A chill wind ghosted through the cracked walls of the old shepherd’s hut, stirring dust motes in the scant sunlight. Eight years had passed since Kael felt that first, strange pull. He had been a boy of ten winters, fingers numb with cold, trying to coax a spark from damp kindling in the hearth. Then, a sudden warmth, not from the struggling fire, but from deep within him. A flicker of something unseen. The smallest, most splintered piece of an ancient tool, a flint knife his mother prized, had lain broken on the stone floor. Kael's gaze drifted to it. A whisper of unseen energy pulsed from his palm, a barely perceptible shimmer in the air, and the two fragments of flint drew together, seams closing with a soft, almost inaudible sigh. It wasn't long before Kael understood. A broken bucket mended, a loose stone settled back into the wall, a single, withered root revitalized with a faint, greenish glow. He could accomplish incredible things with just a flicker of will. “Mother, look!” That evening, Kael, buoyed by the thrilling discovery, eagerly demonstrated for his mother. She had returned from tending their small flock, her face etched with the weariness of a life spent battling the harsh lands of Veridia. A small rock, lifted by an invisible current, spun slowly above his outstretched hand. Her eyes, usually warm and tired, hardened. They didn't marvel. No joy touched her lips. A hand, rough from work, reached out, not to touch the floating stone, but to grasp his arm, pulling it down. Resignation, deep and bone-aching, filled her gaze. 'Kael, we must make a promise. Never use that power. Not carelessly. And never, ever, in front of another soul.' 'Why?' A stubborn pout, unusual for the quiet boy, touched Kael’s lips. To suppress such a fascinating, thrilling thing seemed an unbearable injustice. His mother warmed a cup of sour goat’s milk. For the first time, she spoke of the world beyond Whisperwind Crag, the scattered settlements, the ruined cities. 'Below the crag, there are Wardens,' she began, her voice a low murmur, like the wind through the tall, dry grass. Wardens, she explained, were the descendants of the old bloodlines, those who had wielded the aether-weave before the Great Fracture, before the cataclysm twisted the world. They clung to fragmented knowledge, ruled what remained of humanity, guardians and tyrants both. 'And those born with the Mark, like you, they call Scions. Or Echoes. They seek them out. They use them.' Kael’s mother spoke of how Wardens, though powerful, were always hungry for more. More knowledge, more influence, more lives to spend. Marked individuals, with their innate connection to the weave, were tools. Valuable, yes, but disposable. 'Like the herd dogs,' she whispered, her face desolate. 'They might feed them, pat their heads, even call them family. But a dog is still a dog. It can be sold, or sent to face the Glimmerfang, or simply culled when its usefulness fades.' Her eyes, dark with a fear Kael had never seen, fixed on him. 'Kael, do you want to live with Mother for a long, long time?' 'Yes.' 'Then you must hide that power. Otherwise, they will come. The Wardens. They will take you. And you will never see me again.' 'Okay,' Kael promised, the word a small, tight knot in his throat. 'I won’t use it. Not in front of anyone.' And so, eight years had passed since Kael made that vow. His mother had fallen ill and died two winters past, buried beneath a cairn of river stones on the crag’s highest point. Kael remained, living in the stark solitude, herding his dwindling flock. He avoided Cairn’s End, the nearest settlement, whenever possible. He feared the Wardens who might one day seek him out. He refused to become their shepherd dog. --- “Fools.” Kael pushed the heavy door shut, the sound a dull thud. Early that morning, before the sun had even touched the peaks, the younger men from Cairn’s End had come. Their accusation, a venomous hiss: Kael had killed Old Dennet, then thrown him to the Glimmerfang Lurker as bait. Evidence of the beast’s attack was clear. Riven flesh, claw marks on the earth, the scent of fear and ozone. Still, their claims, baseless and absurd, clung to him. He knew their game. They wanted an excuse. To lower the price of his wool, to tamper with his dried meat when he next bartered in the village. Kael had met their challenge with quiet, unyielding force. A few well-placed shoves, a glare that promised worse, and they’d scattered, nursing bruised egos and perhaps a few sore ribs. It was an old dance, one he was grimly accustomed to. He’d bring them to their senses later, with a heavy hand if needed, to ensure a fair deal. Lost in the familiar calculations of survival, a sharp knock rattled the door frame. *Bang-bang-bang.* Kael’s jaw tightened. Could their memories be so short? Had they truly forgotten the lesson he’d just delivered? A deep sigh escaped him. He yanked the door open, a growl rumbling in his chest. “Who is it now? Do you seek the cold earth?” It wasn't the young men. Standing beyond the threshold was a man in his mid-forties, perhaps, cloaked in dust-stained travel gear. His smile, though weary, held an awkward grace. “Ah… my apologies, young friend. I'm a traveler, and I wondered if I might impose. It seems I’ve chosen a poor moment.” A traveler. Kael’s eighteen years had seen none. His mind, for a startled moment, froze. To think someone would journey to this desolate stretch of Veridia, to the lonely crag of Whisperwind. Slowly, Kael stepped aside. A stiff gesture of invitation. “No, not at all. Come in. Some unpleasant company departed just moments ago.” The formal tone, a relic of his mother’s lessons