A guttural tremor shook the dust beneath Elias’s worn boots. It wasn’t the familiar, slow pulse of Aethel’s shifting plates, but a rapid, rhythmic thumping, growing with terrifying speed. Eyes, already heavy-lidded from the grueling night, snapped open. The air, thick with the scent of pulverized stone and dry heat, now carried something else: a primal musk, sharp as flint. Sounds like cracking shale and distant, hungry barks rose from the dust-sea’s horizon. Elias knew. The Shard-Hounds. Hundreds. Their approach was a churning storm of noise and movement, a dark tide against the faint pre-dawn light. They hunted in packs, these creatures of shattered rock and starved flesh. Their leader, typically a female, outsized the males, a hulking beast with a mane of calcified plates around her neck. Front paw to shoulder, they stood taller than a man, stretching five meters from snout to tail. Monsters of instinct and hunger. Night was their domain. Born from the dust-seas, adapted to the searing days, they owned the cool darkness. Now, a sea of them charged. Fearless. Cautious. These were concepts unknown to their collective hunt. Any lone wanderer, any geomancer, would be swept away. Obsidian teeth gleamed. Jagged bone plates armored their hides. Eyes like embers fixed on Elias and Rhydian. The cacophony of their snarls, the scrabble of hundreds of claws on the hardpan, was deafening. Rhydian, to Elias’s side, merely grunted. A sound of perverse amusement. Most of the pack veered towards the hulking figure, but a significant number, perhaps a hundred, lunged for Elias. Elias drew on the raw earth. A quick, desperate pull. The dust-sea around him shimmered, coalescing into a focused, scouring wind. It slammed into the leading Shard-Hound, crushing its skull with the force of a falling boulder. The creature crumpled, a heap of shattered bone and sinew. Yet, its comrades barely registered its demise. They simply surged over the twitching body. More followed. Elias pushed the dust, again and again. Each blast was potent, taking down one beast. But the swarm was endless. One by one, he knew, would only delay the inevitable. A desperate thought sparked. He needed to strike wider, strike more. Yet his reserves were already thin, stretched from the day’s journey and the night’s focused meditation. He had to be efficient. Mana management. It was the only path. Five thin streams of dust, honed to a piercing sharpness, sprang from the ground. They arced through the air, faster than thought. Each one, no wider than a coin, found a target. Five Shard-Hounds screamed. They collapsed, neat holes bored through their heavy skulls. Elias felt the drain, but it was less severe. Less than a single, broad blast. He condensed the divided geomantic force. Focused it. Instead of an explosion of dust, it became a spear. The first attempt was clumsy. The second, smoother. Once the channel was open, once the path was etched in his will, it became easier. Shwii! Shwii! Shwii! Successive dust-lances ripped through the night. Five more fell. Then five more. He might hold out. For a while. A flicker of hope in the storm. Elias risked a glance at Rhydian. His breath caught. Rhydian was a whirlwind of carnage. “More! More!” he bellowed, a manic laugh tearing from his throat. His great-hammer, a crudely forged mass of iron and embedded rock, spun like a blurred limb. Around him, a landscape of shredded flesh and broken bone grew, a hundred or more Shard-Hounds already slain. No intricate geomancy from Rhydian. No refined technique. Only raw, brutal swings. Each arc of the hammer tore through a dozen beasts. Blood sprayed, painting the already crimson dust a deeper, slicker red. Occasionally, a beast lunged, its obsidian teeth clamping onto Rhydian’s arm or leg. But the fangs merely scraped against his skin. They shattered. Rhydian’s body was harder than any rock, denser than any plate tectonics Elias had ever felt. “Just a tickle,” Rhydian growled, seizing a hound biting his thigh. He squeezed. The creature’s sturdy skull crumpled like dry clay in his massive hand. He flung the mangled corpse into the charging pack. Beasts tangled, rolling, limbs snapping at unnatural angles, bellies torn open, spilling steaming viscera onto the dust. Rhydian systematically slaughtered them. A berserker’s dance. None dared to truly engage him for long. At last, the alpha female stepped forward. She had watched, a towering presence of calcified bone and muscle. Now, a faint blue glow enveloped her. Her form pulsed with an unseen power. It meant she was more than just a brute. Her horns, long and spiraled, sparked. Not lightning, but a telluric discharge, a primal current drawn from the deep earth. A bolt of this raw energy shot from her horn. It split the air, racing towards Rhydian. But he merely waved a massive hand. The searing blue current vanished into his palm, snuffed out as easily as a guttering flame. Only then did a flicker of fear cross the alpha’s eyes. This foe was utterly unlike any they had ever hunted. This was not prey. This was a force of nature. A guttural roar ripped from the alpha. It was a command. Retreat. Half the pack was gone, scattered, mangled. Their