A veil of shadow smothered the clearing where the bandits had made camp. Woven magic had blocked light and muted sound alike—meant to turn travellers and patrols away before they ever realised something was wrong.

  After a strategic detour, Arion returned to the tree line bordering the clearing. He did not enter without a fallback.

  His eyes narrowed, scanning every angle, searching for silhouettes, movement, anything that broke the veil’s uniform darkness. There was nothing. The shadow consumed detail whole.

  He glanced back at the decimated ice effigy behind him, its fractured form stained red.

  They’ve lost their scout…

  This side has fewer eyes now.

  He stepped closer to the sculpture, boots crunching softly as frost shifted beneath his weight.

  The edge of Arion's lips curled as ice melted at his feet.

  …

  A murmur drifted through the veil.

  Lights of flickering flames slowly came into view.

  “...that's what I said!”

  The darkness thinned just enough to reveal two shapes near the camp’s edge. Firelight licked at their outlines as voices carried through the crackle of burning wood.

  “Where in the name of Luminara is Ruzvar? That flesh-eatin’ mongrel takin’ his sweet time!”

  The taller one spat toward the ground.

  “Probably found himself a wee snack,” the shorter man chuckled from his rock-seat.

  The taller bandit groaned, irritation leaking out as his patience ran dry.

  “Arh! I don’t care if it’s just the two of us, I’m burstin’ for a piss, mate. Cazza, how’s ‘bout you pick up ya bloody axe and look like you’re doin’ ya job.”

  He glared at the man in question. A low groan slipped from Cazza’s mouth.

  “Fine, fine,” he muttered, half grunt, half sigh, standing as he yanked his axe free from a carcass.

  “Oi—‘urry up though, Gunar, otherwise Karlon won’t be ‘appy with ya—ey! Where ya goin’?”

  “Into the shadow veil! I can’t piss when someone’s watchin’, ya git! I—I get nervous, a’right?” Gunar snapped, his footsteps echoing as the veil swallowed him whole.

  …

  A few steps in, Gunar paused, undid his belt, and went about his business.

  The dark pressed close.

  He wasn’t alone.

  A figure loomed ahead—barely visible, its shape swallowed by shadow.

  “Fuckin—!” Gunar jumped, heart hammering as he squinted ahead.

  He froze.

  “Ruzvar? Don’t creep up like that, unless ya want a blade in ya!”

  The figure didn’t move.

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  He frowned, eyes adjusting. His mind balked at what it tried to process.

  Beneath the hood there was no face—only darkness, deeper than the veil itself. A hollow black maw where something familiar should have been.

  Then he saw the ice.

  It crawled up the figure in slow tendrils, propping the body upright like a mannequin frozen mid-step.

  “The f—”

  The words died as a biting chill struck him.

  His gaze snapped downward.

  Ice.

  It crept up his boots in slow silence.

  Ambush!

  “A—”

  Before he could say anything, a hand came out of the shadow, gripping his mouth.

  His footing caught—trapped by the ice tendrils, he helplessly watched the shadows that surrounded him become blurry and frozen. The air he breathed never came back out, crystalising within.

  Tiny specks of ice crackling finally ceased.

  Now, only the whispers of shadows existed within the veil.

  —— ? —— —— ? —— —— ? ——

  “Gunar, mate!?” Cazza called, stepping closer to the veil.

  A pause.

  No reply.

  “Damnit, ‘ows long does it take to piss, mate?”

  He stopped.

  A silhouette stirred in the darkness, looming just beyond the edge of what little he could see. It moved closer—slow, wrong.

  “Gunar? Ruzvar? This ain’t funny, lads!”

  Dread crept in. Instinct flared.

  Cazza stretched out a hand and cast immediately.

  “Rock Shards.”

  Earth began forming above his hand—broken rock and earth spun, sharp shards rotated, ready to be shot towards their target.

  Silence. Only the distant racket of the camp from behind kept him aware of his surroundings.

  Then the figure lunged.

  Cazza didn’t hesitate. He released.

  THNK!—THNK!—THNK!

  CRACK!

  The sound was wrong—like a shell splitting against stone. The figure staggered, but didn’t fall.

  As it breached the veil, Cazza leapt back.

  Something burst from the darkness and hit the ground with a heavy THUMP.

  His eyes widened.

  Gunar.

  Frozen solid. Impaled. His face locked in terror.

  The veil beside him tore open.

  Cazza barely had time to curse.

  He turned, axe raised—

  Too late.

  A sharp whistle of air cut through the dark, followed by crushing force.

  His windpipe collapsed.

  He dropped to his knees, clawing at his throat, breath whistling like a broken flute.

  The pain ended abruptly.

  A second blow cracked his skull.

  His body went slack and hit the ground.

  …

  Arion looked down at the two men, then dragged their bodies back into the veil.

  He picked up the man's axe—its shard was fixed into its handle. Unfortunately, the shard and its power were unusable.

  But a weapon was still a weapon.

  His footsteps faded away, leaving only the faint crack of cooling ice to mark the deaths hidden within shadow.

  —— ? —— —— ? —— —— ? ——

  Arion crouched behind the nearest tent after slipping into the camp’s clearing.

  Beyond it lay a quieter stretch—supply stacks, cages, stored goods. He waited, listening, then moved.

  Cloth shifted nearby.

  He froze, inches from leaving cover.

  A man stepped out of a tent only metres away—dark skin, red eyes, posture relaxed.

  “Seems this was a fruitless endeavour after all. No clues, no information—tch. What a bore.”

  The man wandered toward the inner camp.

  Arion waited until he was gone, then moved again.

  The scent of blood and smoke thickened.

  He was close now.

  …

  Only the sounds of flickering flame and distant bickering could be heard in this silent corner of the camp.

  A man stood beside a metal cage, chewing bread and meat, stuffing his mouth without care. He tossed a scrap inside and stared at the child as if at an exhibit.

  A young boy sat on the metal floor—cold, hungry, still. He stared blankly at the world outside the cage. Movement only came when his body would shiver.

  DUFF!

  The cage jolted as the man kicked it. The boy flinched violently.

  “How borin’! I miss when we were traffickin’ Ravnir kids—at least they had the will of beasts! Fought each other for scraps.”

  The man crouched, eyes alight with something broken.

  “I wonder what face you’ll make when the light fades—when your Vitalis returns to the earth.”

  A grin spread.

  “Ah, now that would be so—”

  CHUNK-KRRAK!

  His expression froze—confusion, then shock.

  An axe buried itself in his back, cleaving through flesh, muscle, and spine.

  He collapsed without protest, only wet gurgles escaping as nerves fired their last signals.

  One twitch.

  Then stillness.

  “I guess it’d look like that,” Arion said from behind him.

  —— ? —— —— ? —— —— ? ——

  Rock Shards

  Tier 2 — School of Earth

  Description:

  A fundamental earthen projection technique that fractures nearby stone or soil into jagged shards, launching them in a wide barrage toward the target. Favoured for its simplicity and adaptability, it offers both suppression and raw destructive output at short to mid range.

  Essence Principle:

  Earth remembers pressure. When Vitalis agitates that memory, the built tension releases in violent fragmentation. Each shard carries the echo of that strain, biting through armour and bone with compressed momentum.

  Practitioner’s Note:

  Balance aggression with restraint. Overdraw fractures control and scatters power uselessly. Guide the pressure through the ground, not against it. Let the earth exhale through your intent.

  Maxim:

  “Force the earth, and it breaks. Move with it, and it strikes for you.”