Tarrek awoke, the light of day shining on his face, but it wasn’t warm, it was cool and gentle. Confused, he blinked through his blurry vision and saw what it was, a large pale blue crystal hovered just beneath the ceiling, filling the room with its comforting glow. He tried to look around but pain shot through his body. 

He wasn’t dead, but he also wasn’t in the woods anymore.

He lay on a stone bed covered by a thick, padded, piece of fabric and a small pillow under his head and knees. White linen draped over his body. The silence in the room was broken only by the soft almost silent hum of the crystal and footsteps echoing somewhere beyond the large circular room he was in.

Two robed women entered, their steps light and measured. One carried a ceramic bowl of water and cloth, the other a scroll and a crystal set into a bronze ring. Both smiled as they approached his bedside.

“You’re awake,” said the taller of the two, voice warm but clinical. “That’s a relief. You’ve been unconscious for two days.”

Tarrek tried to sit up, but the movement sent a bolt of pain through his chest. He winced, groaning.

“Careful,” the second healer murmured, pressing a hand gently to his shoulder. “You’re still recovering. The Rift Blight hasn’t settled completely.”

He blinked. “Rift… Blight?”

The first healer gave a knowing nod. “It’s a sickness born of exposure to corrupted rift energy—very dangerous if left untreated, but manageable when caught early.” She gestured toward the pale crystal above. “The Temple of Light specializes in treating it.”

Tarrek frowned. He struggled to make sense of it. 

“How did I get here?”

“A knight of the Order of the Shard brought you in,” the first answered. “He didn’t give a name. Said he found you alone in the forest and rushed you here. You were nearly gone when he arrived.”

Tarrek stared up at the crystal above, its light pulsing faintly. The memory of gas, claws, and silence clawed at the edges of his mind.

“A knight…” he echoed softly.

“You’re safe now,” the second healer said, brushing a cool cloth across his brow. “But you’ll need to remain in the temple for observation. The crystal light will keep the blight at bay while we help your body recover.”

Tarrek gave a dry cough and, through a raspy voice, asked them,
“What are your names?”

The taller, slightly older woman stood with her arms folded behind her back. “I am Ismera. I am a Lightward.”

“I’m Kessa, I’m Ismera’s Acolyte,” the younger girl beamed.

Tarrek gave a very faint nod. “Thank you for saving me.”

The two women returned the gesture graciously.

“You will have to remain within the Temple of Light and avoid any exertion until we can fully heal your body and external wounds,” Ismera explained, gesturing to the large crystal floating above them. “The holy light will do the rest.”

Though a thousand questions raced through his mind, Tarrek said nothing—only nodded once more. The women continued their examination in silence before promising that he would be brought broth for nourishment and left him to rest.

After what felt like ages, he couldn’t stand lying still anymore. His limbs ached—not just with pain, but with restlessness.
Rolling to one side, he propped himself up, then slid his feet to the ground. The cool solidity of the stone floor steadied him.

He wandered the halls of the temple, wrapped in white linen, the echoes of silent prayers and the scratch of quills drifting from nearby chambers. The Temple of Light was quiet, but alive—its walls washed in the soft glow of floating crystals, its ceilings high and domed like the inside of a cathedral made for stars.

As beautiful as the place was, Tarrek had questions.

And there was only one man he knew who might have answers.

Tarrek followed along the hallway as it curved slowly and gently, sunlight splitting into pieces through the stained glass windows. The air was thick with incense—clean and herbal, but sharp enough to sting Tarrek’s nostrils. He had never smelled anything like it before.

Leaning on a polished stone railing stood a lone figure, large and broad, hunching over to rest his elbows on the ledge. His strength showed through his large stature and broad shoulders. His plate armor slightly dented, a dark grey shoulder cape bearing a symbol of a white star hung off one shoulder. Strapped to his back was a mighty greatsword.

Tarrek hesitated before stepping onto the balcony.

“Something tells me you’re the one who brought me here,” Tarrek said, his voice barely above a murmur.

The burly man glanced back, dark grey eyes sharp beneath a weathered brow. His face was carved with years of silent stories. He acknowledged Tarrek with a long hard stare before giving a nod.

“That I am,” he stood tall, placing a single hand on the railing and the other on his belt. “Sir Rovan Tane. Order of the Shard.”

Tarrek nodded, not knowing what this order was. “Tarrek Evern.”

The silence between them was tangible in that moment, neither one of them in a rush to fill it, only the silent trickle of a fountain in the grass beyond the balcony.

“You saved my life,” Tarrek added.

Rovan gave a small short nod and glanced up as if he was staring through the walls at the crystal and then turning back to face out. “I did my duty to my people. Nothing more.”

There was humility in his tone, but also a weight, something else.

“I was told… it was a bear.”

The knight furrowed his brow.

“I can tell you that it was not, I told them it was a bear at least,” he spoke up. “It wasn’t anything I’ve ever seen before,” he muttered. “Fought like it didn’t feel pain. Kept coming, no matter how deep I cut. I only stopped it by driving my blade through its heart. Even then...” He paused. “It didn’t bleed. It just... seeped away. Into the ground. Like it was part of the shadow itself.”

Tarrek stood there uncomfortably thinking about what it was that was on top of him. A cold chill ran up his spine after hearing this.

“How close was it to the city?” He asked. Rovan thought for a moment.

“It was a few hours by horseback from the city, so not too close, thank the light.” He turned around fully facing Tarrek. “What were you doing out there alone?” Rovan asked. “Beast or not, those woods aren't safe after dusk—even the trees know better.” Rovan questioned.

“I wasn’t alone, there was a driver with me. I was heading to the capital,” Tarrek explained. “To become a scholar.”

Rovan studied him for a moment. Then gave the faintest smile and as if on cue, a beam of light from the setting sun broke through the stormy clouds in the distance. He gave a grunt, cleared his throat and walked up to Tarrek patting him on the shoulder.

“I’m glad you survived young Tarrek. Rest for now, the temple is a safe place of healing. You’ll heal from your wounds in no time.”

He walked off down the hall, his boots echoing like a fading drumbeat down the corridor.

Tarrek lingered on the balcony a while longer, staring into the pale haze of the horizon, where the sky bled into the mountains. When he finally turned back, the corridors felt colder than before.

A pair of healers guided him gently to his private chamber. A bowl of broth awaited him, still warm, steam curling upward like incense. He ate slowly, then lay back in the soft linen sheets, the taste of herbs lingering on his tongue.

Sleep came in pieces. And in each piece, the memory of black breath and glowing eyes remained. His chest ached, as if the creature had taken something from him—something vital—and dragged it down into the earth.

But sometimes, when the pain dulled, and the silence stretched too long, other memories crept in—his mother’s fevered laughter, echoing in the woods. His father's face buried in a bottle before his final days alive. Tarrek shoved the thoughts away.