Shard of Destiny

---

C. A. Wilke's entry won first place in the North America category of our Chronicles of Tyria anniversary contest for 2019. You can find out more about him on Twitter: @WriterWilke

 C. A. Wilke is also joining the Chronicles of Tyria team as a writer. Keep an eye on our social media, his first chapter will be uploaded on August 2nd. Stay tuned!

---

Hasef stood frozen in mid-chop, the sand eel before him forgotten. Through the billowing azure panels of the butcher’s tent, Godsfall Tower burned. The six pillars—each representing one of the six human gods—reached up through the dancing flames, all clearly visible nearly a league away.

Between the dragon’s Branded and the lich-king Joko’s Awakened, Hasef had seen plenty of destruction and powerful magics over his nineteen years but nothing like this. Another light, golden and pure, flashed among the flames. 

A trickle of fear ran down his spine.

He couldn’t fathom the power it would take to make those flames. This was not the product of a mage’s fireballs or an engineer’s explosions. No... no mere mortal could be responsible for this. “Master Dahsk, come see. Hurry!” 

Wiping his hands on a towel, the older, lanky Dahsk stepped over a stack of flayed sand eel carcasses and trudged over. “Got no time for games, boy. Better be important.”

Hasef wiped the sweat from his brow and pointed at the tower. “What do we do?”

Master Dahsk stopped next to the chopping stone and shook his head. “Nothing. That’s not a place for people like us. That there is for the likes of gods and dragons. It’s like the Branded. There’s nothing we can do but fight what comes right at us.”

Gooseflesh prickled down Hasef’s legs. He’d heard about the troubles with dragons in Maguuma and Orr. The death and destruction they’d brought even eclipsed Joko’s. In his mind, anything involving gods and dragons was never good for humans. 

Except Vlast. First scion of the crystal dragon Glint, Vlast was a hero to the Makali people. Sometimes it felt like Vlast was the only one fighting for Elona. “But what does it mean?”

“Don’t know. I suspect we’ll eventually find out.” The older man shrugged. “Or we won’t.”

The two stared at the flames for a few seconds. Then, just as Master Dahsk turned away, the Godsfall Tower erupted in a brilliant, blinding flash of golden light. Hasef’s hands flew up to shield his eyes. 

Several seconds of blinking passed before Hasef could see anything besides the residual green blob burned into his vision. “Ow, what was that?” He rubbed his eyes and something punched him in the shoulder. 

Hasef stumbled back a step. A searing fire ripped through his whole body, starting at the impact point. He blinked again and looked down to find a shard of golden crystal the size of a small dagger sticking out of his shoulder, just below his collar bone. Bright red blossomed around the wound and smeared down the front of his shirt.

“Master Dahsk?” Hasef’s legs buckled and he dropped to his knees.

Dahsk rubbed at his own eyes. “Hasef? Are you…” He stumbled over a few steps and grabbed Hasef’s good shoulder. “Hang in there, boy.”

The master butcher turned away. “Healer! Someone get Healer Nesi.”

Darkness crept in at the edges of Hasef’s vision. He felt the world tilt and realized he was falling backward. Master Dahsk’s face appeared above him, ringed in black, as if at the end of a long tunnel. The man’s lips moved, but Hasef couldn’t make out what he said.

Then darkness swallowed him. 

* * * * *

Whispers called to him in the dark. Unintelligible words flitted around, just out of Hasef’s reach. In the void, panic sparked in him. Was he dead? Was this the Realm of Torment? Was he to meet Grenth for judgement?

The sound of rushing wind beckoned, calling to him like a beacon lighting the way back to reality. Hasef clawed at the void…

And his eyes opened.

Above, a dry, packed mud ceiling greeted him in the dim light. A small window nearby allowed a sliver of moonlight to stretch across the blanket covering his legs. The room itself was small and adorned simply with his bed, a small end table with an oil lamp and another small table near the wooden door. The walls were bare, packed adobe, the same as the ceiling.

Hasef groaned and tried to sit up when a dagger of pain shot through his shoulder. He dropped back down on to the bed with a grunt. Glancing over, he saw a dark spot in the center of the clean, white bandage wrapping his left shoulder. 

