Argen didn't answer right away. He just looked at Kale and smiled. "Yr speaks through the shards. I know most people think she's gone. That they're all gone. But they aren't. She isn't."

Kale shook his head slowly, overwhelmed. "But fifty years? You're telling me no other bladeweavers came through in all that time? What are the odds?"

Argen shrugged. "There haven't been that many of you for a long time. But why none came before you… maybe that's how Yr wanted it."

Kale stared down at the hilt. First Aeloria, now Yr. Gods weaving threads through his life like he was part of some grand design he never agreed to. Always riddles. Always half-answers.

Aeloria had stolen a shard from Yr's temple—an important one, apparently. Yr couldn't have been happy about that. Was this her way of responding? Was she trying to reclaim what was taken? Trying to do something, through him?

And if so… why now? Why not sooner? If she was trying to do anything at all. If she was even alive.

He couldn't say for sure. But he couldn't deny the way the shards hummed, the way they pulled at him, like pressure on the inside of his skull, like whispers caught in the corner of his hearing. Something was still there. Somewhere. Somehow.

But what could she want from him? And why had his grandfather left this hilt?

"Why does everything have to be a mystery?" he muttered. "Why can't any of them just say what they want?"

Argen raised an eyebrow. "Because they're gods."

His grandfather wasn't. Was he?

Kale ran his thumb along the white grip, the golden gem pulsing faintly beneath his fingers. "What can you tell me about the one who left this behind? The bladeweaver who had you make it."

Argen leaned back, folding his arms. "Didn't give me a name. But he looked strong. Calm. Paid in full, handed me the shard and that gem. Said the hilt wasn't for him. Said someone else would need it. Told me exactly where to place the gem."

The golden gem set into the pommel pulsed faintly, but as Kale leaned in, he caught something strange. Just for a second, it looked like something moved inside it. Not light. Not a reflection. Something else.

He narrowed his eyes, shifted the angle. The gem settled. Still.

He touched it. Nothing happened. No surge, no hum, no whisper. Just smooth, cool crystal beneath his fingers. Was he imagining things?

"What's so special about this hilt?" he asked quietly. "Is it just the design? Or… is there more to it? This gem—why did he tell you to use that one?"

"Didn't say. Just handed it over and told me to set it in the pommel. Told me it mattered."

Kale scowled. "Did he say anything else?"

"Only that it wasn't his story to finish."

Kale exhaled slowly. Not his story to finish.

Was that what this was? A continuation of something started long before he was born? His grandfather's path, handed down. And now it was his?

"Why just this?" he asked. "Why not a whole sword?"

"Didn't say. Just handed me the shard, the gem and the specs for the hilt. Said it wasn't for him. Said whoever would come to claim it would understand what to do with it."

Kale didn't understand. He didn't understand at all.

What was he supposed to do with just a hilt? Swing it around like an idiot? Beat someone over the head with it? It wasn't a weapon. It wasn't anything.

Kale stared at the hilt in his hands. He already had a sword. Two, actually. Good ones. Real ones.

This? This was just a handle. Elegant, sure, but useless on its own.

None of it made any sense.

His grandfather had gone to all this trouble—paid for the work, chosen the gem, left a message wrapped in mystery—and for what? A hilt? A half-finished thought?

Why him? Why now? What the hell, grandpa?

Kale looked up, exasperated. "But it's just a hilt."

Argen gave an apologetic shrug. "It's all he gave me."

That answer did nothing to help. If anything, it made it worse.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Where had his grandfather even gotten the shard? Had Yr given it to him? Had he stolen it, like Aeloria had stolen hers? And the gem—what was it? It wasn't just pretty. Kale had seen something move inside it. He was sure of it. So what was trapped in there? Or waiting?

Was his grandfather working with Yr? Or with Voss? Against Aeloria?

Was Voss right about her? Did he know what she really was?

Did his grandfather?

Had he known what was coming? What would happen?

And if he had all this—shard, gem, purpose—why not use it himself? Why not give it to Kale's mother? Why skip a generation, hand it off to someone who had no idea what the hell he was doing?

Was it fate? Some divine design? Or just one more mystery in a long line of them?

The hilt pulsed once, faint and golden in his grip.

Kale froze, then scowled at it. "What do you want from me?"

No answer.

He felt the pressure building again, that low hum in his skull. The shards, the pull of hidden strings, the eyes of a dead goddess. All of it pressing in.

Kale shook it once. "Say something. Do something."

Still nothing. No answers.

He felt the anger rising up inside of him, bursting out. "TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT!"

The gem flared—bright, searing gold—and swallowed the world.

A burning city carved into a mountain.

His friends on the ground, swords jutting from their bodies.

Carrion Voss, standing before him.

Kale, arms outstretched, handing over Aeloria's Promise.

Then alone. Gold blazed from his eyes. From the sword in his hand. From his skin.

And then it was gone. He was back in the room, hilt clutched in his hands, chest heaving, heart pounding.

