Kale's heart jolted, and his hand instinctively moved toward his weapon. His eyes swept the room, searching for the source of the voice. The others froze, their attention snapping toward him.

A figure stepped out from the shadows near the largest shard. The stranger was tall, with a presence that commanded attention without aggression. Her features bore the unmistakable mark of the shard-touched: diamond-like eyes that caught the light and refracted it with unsettling beauty. Yet there was something else—something beyond the usual shard-touched traits. Her limbs were elongated, her fingers slightly too long. A slight crystalline sheen caught the light on her forearms, subtle but undeniable.

The figure inclined her head toward Kale. "You carry the burden of a bladeweaver, yet you hesitate. Why?"

Kale straightened, gripping his weapon. "Who are you?"

The figure stepped closer, her steps light but deliberate, like a predator approaching prey. "I am the guardian of this temple, a servant of Yr's legacy."

Liliana stepped forward. "Servant of Yr? This temple was marked as belonging to Aeloria."

The guardian's lips curved into a faint smile. "A common misunderstanding. But no, this temple belongs to Yr. Though… I suppose you could say Aeloria and Yr are not so far apart."

Kale's brow furrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

The guardian gestured toward the shard, its translucent surface glinting with faint light. "Perhaps the answers you seek lie not in what separates them, but in what binds them."

She regarded Kale for a moment longer, then inclined her head in what might have been a gesture of respect. "My name is Ikareia. I am the guardian of this temple and its truths."

The group exchanged glances, tension rippling through their stances. Kale nodded cautiously. "Alright, Ikareia. If you're the guardian, then maybe you can tell us why we're here."

"Perhaps," Ikareia said. "But not here, not yet. Follow me."

Without waiting for a response she turned and began walking deeper into the temple. Her movements were smooth, almost fluid, the faint crystalline shimmer on her limbs catching the fractured light. The group hesitated, but Kale gestured for them to follow.

They stepped into a chamber where the light seemed to bend and scatter, fractured by the massive shard at its center. Along one side, the edges caught Kale's eye. It looked as if something or someone had taken pieces off deliberately.

Ikareia turned to face them. "A long, long time ago, another bladeweaver stood where you stand now. She came seeking answers."

"Who?" Kale asked.

"Aeloria," Ikareia said. "Aeloria, the young bladeweaver. She was about your age, Kale, when she came here. Like you, she was looking for something."

Kale stiffened. "Hold up. How do you know my name?"

Ikareia smiled. "The shards know many things. They hum your name when you draw near, whisper it through cracks and corners. Or perhaps… I've simply always known."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one I have." She turned away, her voice trailing as though addressing the shard itself. "Young bladeweavers always carry the same questions. What do you seek, Kale? Truth? Power? Or the lie that says they're different?"

"Why was Aeloria here? What was she really looking for?"

Ikareia turned back to him, tilting her head as though examining Kale from an angle only she could perceive. Her diamond-like eyes glinted in the fractured light of the shard. "Why does anyone seek a temple, young bladeweaver? She came for answers. But answers… are greedy things. They come in pairs, like blades. One to cut the question, the other to cut you."

Kale frowned. "That doesn't make any sense."

Ikareia chuckled. "Doesn't it? She came because she wanted. She wanted because she needed. And what she needed was everything."

"Everything?"

"Everything," Ikareia repeated. "The shards sing, young bladeweaver. A song of severance and splendor, of power wrapped in sharp edges. Those who listen hear their call, a melody that carves through silence and self. Aeloria…" She paused, tilting her head as if hearing the echo of that ancient song. "She wanted to be the singer and the sword. She sought their power, their clarity, their purpose. She longed to sever the sky, to shatter the stars, to shape the world in her image."

"She wanted to become a god." Liliana said.

"A god? No more than a title, a throne carved from longing. Mortals chase such crowns as though they will not slip through their grasp, as though divinity is not a blade honed to cut both ways."

She stepped closer to the shard. "Aeloria sought to ascend, yes. She reached for the stars and found their edges sharp. She carried their weight and bore their song—each note splintering her, each chord severing what once was."

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Her gaze flicked to Kale, her smile faint and fractured. "A goddess now, shining above, but what was the cost? To rise, she shattered. To sing, she bled. The shards of her ascent scatter still, young bladeweaver. Pieces of the sky, pieces of herself. Gods may rise, but what is left in their wake? Splinters? Echoes?"

Ikareia tilted her head, her voice softening. "And when the shards are spent, when the song fades, when the blade no longer cuts… what remains?"

"She came here because she believed the shards would hold the power she needed to ascend," Liliana said.

Ikareia turned to her, inclining her head in a gesture that might have been approval. "Ah, the one who bleeds and binds. You understand. Divinity is not a gift; it is a sacrifice. Aeloria sought to take it, to claim it. But the path she chose was one of ruin."

"Ruin?" Kale asked.

Ikareia's smile faded as she turned to Kale. "What happens to those who think they can hold the sun? They burn. They break. And the song continues, as it always does. You should know, Kale, you hold the shard she stole from our temple."

Kale's hand drifted to the hilt of Aeloria's Promise. Slowly, he drew the blade, the steel catching the fractured light of the chamber. He held it up, the reflection of the shard glinting across its surface. "This… this was made from a shard of Yr's sword?"