for addressing elders, felt strange, alien on his tongue. When was the last time he’d spoken like that? Before Old Dennet and the rest of Cairn’s End had proven themselves little more than grasping, conniving fools. A very long time. “Thank you. If you’ll excuse me, then.” Kael knew, deep down, that if he truly wanted to remain hidden, a stranger should have been turned away. But a profound loneliness, a hunger for a conversation untainted by hostility, gnawed at him. He let the man cross the threshold. And if he proved ill-intentioned? Kael’s hand, calloused and strong, tightened. He was confident he could handle him. “Have you eaten?” “Not yet.” “Neither have I. Join me.” Kael gestured to the rough-hewn table, then laid out what he had: freshly churned goat’s milk, a slice of hard cheese, porridge made from dried grains bartered in the village, a lump of rock salt, and strips of smoked Glimmerfang jerky. His mother had taught him: even in poverty, hospitality was paramount. A well-fed guest was less likely to pose a threat. “It’s a poor place. Not much to offer.” “What are you saying? This is a feast! My thanks for the meal.” The man’s words didn’t sound hollow. He ate with genuine hunger, as if he hadn’t seen a square meal in days. Even as he ate, the traveler displayed a quiet dignity, a set of manners Kael had never witnessed among the villagers. He didn’t speak with his mouth full, he turned his head slightly when drinking from the wooden cup. Perhaps the traveler noted something similar in Kael, for after a long draught of the goat’s milk, a kind remark surfaced. “You hold to basic courtesies. Your parents must have taught you well.” “My mother taught me.” The traveler’s eyes, perceptive and kind, flickered with understanding at the absence of a father mentioned. A momentary hesitation, then, he spoke again. “And… is your mother in the village? This house suggests singular occupancy.” He must have noted the single, narrow cot. Kael nodded. His voice, calm, held no tremor. “She passed from illness a few seasons past.” A shadow crossed the traveler’s face. He bowed his head, making a gesture Kael had never witnessed – a slow hand movement, tracing an arc in the air. “My condolences. To raise such a fine young man, she must surely dwell now among the stars.” “I hope so.” Once, simply thinking of her had been enough to ruin his appetite, to bring forth tears that felt like acid. Now, he could speak of it, even offer a faint smile. Had he grown into an adult, or had time simply dulled the edges of his grief? A sudden, unexpected gloom settled over Kael. He forced a change of subject. “Tell me, sir, what brings you to such a remote place?” “I passed through a distant settlement, Cairn’s End, actually. Heard an old man weeping about a Glimmerfang that took a life, looking for someone to deal with it. My purpose, then. I’m quite capable in combat.” “Alone?” Kael’s incredulity was plain. A middle-aged man, not yet old, but past his prime, spoke of facing a beast without even a visible blade. The traveler chuckled, a dry, raspy sound. “I was a Warden once. Served House Valerius for sixty years. Most beasts are no match.” At the word 'Warden,' Kael’s blood ran cold. His body stiffened, every muscle tensed. A being from his mother's dark stories. A master of the weave. A potential threat. But the man’s gaze held no malice, only a weary kindness. Slowly, Kael relaxed. The tension ebbed from his shoulders. “Is something wrong?” “It’s only… this is my first time meeting a Warden. But you don’t look like someone who has lived for sixty years.” “Those who touch the aether-weave, they age slower, live longer than ordinary folk. I’m seventy-five winters this year. For a Warden, I appear as I do. But I’ve heard that the Elder Wardens, those truly steeped in the weave, can live for two or three centuries.” Kael’s eyes widened. He studied the man, Jorien, as if seeing him for the first time, a mirror of his own hidden potential. Outwardly, he was indistinguishable from any other sturdy, weather-beaten man. Only the quiet confidence, the steady gaze, hinted at something more. This was important. Critically important. It meant that even amidst a crowded market, as long as Kael refrained from overt displays of power, no one would know. He could move unseen. It felt as if one of the invisible chains that had bound his chest, tightened by fear and isolation, had suddenly loosened. A breath, deeper than any he’d taken in years, filled his lungs. “Being a Warden is… incredible.” “Incredible? Not at all!” Jorien’s smile was warm, genuine. “I find people like you far more incredible. To live in such a rough land, where Glimmerfangs roam, without relying on the weave? I could never imagine it.” Truthfully, this was the first Glimmerfang that had posed a real threat in Kael’s lifetime. At least, since his birth. If it weren’t so, no matter how strong his mother, she wouldn't have survived as a lone shepherd on this desolate crag. His mother, who had raised her child here, utterly without power, was the truly incredible one. “Now that I think of it,” Jorien continued, reaching for his empty cup, “I haven’t introduced myself. My name is Jorien. Jorien of Valerius – or rather, Jorien the Wanderer now. And you are?” “I’m Kael. The only shepherd of Whisperwind Crag.” “A fine name, Kael.” Jorien nodded. “You mentioned earlier that you ‘served’ a House. You no longer do?” “My vassal contract ended a cycle past. House Valerius offered to see me to my grave, but… I wished to travel. To see the world I’d defended for so long. Ever since I was hired at fifteen, I was bound to a single domain.”

Echoes in the Stone