Chapter 1: A World Dying in Silence (Expanded)

Kahina walked quietly through Velaran’s empty streets. Her footsteps were a gentle sound, unlike the chaos of days past. The city had once been a desperate, wild place. People fought for survival, believing it was still possible.

Now, the city was quiet, with only the wind and the storm’s hum. The Eastern Wall stood as her last view of this world. Velaran was dying, and Kahina felt it deeply.

The city’s buildings were broken, with glass and stone everywhere. The Eastern Wall was her last look at a place she never fully called home. Lathis had been harsh, but Kahina never expected it to end like this.

Velaran was fading away. The buildings were shadows of their former selves. The sky was dull, and the sun barely lit the city. The Sundering had taken everything.

At the Eastern Wall, a gust of wind hit her, scattering ash. She pulled her cloak tighter. The air was filled with the smell of burning magic, making her eyes water.

The market district was a mess of stalls and carts. She saw a doll in the dirt, its face cracked. She moved on, avoiding memories.

Her hand went to her knife, a habit she couldn’t break. It had kept her alive. She had faced days without food, water, or shelter, but always found a way to keep going.

As she walked, her steps quickened. Shadows seemed heavier, and sounds sharper. The voidwoken weren’t here yet, but she knew they were coming.

Kahina turned a corner and stopped.

There, a boy about ten years old stood in the shadows. He was dirty, holding a bundle. The bundle moved, revealing a baby.

Kahina’s grip on her knife tightened.

“Who are you?” she asked softly.

The boy, Taren, looked up but didn’t run.

“Taren,” he whispered.

“What are you doing here, Taren?”

“Hiding,” he said, looking around nervously.

Kahina couldn’t ignore Taren and the baby. She felt a pang of compassion.

“And the baby?” she asked, her voice softer.

“She’s my sister, Amara,” Taren said.

Kahina knew she couldn’t leave them. They were all she had left in this dying city.

“Come on,” she said, gesturing for Taren to follow.

Taren looked at Amara, then nodded.

The three of them moved through the city like shadows, silent and deliberate. Kahina led the way, her knife ready, her eyes scanning every corner. She didn’t trust the quiet. It wasn’t natural.

“What happened to your parents?” she asked over her shoulder.

Taren’s voice was flat when he answered. “The storm took them.”

Kahina didn’t press him. She knew what loss sounded like.

The storm loomed closer with every step, its presence a constant weight pressing down on her chest. The air buzzed with static, and the ground beneath them seemed to shift, as though the world itself was trying to pull away from the chaos.

When they reached the outskirts of the city, Kahina paused to catch her breath. Taren collapsed onto the ground, cradling Amara carefully. The baby was eerily quiet, her tiny face pale against the grime of the cloth.

“Is she okay?” Kahina asked.

Taren nodded, but his expression was tight.

Kahina pulled out her water skin and handed it to him. “Here.”

He took it with trembling hands, tilting it gently to Amara’s lips. Kahina watched as the baby stirred, her small mouth moving to drink.

“She’s strong,” Taren said, his voice barely audible.

Kahina didn’t respond. Instead, she turned her attention to the horizon.

The wastelands stretched out before them, endless and unforgiving. The ground was cracked and barren, the sky a shifting mass of dark clouds. In the distance, the jagged peaks of the Blackspire Mountains rose like a wall, their edges glowing faintly with an unnatural light.

“That’s where we’re going,” she said, pointing to the mountains.

Taren looked up at her, his face pale. “What’s there?”

“Refuge. Maybe.”

It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth, either. The stories spoke of a sanctuary hidden within the mountains, a place untouched by the Sundering. Kahina didn’t know if it was real, but it was the only chance they had.

They walked for hours, the storm a constant presence at their backs. The landscape around them seemed to shift and blur, as though reality itself was unraveling.

“What’s happening?” Taren asked, his voice trembling.

“The Sundering,” Kahina said. “It’s… breaking everything apart.”

He didn’t ask anything else.

When night fell, they stopped to rest near a cluster of jagged rocks. Kahina built a small fire, shielding the flames with her cloak. Taren sat close to her, holding Amara tightly.

“Do you think the refuge is real?” he asked.

Kahina stared into the fire. “I don’t know. But it’s better than staying here.”

Taren didn’t argue.

As the fire crackled softly, Kahina felt the weight of the locket around her neck. She reached up, her fingers brushing the cool metal. She hadn’t opened it in years, but tonight, the urge was almost unbearable.

She closed her eyes and let the memories come.

Her mother’s voice, soft and lilting, weaving songs out of nothing. Her father’s laughter, rough and warm, filling the small house they’d called home. She’d lost them both to the Sundering.

When the fire died down, she turned her gaze to the horizon. The mountains loomed closer now, their peaks shrouded in mist.

They were getting closer.

But so was the storm.

The journey continues in the next chapter…

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