Eight years prior, the winter Finn turned ten, the earth stirred within him.
His mother was out with the herd. He knelt by the cold hearth, wishing for warmth. A tremor rippled through the rough-hewn stone. Then, a spark. A lick of flame sprang from the dry kindling, startling him back.
He didn't understand it then. The subtle thrum beneath his feet, the way the very ground seemed to answer his unspoken thoughts. Lifting pebbles from the creek bed, mending small cracks in the mudbrick wall, even coaxing a fragile bloom from barren soil – he soon realized he could accomplish impossible things.
“Mama, look! The water jug is floating!”
That evening, Finn eagerly displayed his nascent gifts. His mother, back from the dusty hills with her shaggy hounds, watched him levitate their heavy clay jug. Her face, usually etched with quiet resilience, crumpled. No awe, no joy. Only a deep, wearisome despair.
She reached out, gently pulling the jug from the air. Her voice was soft, but firm. “Finn, listen closely. Promise me. Never use this power carelessly. Especially, never in front of others.”
“But why?”
Finn, always a dutiful child, pouted. This power was wondrous, a secret friend. To suppress it felt like burying a part of himself.
His mother warmed a cup of goats’ milk over the still-glowing embers. For the first time, she spoke of the world beyond Witherpeak Crag.
“Far below these hills, in the great cities, live people called the Elder Bloods.”
These Elder Bloods, she explained, were descendants of an Ancient Lineage, beings who had once walked the world with the power of the earth itself. They ruled the Shattered Lands, their formidable abilities both shield and chains for humanity.
Their power flowed through their veins, strong and unyielding. Those born of Elder Blood and common folk were called Stone-Hearts. They too inherited a connection to the earth, but weaker, diluted. They served, like tools.
Finn's mother revealed his father had been a Stone-Heart. She warned him: descend into the cities, and the Elder Bloods would seize him, bind him to their will.
“Imagine it, Finn. The Elder Bloods are the shepherds of this land. The Stone-Hearts? They are the loyal dogs. Sometimes, a shepherd might show affection, even treat a dog like family. But they can also sell them, or send them to fight wolves, knowing they might not return.”
A shepherd, safe behind the flock, pelting stones while his dog fought for its life. That was the grim truth.
His mother’s face held a desolation Finn had never witnessed before. A cold dread settled in his young heart.
“Finn,” she whispered, her gaze piercing, “don’t you want to stay with Mama for a long, long time?”
“Yes,” he breathed.
“Then you must hide your gift. Or the bad Elder Bloods will find you, take you away. You’ll never see me again.”
“Okay, I promise!” He wiped his nose on his sleeve. “I won’t use it. Not in front of anyone!”
Eight years blurred into the dry dust of the Shattered Lands. Finn kept his promise. Even after his mother fell ill, then faded, leaving him alone on Witherpeak Crag, he remained. Herding his sheep, avoiding the distant cities, refusing to become another dog for the Elder Bloods.
---
“Fools.”
Finn slammed the cabin door shut. A fine tremor ran through the packed earth floor. Early light, still weak and grey, filtered through the small window slits. The young men from the village, their faces scrunched with suspicion, had come for him before dawn.
Elder Kael’s death a few days ago. They called it an accusation. Though the mangled remains, the deep claw marks in the hardpan earth, screamed ‘Cinder-Stalker’, they insisted Finn had killed the old man. Fed him to the beast. Absurd claims, hot breath on the cold air.
He knew their game. They couldn’t prove anything. But this incident, this flimsy excuse, would serve them well. Next time he went to trade, they’d try to short him, tamper with his goods. They always did.
Finn clenched his fists. He’d simply… remind them. A few well-placed shoves. A tight grip on a forearm until their eyes widened. They’d remember fair dealings. It was an old, annoying cycle, familiar as the dust on his boots.
A sharp rap, bang-bang, echoed from the door. Not the tentative knock of a lost lamb, but a deliberate thud. Finn’s jaw tightened. Could their memories be so short? Had they forgotten the swift, sharp lesson he’d just delivered?
He yanked the door open, a growl rumbling in his chest. “Who in the dust is it now? Do you crave a broken nose?”
But the man standing outside wasn't one of the village youths. He appeared to be in his mid-forties, perhaps a little older. A heavy, dust-caked cloak hung from his shoulders, concealing much of his frame. He offered an awkward, tired smile.
“Ah… my apologies, young friend. A traveler, I am. I hoped to impose on your hospitality for a time. It seems I’ve chosen a poor moment.”
A traveler. Finn stared. In his eighteen years, he’d never seen a true traveler, someone with no roots in the sparse, familiar hills. His mind momentarily seized. Someone so leisurely, so unburdened, to visit this desolate corner of the Shattered Lands?
He stepped aside, the harshness draining from his posture. “No, not at all. Come in. Merely some unpleasant business with the village fools.”
The formal tone felt strange on his tongue, a relic from his mother’s lessons on addressing elders. When had he last spoken with such courtesy? Before he’d realized the villagers, even Elder Kael, were mostly grasping, petty people. It had been a long time indeed.