“Ow,” he whispered. 

Carefully, he shifted until he was sitting upright. Save the bandage, his chest was bare. Whispering voices crept into his mind and his head snapped up. He scanned the room, but there he was alone. Was he going mad?

No. Have to get moving. Don’t have time for that.

Hasef moved to get up but stopped. Don’t have time for what? And why?

Deep in his soul he felt an urgent need to get moving, but he had no idea why. His eyes narrowed and he looked around again. Shaking his head, he shoved the whispers away, leaving him alone in the dark, silent room.

Climbing to his feet, he moved to the window. “Where am I?” he mumbled to himself. “How long was I out?”

Through the window, he gazed down on a moonlit courtyard filled with a tower and several stone pillars, some broken. A few more towers and a sandstone wall surrounded the courtyard. Dim figures moved along the top of the wall.

This was the Cavalier outpost. Master Dahsk must have brought him here to the priestess of Kormir for healing. Hasef sighed to himself. That’s a dangerous journey without an armed escort. 

As Hasef made his way to the door, his mind wandered back to what had happened. There’d been the explosion atop of Godsfall Tower, then the excruciating pain in his shoulder. Hasef closed his eyes and remembered seeing the strange, golden crystal sticking out of his flesh as his shirt blossomed red around it. 

The moment he thought about the shard, the whispers crept back in. He still couldn’t understand what the voices were saying, but he felt at least part of the intent. They were calling to him, urging him to go... that something was coming.

Hasef slipped out the door and down the stairs, gritty sand under his bare feet. On the next floor down, he snuck past the open door of another room. Inside, a priestess sat slumped over in a chair with a book in her hand and a burned down candle on the table next to her. Her blindfold hung loose around her neck, and her chest rose and fell with each deep breath. Sitting next to the extinguished candle was the golden crystal shard. 

The whispers grew louder. Hasef struggled to keep his own eyes from rolling up into his head. The pull from the shard was irresistible. Something slid across the sandy ground and the priestess shifted. He froze. The woman’s hand rose up to rub her nose. The book slipped a little in her lap but didn’t fall. 

Hasef looked down and realized the sound had come from his own left foot sliding across the stone floor. He’d stepped across the door’s threshold without even knowing it. Gingerly, he lifted his other foot and stepped further into the room. 

Without making a sound, he inched his way closer and closer to the table. Once he had his hand on the wooden surface, a sigh of relief slipped past his lips. He’d made it in. 

The priestess let out a grunt. Her hand twitched and Hasef saw the book move. Then it moved again and slid from her lap. With reflexes faster than he ever expected, he lunged down and caught the heavy tome before it could smack on the stone floor.

Hasef set the book on the table and reached for the golden shard. With every inch his fingers moved closer, the whispers grew louder and louder until they threatened to consume his very soul. Then his hand closed around the shard…

The whispers stopped.

Hasef lifted the shard from the table and stared into it. In the dim moonlight, it practically glowed. Deep within the shimmering lattice of the crystalline structure, he thought he saw something move. A long, winding form, undulating. He blinked, and it was gone.

“You’re very lucky,” the priestess said, her voice soft but grave. 

Hasef’s heart jumped in his chest and he stumbled backward. Catching his balance, he cleared his throat and stood up straight. “I, uh…”

“The Makali healer...uh, Nesi?” The Priestess’s eyes were covered by the blindfold, but she was looking right at him. “She did what she could, and they brought you to me here at the outpost. You’d lost a lot of blood by the time they got you to me. You touched the Mists, but Grenth was not ready to receive you. My magic was able to save you. Barely.” 

“Th-thank you. How long was I unconscious? Uh, who are you?”

“I’m Rikhosha, and you were asleep for a day and a half.” She gave him a weak smile and nodded at the shard in his hand. “I had a dream of you coming here for that.”

Short, dark hair framed the woman’s face. Something in her expression made her smile sad. “It’s alright. I think it belongs to you now.”

He glanced from her to the shard and back. “What is it?”

Her smile vanished. She seemed to struggle for a second then nodded. “I think it is a piece of Vlast.”