"Yes," Ikareia said. "The blade aptly named Aeloria's Promise. A promise forged, a vow whispered to the stars. A promise to ascend beyond the petty grasp of mortality."

Kale frowned. "To become a god?"

"To kill one," Ikareia corrected "The blade sings of severance, young bladeweaver. To ascend, one must sever the chains. The chain of mortality, the chain of balance, the chain of gods. She called it a promise, but perhaps it was a warning. Or a question. Does the blade serve you, Kale? Or do you serve the blade?"

"Why… why would she need something like this?"

Ikareia chuckled softly, a sound like glass cracking under pressure. "To hold creation in your hand, to rise where others fall, one must first learn to cut. And Yr's sword—oh, how it cut. Aeloria sought not just a weapon but a key. To carve her path, to sever the sky, to reach where no mortal dared. A godkiller, yes. But gods are not so easily slain. A blade that shatters can be reforged. But what of the hand that wields it?"

Kale lowered the blade slightly, his gaze shifting between its edge and Ikareia. "She made this to… kill gods. To become one?"

"To sing their song and steal their crown," Ikareia said. "But gods are not so easily unseated, young bladeweaver. Their thrones are no pedestals—they are wounds, carved into the world by those who would claim them. Aeloria's promise wasn't a vow—it was a price. A shard, a sliver, a song that cuts. To hold it is to bleed, Kale. And to wield it…"

She leaned closer. "Is to ask yourself a question: are you the singer… or the blade?"

Ikareia's words settled over him like a fine mist. Her fractured gaze seemed to pierce straight through him, as though the shard-touched guardian could see the doubts he tried to bury.

"Are you the singer… or the blade?"

The question clung to him, yet he couldn't find an answer. His mind churned, turning over Ikareia's words, trying to fit them into some shape that made sense. Wasn't the blade just a tool? A means to an end? Or… was it more?

"A blade serves its purpose, young bladeweaver, and so does the hand that wields it. But when the song ends, and the blade is dull, what becomes of the hand? Does it craft? Does it mend? Or does it simply fall?"

Kale frowned, unsure how to respond. His thoughts flickered to the moments he had clutched the blade, to every life it had taken, every promise he had made while it was in his grasp. His purpose had always been clear. To fight, to protect, to end what should not be. Yet now, he was wondering if it really was all that clear.

"The shard she stole sings still, you know," Ikareia said. "Do you hear it? Every cut it made, every bond it severed, every life it bled dry—it hums in the spaces between. The echoes of her desire, her hunger… they linger in your hand, don't they?"

Kale glanced at the blade, at the faint shimmer of light reflecting along its edge. Was it his imagination, or did it seem to hum faintly, a sound he couldn't hear but could feel in the depths of his chest? He swallowed, his throat tight. "I'm not her," he said finally, though his voice felt too small, too uncertain.

Ikareia smiled faintly, but it wasn't a reassuring expression. It was knowing, sharp and sad. "Not yet."

Her gaze flicked upward, to the large shard at the chamber's center. "Aeloria's path was carved with purpose. She sought to sever the world's binds, to unravel the gods' tapestry and weave her own. But every thread cut leaves another loose. Every choice made leaves a shadow. How many songs have been silenced because of her? How many will end because of you? And why, Kale? Why do you sing?"

Kale opened his mouth to answer, but no words came. Why was he doing this? For his friends? For justice? To stop Xeroth? Each answer felt right but incomplete, fraying at the edges like threads in a worn tapestry.

"For every shard stolen, another shatters. For every thread pulled, another frays. For every blade raised…" Her hand moved over her chest, just above her heart. "Something is lost."

She tilted her head again, her expression equal parts wistful and unnerving. "So, young bladeweaver… what is it you hope to find?"

Kale didn't answer immediately. Ikareia's words weren't just questions—they were reflections, showing him things he didn't want to see. Finally, he managed, "I just want to do what's right."

Ikareia's faint smile returned, this time tinged with something like pity. "A noble song. But even the noblest melodies can end in discord." She gestured lightly toward the shard. "And what is right, young bladeweaver? Is it the line drawn in the sand? The blade raised in judgment? Or is it the song sung to quiet the storm in your chest?"

Kale hesitated. "It's… protecting the people who matter. Fighting for something better."

"Better," Ikareia echoed, her tone lilting, almost playful. "Better than what? Than the world as it is? Than the wounds already carved? And the price for your better—how high will it climb? How much of yourself will you bleed to pay it?"

"If the cause is just, then the cost is worth it."

"Ah," she said, her expression shifting to something between amusement and sorrow. "But how do you measure the worth of what's spent, Kale? The lives taken, the bonds broken, the silence left in your wake. Do you weigh them like gold? Or do you close your eyes and hope the scales tip in your favor?"

Kale's jaw clenched. "If you're trying to make me question why I'm doing this, it won't work. I know why."

"Do you?" Ikareia asked. "You carry the shard of a god's severance, wielded by one who sang of divinity. Her song cut deep, her melody sharp enough to pierce the sky. And yet…"

She leaned closer. "Did she ask herself what was lost in the echoes? Did she wonder if the world she carved was worth the silence that followed? Every blade carves a path, Kale. Every shard tells a story. But not every story ends in light."

Her voice softened, tinged with something like regret. "So, tell me, young bladeweaver—what is it you seek at the edge of your blade? And when the blade has carved its path, when the shards are spent and the song fades… will it have been enough?"

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