a blade at your throat. It wasn't just sound—it was a *pull*, a hunger that clawed at the edges of her soul. The Shatterveil was no mere cliff; it was a wound in reality, a place where Aelthar's fragile skin had split, revealing the infinite chaos beyond. Scholars called it a cosmic scar. Priests called it a gate to damnation. Kaelith called it a mirror, reflecting the truth of what she'd become.
Three years ago, she'd been a nobody—a thief scraping by in the ash-choked slums of Vyrn, dodging the zealots of the Starlit Covenant and their purges. Then she'd stolen the Starheart, a relic said to hold the light of a dead god. She hadn't meant to shatter it. She hadn't meant to bind its power to her blood, to become something neither human nor divine. Now, the Covenant hunted her, the Void called her, and the stars… the stars *watched* her.
A low rumble shook the cliff, and the runes on her blade flared brighter. Torren's form solidified, his clawed hand gripping her shoulder. "It's waking," he hissed. "We need to move."
Before she could respond, the Shatterveil cracked.
A fracture of blinding white light split the obsidian, and the air screamed—a sound like a thousand voices wailing in unison. Kaelith stumbled back, her blade raised, as the crack widened into a jagged maw. Beyond it, there was no cliff, no sea, no sky—only a churning abyss of eyes and teeth, swirling in a tapestry of impossible colors. The whispers became a chorus, sharp and insistent, carving words into her mind.
*Come. See. Become.*
"Shut up!" she snarled, thrusting her blade toward the maw. The runes ignited, casting a lattice of light that pushed back the darkness. But the Void was relentless. Tendrils of shadow, slick and glistening, slithered from the crack, coiling toward her like serpents scenting prey.
Torren moved faster than thought, his form dissolving into smoke and reappearing between Kaelith and the tendrils. His claws slashed, severing the shadows, but more poured forth, endless and unyielding. "This is no ordinary breach!" he shouted. "It's *hunting* you!"
Kaelith's heart pounded, but her mind was sharp, honed by years of survival. She reached inward, to the Starheart's power thrumming in her veins. It was a fire that burned without heat, a light that cast no shadow. She hated it—hated the way it made her feel like a stranger in her own skin—but it was her only weapon. She raised her free hand, and the air around her crackled with starlight. The tendrils recoiled, hissing, as if burned.
"Hold it back!" Torren growled, his form flickering as he fought. "I can seal the breach, but I need time!"
Kaelith gritted her teeth, channeling more of the Starheart's power. Her vision swam, the world tilting as the light poured from her, forming a barrier of shimmering radiance. The Void screamed louder, its voices clawing at her thoughts, promising truths she didn't want to know. Images flashed in her mind: a city of glass beneath a sky of fire, a figure cloaked in starlight, a throne of bones orbiting a dying star. And at the center of it all, her own face, but wrong—her eyes hollow, her smile cruel.
"Torren, hurry!" she shouted, her voice cracking as the power drained her. The barrier flickered, and a tendril broke through, grazing her arm. Pain seared through her, not physical but *existential*—a sensation of being unmade, of unraveling into nothing. She screamed, falling to her knees, but held the barrier steady.
Torren chanted in a tongue older than Aelthar, his claws tracing sigils in the air. The sigils glowed, forming a web that stretched across the breach. The Void thrashed, its tendrils lashing wildly, but the web tightened, forcing the crack to narrow. With a final, ear-splitting wail, the breach snapped shut, leaving only a faint scar in the obsidian.
Kaelith collapsed, gasping, her blade clattering to the ground. The whispers were gone, but their echoes lingered in her mind. Torren knelt beside her, his form solid again, though his eyes were wary. "You're reckless," he said, his tone softer than usual. "You could've died."
She laughed weakly, wiping blood from her lip. "Not my first brush with death. Won't be my last."
He didn't smile. "This wasn't a random breach, Kaelith. The Void *knew* you were here. It's not just calling anymore—it's reaching."
She forced herself to stand, ignoring the ache in her bones. "Then let it reach. I'm not afraid of the dark."
Torren's eyes narrowed. "You should be. The Starheart didn't just change you—it marked you. The Void wants what you carry. And it's not the only one."
She followed his gaze to the horizon, where the sea met the sky. Far in the distance, a fleet of ships gleamed under the twisted stars, their sails emblazoned with the sigil of the Starlit Covenant—a blazing eye wreathed in flames. The zealots were coming, and they weren't here for mercy.
Kaelith gripped her blade, the runes still warm under her touch. "Let them come," she said, her voice steady despite the fear gnawing at her. "I'm done running."
The stars watched, silent and wrong, as the winds of Aelthar carried the promise of war.