survival, the pack’s future, hung in the balance. The alpha’s judgment was astute. But Rhydian had no intention of letting them escape. He hurled his great-hammer. It spun end over end, a dark blur. It cut a screaming swathe through the fleeing Shard-Hounds. Their mournful cries echoed across the dust-sea, a song of pure agony. Elias froze. The carnage was horrifying. Yet Rhydian was not done. He drove his boots into the dust, leaping. A massive, impossible bound. He soared into the air, a dark silhouette against the first pale streaks of dawn. The great-hammer, having completed its arc of slaughter, flew back into his waiting hand. --- Rhydian caught the hammer and plunged. Like a meteor, he struck the ground where the alpha female stood. Her desperate shriek was swallowed by the impact. Dust erupted, a tidal wave of pulverized earth and bone. When the dust settled, the scene was stark. The alpha female was defeated. Mangled beyond recognition. Only one of her magnificent horns, still sparking faintly with telluric energy, remained intact. Rhydian stood over the corpse, breathing heavily, but not with fatigue. He seemed invigorated. A wide, savage smile stretched across his face. He looked refreshed. Elias could not reconcile this brutal, primal joy with the man he thought he knew. Elias barely dared to breathe. He was simply overwhelmed by Rhydian’s monstrous power. Was he even human? Rhydian had used no discernible geomancy, no complex techniques. Just sheer, unadulterated strength. Awakened individuals usually relied on specific, cultivated skills. Rhydian had simply… crushed. Crushed the pack leader with his bare hands and raw power. Elias had never heard of such strength in Aethel. Not from any geomancer, not from any titan of will. Then, Rhydian turned. His gaze fell on Elias. “Kekeke! You’re still standing.” Elias could only nod, mute. Rhydian chuckled, a rough sound. He bent, plucked the telluric horn from the alpha’s mangled head. “These horns are useful. Good for weapons, if you know how to refine them.” He examined the horn for a moment. Then, he simply stretched out his hand. The horn vanished. As if it had never been there. Elias blinked. A spatial ability? Rhydian fought with such raw, physical force, yet commanded such subtle power? His understanding of Rhydian, of the world itself, was shattered again. Rhydian, who already possessed such a formidable weapon, why would he need another? Elias dared not ask. Rhydian sheathed his great-hammer. Instead, he drew a short, heavy carving knife. He tossed a smaller, duller blade to Elias. “From now on, find your own food.” He knelt beside a deceased Shard-Hound. “Most of the muscle is toxic. Sides are safe, though. Dry it, and it’ll last.” Rhydian skillfully cut a palm-sized strip of flesh from the creature’s flank. It was small, barely enough for a meal. Elias watched, then awkwardly mimicked Rhydian. The blade was dull, the flesh tough. The stench of blood was cloying. Rhydian wouldn’t elaborate, Elias knew. He had to learn. He remembered the dried jerky Rhydian had shared. So, it had been monster meat. He felt no particular revulsion. Food was food. He had grown up with scarcity. If it sustained life, it was consumed. Elias copied Rhydian’s movements, slowly, cautiously. Rhydian cut only enough for a few days. He could always hunt again. Elias, not possessing Rhydian’s terrifying power, needed to secure more. As much as he could carry. He sliced, grunted, and secured nearly thirty pieces. His outerwear, torn and stained, became a makeshift bundle. He slung it over his shoulder. “Keke! Resourceful, for a wretch.” Rhydian’s tone held a hint of grudging approval. Two days of ceaseless pushing, and Elias was still far from useful. But he was learning. He was surviving. He needed to endure much, much more. “If you’ve got what you need, let’s go. Before the scent of blood draws the real scavengers.” Rhydian spoke not of fear, but of inconvenience. Elias nodded, grateful for the impending departure. He, too, wanted to leave this blood-soaked ground. The sun was finally rising, bathing the carnage in harsh light. The sight was even more gruesome. Already, creatures wheeled in the sky, distant specks. More would come. This was the law of the dust-sea. The strong preyed, the weak became food. None escaped. Following Rhydian, Elias began to grasp these harsh laws. As usual, Rhydian walked ahead, oblivious. Elias pushed himself. He channeled dust to lighten his steps, using the technique Rhydian had taught him. He expected it to be difficult, his mana reserves drained by the battle. Surprisingly, it was easier. Mana flowed, responding smoothly, more than he anticipated. The life-or-death struggle, the precise control forced upon him, had sharpened something within. He had truly pushed his limits. He had grown stronger. He would only continue to grow. He looked at Rhydian’s back, a looming silhouette against the rising sun. Elias still didn’t understand why Rhydian kept him around. But one thing was clear: survival at Rhydian’s side meant strength. As long as he survived. Elias followed, diligently. Deeper into the dust-sea, deeper into Aethel’s brutal heart.

Echoes of the Sundering