Chapter 7: Through Shattered Glass

Moments later, the scavenger camp is nothing more than a haze of ash and tattered silhouettes. I don’t allow myself the indulgence of looking back. Each step I take across the lifeless ground feels heavier than the last, as if the land is trying to drag me down into its dust and ruin. The sky above is that same unsettling greenish hue, thick with drifting embers that swirl in lazy spirals. Far off, I think I can see flickers of orange—maybe from the Eternal Pyres that never stop burning.

A ragged cough escapes my throat when the wind shifts, blowing acrid air straight into my face. I brush soot from my lips and keep moving, the staff in my good hand tapping the ground with each step.

The bone flute under my robe hums with a faint, persistent resonance, like the first stirrings of a song. My thoughts drift back to that flicker of memory it triggered: ancient stone doors engraved with musical runes. They felt important—connected to my mission or my past. Perhaps they’re part of the Blind Citadel, or maybe another place entirely. All I know for certain is that the flute and the map share the same carved symbols. They must be pieces of a larger puzzle.

Ahead, the horizon is dominated by jagged spires, each one soaring skyward as if trying to pierce the rotten sky. The Glass Wastes—where the ground is often sheathed in shards of crystallized sand, and illusions prowl like living nightmares.

My corrupted arm pulses again, as if the darkness beneath my skin senses my doubts. The sigil I carved throbs in answer, forcing the black veins to remain where they are. For now. I whisper a silent prayer of thanks that Lyra’s ward still holds, fragile as it is. But I feel the cost in every breath—my energy wanes faster than normal, and my hand tingles with pins and needles, constantly aware of that half-lidded hunger slithering just beneath the surface.

I pause for a moment, scanning the ashen landscape. Bones jut from the ground, bleached white by who knows how many seasons of scorching sun and toxic wind. The remains of some large, long-dead creature? Or the remnants of an ancient battle left to rot in the open? It’s impossible to tell anymore. In this world, everything eventually gets ground down to ruin.

A crow’s cry in the distance makes my chest tighten, reminding me of the scavenger woman’s parting words: Kael’s hounds are sniffing the Glass Wastes. They’re hunting you. If she was telling the truth, I’m bound to cross paths with them soon. My heart pounds at the thought of encountering Kael’s minions—shadowy mages, abominations, or worse.

Yet I press on, my grip tightening on the staff. I may not remember the full history of who I was, but I won’t let Kael or his twisted ambitions define who I become. The knowledge that we once stood side by side, Archmages devoted to reversing the Cataclysm, only solidifies my resolve. If he’s fallen so far as to exploit Void Glass and send abominations after me, then I owe it to this world—and possibly my own redemption—to stop him.

Step by step, the scavenger camp fades behind me. The air grows colder, despite the dust-laden sun’s weak glow overhead. Each yard of ground I cover feels like venturing deeper into a labyrinth of nightmares, with only a battered staff, a stolen flute, and a flickering ward to keep me company. But I’ve made my choice. I’m going west, toward the Blind Citadel—or at least in search of the Weeping Sage temple who might know how to tame this corruption.

Every so often, I catch myself glancing at my arm. The swirling darkness beneath the sigil seems almost alive, reacting to my slightest thought or the nearness of magic in the environment. It reminds me of a caged beast rattling its chains, impatient for release. I force my attention away, focusing instead on the horizon.

One foot in front of the other, I tell myself. Don’t look back. Don’t look down.

The wind howls, stirring more ash into the air. My boots crunch over bits of broken glass and scorched earth, each footstep echoing my growing uncertainty. Still, I know I can’t afford to slow. Kael’s forces might already be marching, and if I linger, they’ll catch me before I’ve had the chance to learn how to quell this curse—or to find the truths hidden in the Blind Citadel’s walls.

With a final look over my shoulder—just to be sure I’m not followed—I lock my gaze on the distant spires. Whatever waits for me out there, I’ll face it with what strength I have left. Because at this point, there’s no turning back.