A lump formed in Hasef’s throat, and an image of the explosion flashed through his mind. “What?”

“In my dream, I saw a great fire. The kind of fire strong enough to lay waste to all of Tyria. At the heart of that fire, there were two things. One, I cannot be certain, but I think was a great hero. The other was a golden light. Both fought bravely against the fire, but ultimately failed. At the last moment, the golden light sacrificed itself to save the hero.” The priestess rose from her chair and smoothed her skirts. 

“I...I saw it from our camp. The flames and the golden light.”

The priestess moved to a small chest and pulled out a fresh candle. “Maybe it was Kormir... Or the sylvari Pale Tree or the asuran Eternal Alchemy. But I believe I was being shown the battle at the top of Godsfall Tower, and that golden light was the great hero dragon Vlast. Somehow, in his death, pieces of his essence were sent across the Crystal Desert.

Setting the candle in place of the burned out one, she pointed at the shard in his hand. “That... is one of those pieces.”

Hasef stepped over and tried to put the shard back down on the table, but he couldn’t open his hand to let it go. He looked up at her, his eyes pleading. “But why? Why me? I’m just a butcher and apprentice smith, and not very good at either.”

The priestess shrugged. “Some things happen for a reason, some things do not. Either way, it is up to you to determine what your calling is.”

“Calling.” He scoffed. Hasef held up the crystal. “This is what was calling me.”

“And now that you have it?”

He stared deep into the shard again. The truth was, he didn’t know. He still felt as if something was coming, but there wasn’t really a pull to anything. He closed his eyes for a second and realized that wasn’t entirely true. The shard still called to him, but it was almost as if it was inside him this time. The whispers were there too. No, it’s just one whisper now. One voice soft and distant. “I can hear it. There’s a voice.” 

“What is it saying?”

Hasef focused on that voice and tried to hear it, to really listen. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t quite make out what the voice was saying. Only one word registered with him, and that word sent a shiver down his spine. 

Hasef’s eyes snapped open, and he looked at Rikhosha. “The Branded. I think the Branded are coming.” 

* * * * *

Rikhosha sighed. “Would you please sit down?” 

Between the clashing swords, screaming soldiers, thumping explosions outside and torrent of whispers in his own mind, Hasef barely heard her. Ever since he’d mentioned Kralkatorrik's corrupted minions, the voices had grown increasingly louder. If he wasn’t mad already, he would be soon if he didn’t figure something out. He shook his head. “I can’t. They’re out there fighting, dying, and I’m shut up here in this stupid tower.”

“So am I. But like me, you’re not a soldier. You said yourself, you’ve never killed anything more than a sand eel. Trust me, I understand. If I had any strength left, I’d be down there helping.”

“Instead of babysitting me?” He paused in the middle of the room and with his eyes closed, squeezed his temples with his hands. “Gods, can’t they just shut up?”

In the darkness, the voices seemed to subside a little. Hasef’s shoulders relaxed and he sucked in a breath. “Ah. That’s a little better.”

Something outside thumped and the floor shook. Tiny bits of dust and sand fell from the ceiling onto Hasef’s head. The acrid odor of burned flesh and wood drifted to him.

The second he opened his eyes, the voices peaked back, louder than before. They hit him like a hammer to the back of his skull. Hasef dropped to his knees and let out a deep groan. With his eyes shut again, the voices faded, but the ache remained. 

Dimly, he became aware of movement nearby. 

“Here, maybe this will help,” Rikhosha said. “Keep your eyes closed.”

Gentle hands pulled his balled-up fists from his head. A soft cloth covered his eyes and was cinched around the back of his head. He felt her fingers under the edge of the cloth, pulling it down firmly, blocking out the last remnants of light filtering through his eyelids. 

She leaned back. “There. You can open your eyes, but you won’t see anything. “

She was right, for the most part. The cloth rubbed against his eyelashes, making it awkward to open his eyes. But when he did, all he saw was tiny flecks of light against a black void.

“That should help you focus.” 

Hasef turned toward her voice. “How did you know to…”

Rikhosha chuckled. “You mean aside from the fact I’m a priestess of Kormir? The blind goddess?”

“Well, yeah.”