“If you’ll excuse me, then.” The traveler dipped his head, stepping into the dim cabin. Truthfully, to maintain his hidden life, Finn should have driven this stranger away. But a gnawing loneliness, a quiet yearning for connection beyond the sheep and the dust, overruled caution.
It had been years since he’d spoken to anyone without the bitter tang of hostility or the hollow ring of necessity. A peaceful conversation, even a brief one, felt like a distant dream.
Besides, if this man proved ill-intentioned, Finn was confident. His hands, calloused and strong, knew how to deal with threats. The earth knew, too. It would answer him.
“Have you eaten?” Finn asked, motioning to the rough table.
“Not yet.”
“Nor have I. Join me.”
Finn set out what he had: freshly churned goat’s milk, a wedge of briny hard cheese, a bowl of coarse porridge made from dried grains, a chunk of rock salt, and strips of tough, dried lamb jerky. Hospitality, his mother taught, was the best defense. Treat a guest well, and they’d be less inclined to harm you.
“It’s a poor place, I’m afraid. Not much to offer.”
“What nonsense! This is a feast.” The traveler’s smile widened, genuine now. He ate with an eagerness that suggested days of hunger, yet his manners were impeccable. He chewed slowly, silently. He turned his head slightly when he drank the milk. A stark contrast to the slovenly villagers.
Perhaps the traveler noticed something similar in Finn. After a long sip of milk, he spoke, his voice kind. “You have good manners, young man. Your parents must have taught you well.”
“My mother did.”
The traveler paused, sensing the unspoken. Finn hadn’t mentioned his father. “And… is your mother in the village? This house suggests a solitary life.” He must have noticed the single cot, the sparse furnishings.
Finn nodded. His voice was steady. “She passed from an illness a few years ago.”
A flicker of sorrow crossed the traveler’s face. He bowed his head, performing a small, intricate gesture with his hand – something Finn had never seen. “My condolences. To raise such a fine son, she must surely walk among the ancient spirits.”
“I hope she does.” Back then, the mere thought of her had stolen his appetite, brought tears for days. Now, he could speak of it, even offer a small, sad smile. Had he grown into an adult? Or had time, that relentless desert wind, simply eroded the sharp edges of his grief?
A sudden gloom settled. Finn forced a change of subject. “Tell me, sir. What brings a traveler to such a remote place?”
“I passed through a city called Khem a few days ago. An elder there spoke of a Cinder-Stalker preying on his village’s livestock, seeking someone to deal with it. I heard the tale, and I thought I might offer my services. I am rather capable in a fight.”
“Alone?” A middle-aged man, not yet past his prime, but whose frame hinted at weary years, speaking of facing a Cinder-Stalker without a visible weapon. Finn’s eyebrows shot up. His astonishment drew a wry smile from the traveler.
“I am a Stone-Heart. I served House Obsidian for sixty years. Most beasts are no match for me.”
The word ‘Stone-Heart’ hit Finn like a sudden gust of wind. His body tensed, every muscle coiling. The beings his mother had warned him against, the servants of the Elder Bloods, now sat across his table. A being like *him*.
But the man’s eyes held no malice, only a quiet weariness. The tension in Finn’s shoulders slowly, almost imperceptibly, eased.
“Is something amiss?” the traveler asked.
“It’s just… my first time meeting a Stone-Heart. And… you don’t look as if you’ve served sixty years.”
“We Stone-Hearts, like the Elder Bloods, age slower, live longer than common folk. I am seventy-five cycles old this year. For a Stone-Heart, that is a long life, but the powerful Elder Bloods can live for two, even three hundred years.”
Finn stared, absorbing this new, vital information. Seventy-five cycles. He studied the man, a distant reflection of himself. Outwardly, the traveler looked no different from any strong, weathered man of the Shattered Lands. A sturdy build, a healthy, sun-kissed complexion. Nothing to betray his true nature.
This was crucial. It meant Finn could walk through the bustling markets of Khem, as long as he kept his abilities hidden, and no one would know. A heavy, unseen chain around his chest seemed to loosen, a breath he hadn't known he was holding finally released.
“Being a Stone-Heart… it’s truly incredible.”
“Incredible? Not at all.” The traveler chuckled softly. “I think people like you are far more incredible. To live in such a harsh land, where Cinder-Stalkers appear, without any connection to the earth’s power? I cannot imagine it.”
Contrary to the traveler’s belief, this was the first time a beast threatening humans had appeared in Finn’s lifetime. If it had been otherwise, his mother, for all her strength, could not have raised him alone on Witherpeak Crag. It was his mother, without any power, who was truly incredible.
“Now that I think of it, I haven’t introduced myself. My name is Kaelen. Kaelen of Obsidian – though perhaps I should no longer claim that. Call me Kaelen the Wanderer. And you?”
“I am Finn. Shepherd of Witherpeak Crag.”
“A good name.” Kaelen nodded. “You mentioned you ‘served’ a house. Does that mean you no longer do?”
“My vassal contract officially ended a moon ago. House Obsidian offered to keep me until my dying breath, but… I wished to spend my later years seeing the world. I’ve been tied to a single house since I was hired at fifteen cycles.”