What the hell was that?

He looked up.

Rika was frozen, eyes wide, halfway between a step and a retreat. Namara wasn't saying anything, but her lips were pressed tight.

They'd seen it. Maybe not the vision. But something.

Kale looked down at the hilt again. No glow now. Just smooth, bone-white grip. Quiet.

He swallowed hard.

"Kale?" Rika asked, cautious. "What was that?"

"I saw…" he started, then stopped.

She took a step closer, put a hand on his shoulder. "Saw what?"

He stared down at the hilt again. The glow was gone. But the images were still burned behind his eyes.

"It doesn't matter," he said. His voice was steady, even if he wasn't. "I won't let it happen."

Rika gave his shoulder a squeeze, but didn't push. She stepped back.

Namara tilted her head. "Was it the future?"

He looked up. She was smiling. She already knew the answer.

"This city," Rika muttered. "Too many visions. Too many whispers. This place makes me itchy."

Kale nodded. "Yeah. I'm done here."

He clipped the hilt to his belt. "We got what we came for. Let's get out of here."

As they turned to leave, Kale paused and gave Argen a small nod. "Thank you."

Argen returned it. "Fight well, bladeweaver. The gods are watching."

"Yeah," he muttered. "Seems like they always are."

***

They regrouped at the inn, the door clicking shut behind them as Kale stepped inside.

Liliana was already seated, fingers laced around a cup of something dark and steaming. She looked up as they entered. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

"I found something," Kale said. "Wasn't what I thought I was looking for. Maybe it found me."

He stepped forward and held out the hilt for Liliana to see.

Liliana inspected it raised an eyebrow. "You found a hilt?"

"Apparently my grandfather left it here for me. Fifty years ago."

That got her to raise both of her eyebrows.

"Why?" she asked. "How'd he know you'd come this way?"

Kale shook his head. "Apparently he brought the shard and the design. Paid up front. Told the smith, 'This isn't for me.' Said someone else would need it."

He didn't mention the hum in his skull. Or the golden flare. Or the vision.

"So how do you know it's for you?"

He turned the hilt in his hand and showed her the inscription.

Liliana leaned in, eyes narrowing on the inscription.

Even the longest night ends in dawn.

Her lips parted slightly. She glanced at Kale, then back at the hilt. "You told me your mother used to say that."

Kale nodded. "She did."

Liliana didn't speak right away. Her fingers tightened slightly around her cup.

Of course. Of course it wasn't just a family saying. Nothing was ever just a saying. Not with gods involved.

This thread went further back than either of them could see, strung across bloodlines and buried secrets and divine agendas.

Fifty years ago, a dead man placed a shard in the hands of a smith. Not for himself. For someone he would never meet.

How much of their journey had been their own? How much had already been set in motion, long before they took the first step? Were they really choosing any of this? Or just walking lines drawn by hands they couldn't see?

She didn't say any of it out loud. No point. He was already holding the proof. Instead, she looked up and said, quietly, "Then I guess it really was meant for you."

Kale gave a slow nod, then carefully slid the hilt back into its place.

Rika cleared her throat. "Ahum! That wasn't the only awesome discovery today."

"Oh, gods," Namara said.

"I'll have you know," Rika said, puffing out her chest, "that I am, in fact, the master haggler."

Namara scoffed.

"Out-haggled Namara, actually." She pulled something from behind her back with a flourish. "Behold! The vendor's pants!"

"...Pants?" Sadek asked, confused.

Rika pouted. "Kaley wouldn't let me keep the chair."

Now Sadek looked more confused.

"She took everything from the poor guy," Kale said, shaking his head.

"Technically," Rika said, folding the pants over her arm, "he paid me to take it all. And he deserved it because his shards were fakes."

Namara gave a reluctant shrug. "That part is true."

Liliana sighed. "Why did you keep the pants?"

Rika blinked at her. "Why wouldn't I keep the pants?"

Liliana threw her hands up, clearly searching for words and coming up empty.

Rika, unfazed, swept the pants around her shoulders and fastened them like a cape. "Behold. The mantle of victory!"

Sadek just stared, then looked at Liliana.

She turned to him, opened her mouth, then closed it again. After a beat, she just shook her head.

"Pantsbreaker!" Kale said suddenly, pointing at Rika like he'd just named a legendary beast.

"Hah!" Namara laughed.

Rika puffed up her chest and put her fist over her heart. "Respect the title."

Liliana rubbed her temples. "Alright, Pantsbreaker, I think we could all use some rest. We leave at dawn."

Namara leaned back in her chair. "It's barely even dark. You just want Kale to yourself for a few more hours, don't you?"

Liliana didn't even blink. "What if I do?"

Namara blinked instead.

Rika let out a low whistle.

Sadek snorted and covered it with a cough.

Namara recovered, just barely. "Well. I wasn't expecting honesty."

Liliana sipped her drink. "Try it sometime."

Sadek gave a short, sharp laugh. "Hah."

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