Another boom outside shook the tower.

She chuckled again. “I’ve heard there is a charr who was a great warrior. Then, like you, he touched the Mists and came back. Now I hear he channels the spirits. They speak to him and lend him their power when he needs it.” As she spoke, her voice moved, as if she was walking around the room.

Hasef turned, trying to pinpoint where she was. “You—you think I’m like that?” 

“Maybe.”

“But…” He shifted his weight and climbed to his feet. Everything felt weird, like he couldn’t quite tell where the ground was even though he was standing on it. Hasef kept his arms out wide, as much to feel for furniture or walls as to keep his balance. “What do I do? I can’t keep this on forever.”

“Why not?” Her smile was plain in her voice. “I wear it almost all the time.”

“How am I supposed to see?” He tried to piece together the world around him through the tiny specks of light in the cloth, but it was no use. 

“Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it.”

A great roar erupted from outside, something massive and twisted. The outpost captain had said there was a corrupted siege devourer in the region. Hasef wondered if that was what was attacking. Well, dying now, by the sound of it.

“Yes, dying,” one voice said above the others.

Hasef’s breath caught in his chest. “Did—did you hear that?”

“The roar?” Rikhosha sounded far way, as if she was facing away from him. “Yes, it was a Branded devourer, but it’s dead now.”

He shook his head. “No, the voice. It spoke.”

Air moved around him and suddenly she was close. “What did it say?”

“I was thinking about that creature dying, and the voice said, ‘Yes, dying.’ Like it could hear me.”

“I can.”

Hasef stumbled back a step, his arms reaching out for anything to grab on to. “My gods!”

A heavy pounding came from Hasef’s left, the door. “Priestess Rikhosha? It’s Captain Rahadi.”

“Please,” she called out. “Come in.”

The door creaked open, the sound so clear and distinct, Hasef could picture the door opening and exactly where it was. Heavy boots thumped on the sandstone floor. Even though Hasef couldn’t actually see the captain, he imagined the man in his armor, splattered with blood. The image of the soldier formed perfectly in his mind.

“Your gods. They are the problem.”

“How is he doing?” the captain asked. “Are the voices making any sense yet?”

Rikhosha put a comforting hand on Hasef’s shoulder. “Well, I think. And it appears so. At least one is.”

Captain Rahadi gave a soft, amused scoff. “Well. The voices warned us and saved lives, so who am I to question?” His voice changed slightly as he turned to Hasef. “Thank you.”

“We should leave. We have much to do.”

Hasef shook his head.

“Something wrong?” The captain cleared his throat.

“No,” Hasef said. “Just this one voice. Now it’s telling me to leave.”

Rikhosha’s hand slid from his shoulder to his arm. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. You’re not finished healing yet.”

“You’re certainly no prisoner, but I think the priestess is right,” Captain Rahadi agreed.

Hasef gave a laugh. “I don’t even know where I’d go. Not to mention, I’m no help to anyone blindfolded.”

“Well, you’re welcome to stay as long as you need. It is the least we can do,” the captain said. “Without your warning, our casualties would have been much greater.” 

“We have to destroy the Branded.”

Hasef’s mind flashed back to every time a Makali hunting party returned with fewer than they set out with because of the Branded. Sometimes even the Awakened. He’d always wanted to help, to do more. “Destroy the Branded,” he muttered.

“A noble goal,” the captain said. “But you should probably train in a profession, choose a path before heading out into the wastes.”

“Yes. Train. Learn your power.”

Hasef turned toward the captain. “You offered to let me stay. Will you train me as well? Maybe I could become a warrior, or even learn to be an engineer.”

“I’m afraid those are not paths for you,” the priestess said. “You’ve touched the Mists. Your path is already been chosen. I believe you are what is called a returned. A revenant.”

Captan Rahadi grunted in affirmation. 

“Yes. Returned.”

Hasef smiled to himself. “Alright then. But if I’m going to have this voice in my head for the rest of my life, I need to know who it is. You, voice. Who are you?”

The voice growled. “Who am I? I am the son of she who held the ancient dragons at bay. I am brother to she who is the protector of Tyria. I am the first Scion. I, am Vlast.”