The overhang was tight—stone walls pressing in, frost on every breath. Vel crouched at the edge, shadows still rippling off her like smoke. Mira knelt beside her, dirt-map half-forgotten. Toren leaned against the rock, arms crossed, while Lark sat cross-legged, eyes on the plaza below.

  Vel broke the quiet first. “It's not fighting us. The pulse... sped up like it was curious. Not hostile.”

  Mira's brow furrowed. “They’re pulling wisps—tiny tugs. It's resisting, but not hard. And the patrols... they're half-asleep. Twenty bodies, spread thin, no eyes on the flanks. Easier than my scout even suggested.”

  Toren cracked a grin. “So we clear them. Quiet. Grab whatever that light's shining on in the center—looks like something buried under the tear's glow. Disrupt the camp, snag it, pull out before they wake up.”

  Lark flexed his hands, scars faintly glowing. “We can do it in one sweep. Divide the plaza. Vel and Mira take the outer rings—long range. Toren and I go close. Five each. Sync the timing, no alarms.”

  Vel nodded. “Shadows can reach the rim patrols. Silent.”

  Mira glanced at the tear overhead—red-violet fracture, blue-white veins pulsing steady. “If it's too easy... we abort at the first wrong feel.”

  Toren rolled his shoulders. “It's easy because we're good. Let's move.”

  They slipped out like ghosts.

  The mist had thickened, turning the plaza into a frozen dream. Campfires guttered low, orange pinpricks swallowed by fog. Arbiters slumped against barricades or paced slow circles—grunts in dull cloaks, overseers half-dozing. No one looked up. The tear pulsed overhead, cold light washing everything in pale blue-white, frosting breath and stone alike.

  Vel flickered first—up to a crumbled tower remnant on the east rim. She settled low, shadows pooling around her like spilled ink. Five grunts wandered the outer loop, backs turned, spears dragging in boredom. Vel extended her arms slowly. Thin tendrils of shadow snaked out, invisible in the fog—long, sinuous, hungry. They slithered across the frost, silent as wind over water.

  The first grunt paused to yawn. A tendril coiled around his throat like a lover's arm. His star flared once—bright, panicked—then dimmed as the shadow squeezed. He dropped to his knees, eyes wide, no sound escaping. The second grunt turned at the soft thud; another tendril wrapped his chest, pulling inward, starlight guttering like a candle in rain. Three more in quick succession: one mid-step, one leaning on a barricade, one scratching his neck. Shadows tightened, stars winked out, bodies slumped into the mist without a cry. Vel exhaled, frost on her lips. Five down. The rim stayed quiet.

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  Mira moved next—south wall, agile and low, darting between fallen stones like a shadow herself. She paused behind a broken pillar, palms up. Five overseers lounged near the barricades, flasks in hand, crimson cloaks pooling around them. Mira's star hummed soft in her chest—cold, precise. She flicked her fingers.

  Thin darts of starlight shot out—needles laced with frost, streaking through the fog like falling stars. The first hit an overseer square in the back; frost spidered across his cloak, his star freezing mid-pulse, body stiffening before he toppled sideways into the snow. The second light beam curved, slipping between two others—pierced one throat, the other chest. They crumpled together, flasks clattering softly, frost blooming over their faces like sudden winter. The last two barely stirred—one got a beam to the eye, star exploding inward in a silent burst of ice; the other took it to the heart, collapsing with a faint crackle. Five dead, hidden in the ruins' shadows. Mira's breath came steady. “Why aren't they fighting back?” she whispered to the mist.

  Toren charged the north cluster—low, brutal, a storm in human shape. Five grunts clustered near a low fire, backs to the wind. He closed the distance in three strides, star roaring in his chest. He thrust both hands forward.

  Force pulses erupted—raw, invisible waves that hit like hammers. The first grunt's chest caved inward, star shattering with a wet crunch, body folding like broken cloth. Toren pivoted, slamming a second with an open palm—force rippled through ribs, star imploding, the man flying back into a barricade with a muffled thud. The third tried to turn; Toren grabbed his shoulder, channeled a crushing pulse straight into the core—star burst apart, body dropping limp. Fourth and fifth came together—double pulse, twin explosions of light and frost, both crumpling in a heap. Toren stepped over them, grinning through the cold. “Like swatting flies.”

  Lark took the west side—methodical, unyielding. Five more grunts patrolled the edge, oblivious. He advanced straight, scars glowing brighter with each step, star steady as stone. He raised one hand.

  Waves rolled out—force ripples that shimmered the air. The first wave hit the lead grunt's back; he staggered, star flickering, then shattered as the second wave crushed inward. Lark didn't stop—stepped closer, another wave slamming two side-by-side, stars popping like overripe fruit, bodies folding forward. The last two spun toward him; he absorbed their weak counter-flares (crimson flickers that fizzled against his scars), then pulsed back—hard, precise. Stars broke, bodies dropped. Five down, dragged into shadow by his own lingering force. The plaza fell silent.

  Twenty gone. Not one cry. Not one alarm.

  The team regrouped in the center, breath fogging thicker now. The tear pulsed overhead, light spilling straight down onto the cracked stone at their feet.

  There, half-buried in frost: a fist-sized shard. Crystalline, jagged edges glowing faint blue-white. It hummed—low, kindred to their own stars. A fragment of something ancient, fallen when the sky broke. Power radiated from it, cold but inviting, like it had been waiting.

  Vel knelt first. “It's... alive. Like a piece of a dead star.”

  Mira's eyes narrowed. “The light was on it the whole time. They weren't guarding the tear—they were guarding this.”

  Toren reached out. “Grab it. Disrupt the flow, take it back to the Crucible.”

  Lark's hand hovered. “Feels too clean. Too easy.”

  Vel's fingers brushed the shard. It flared brighter—pulse matching the tear above. A faint hum filled their heads, not words, just pressure. The shadowy thing inside the fracture twisted harder, almost eager.

  Back at the Crucible, Kael jerked upright, hand clamped to his chest. The tug burned now—sharp, insistent.