CHAPTER ONE

  The sun hung low in the sky, casting long golden beams that painted the cobblestone streets in hues of amber and rose. Warm light filtered between the timbered buildings of the town, catching on fluttering banners and the polished brass of shop signs. The streets were alive with the rhythmic hum of late-day commerce, merchants hawking bundles of fresh herbs and bolts of dyed cloth, children darting between carts in games of chase, and the distant clanging of a blacksmith’s hammer singing against steel.

  Calwyn walked with an easy rhythm, the toes of his well-worn boots brushing the edges of shadows as he moved. His cloak billowed slightly with each step, the hand nearest his belt resting comfortably near the hilt of his dagger, though to anyone watching, he seemed more interested in the flirtatious market girls than anything else.

  Beside him strode Toby, taller and broader-shouldered, clad in the sturdy, plainly trimmed armor of a wandering knight. His tabard bore the faded crest of a temple order, though the name of that order had long since stopped meaning much outside its halls. His brow was creased in a familiar look of focused calm, eyes scanning the road ahead as though every alley might hide danger.

  “You’re wound tighter than a blacksmith’s bellows,” Calwyn said with a lopsided grin, while he polished an apple against the front of his shirt. “You’re allowed to enjoy the sun, you know. It’s not all doom and duty.”

  “Someone has to keep an eye on things,” Toby muttered, gaze sweeping the crowd. “Not everyone’s out here for fruit and flattery.”

  “Oh, come now, flattery is an art,” Calwyn replied, flashing a wink at a passing fruit seller who promptly rolled her eyes.

  They turned down a broad avenue near the town’s main gate, where the cobblestones widened and gave way to stalls of finer goods, trinkets carved from bone and driftwood, charms said to protect against curses, and blades that gleamed with questionable enchantments.

  Then Calwyn paused, his body tensing ever so slightly.

  “Toby,” he murmured, tilting his head toward the crowd ahead. “There. You see him?”

  Toby followed his friend’s gaze.

  A cloaked figure moved along the edge of the street, slipping through the crowd with unnatural ease. The fabric of the cloak was faded, ragged at the edges, and it hung oddly around the figure's small frame. Most would have passed it off as a street urchin or a beggar. But Calwyn saw it, the careful timing of movement, the deliberate angling to avoid notice, and a brief, unmistakable twitch of a bushy tail before it vanished again beneath the cloak.

  “That’s no child,” Calwyn whispered.

  The figure’s eyes, glinting from beneath the shadowed hood, locked onto its target: a tall, elegantly bred horse hitched near the gate. Its saddle gleamed with gold-stamped leather, and the pouches strapped to its flank were heavy with coin. The nobleman beside it, resplendent in embroidered silks and an oversized feathered hat, was laughing heartily at a juggler’s misfire, completely unaware that a thief was creeping ever closer to his side.

  “Do we stop him?” Toby asked, already reaching for the hilt of his sword.

  Calwyn’s smile returned, sharp and mischievous.

  “Let’s see how bold our little friend is.”

  With swift, practiced movements, the cloaked figure slipped a slender hand into the saddlebag and withdrew a small, unassuming wooden box. The box appeared plain and weathered, seemingly insignificant, yet Calwyn’s sharp eyes caught the subtle tremor in the figure’s fingers as it clutched the box tightly. Beneath the shadowed hood, a pair of gleaming eyes widened with anticipation before quickly darting to ensure no one had noticed the daring theft.

  “That little rascal just nicked something,” Calwyn whispered, a grin spreading across his face. “Bet he thinks no one saw him.”

  Toby’s brow furrowed, his hand instinctively resting on the hilt of his sword. “We can’t just let him get away with that. It’s theft. We should stop him.”

  “Sure, but no need to be all heroic about it,” Calwyn teased. “Let’s just see where he’s off to first. Might be interesting.”

  Toby opened his mouth to argue, then closed it, his shoulders sinking in resignation. “Fine. But we’re not letting him get away.”

  Calwyn’s grin widened. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  They followed the cloaked figure as it weaved through the bustling street, slipping seamlessly between market stalls and darting beneath carts. It moved with a nimbleness that even Calwyn found impressive, its movements quick and fluid. Every so often, a striped tail flicked out from beneath the cloak, only to be swiftly tucked away as the figure navigated the crowd with uncanny agility.

  The chase led them to a quieter part of town, where the buildings stood weary and crumbling, and the alleys twisted narrowly between leaning walls. Here, the clamor of the market faded, replaced by distant murmurs and the occasional clatter of discarded trash. The cloaked figure skidded to a halt, glancing over its shoulder. Its eyes gleamed with cunning as it spotted Calwyn and Toby in pursuit.

  In that brief moment, the hood slipped back, revealing the face beneath, a sharp, pointed muzzle framed by fur of mottled gray and black. Rounded ears twitched atop its head, and a mask of dark fur encircled its bright, intelligent eyes. Its snout wrinkled with annoyance as it bared small, sharp teeth. A bushy, striped tail flicked impatiently before disappearing once more beneath the tattered cloak. The creature, no, the thief, was unmistakably raccoon-like, but far more than any ordinary beast. It stood upright, balancing with the practiced ease of one accustomed to walking among humans.

  Calwyn had never seen one before, but he had heard whispers in taverns and tales told around campfires of elusive, raccoon-like beings known as Noxlin. According to rumor, they were masters of stealth and mischief, living on the fringes of society and moving through shadows as if they were born from them. Some claimed they were spirits of the forest, cursed to walk among mortals. Others said they were merely cunning thieves. Yet here one stood before him, its bright eyes gleaming with intelligence and curiosity, proving the stories were more than mere fables.

  With a hiss, it darted down a dark alley, its small form vanishing into the shadows.

  “He’s onto us,” Calwyn said, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “Quick little bugger.”

  Toby drew his sword, his stance shifting to one of readiness. “We corner him, get the box, and return it to its rightful owner. No games, Calwyn.”

  Calwyn feigned offense. “Me? Play games? I’m hurt.”

  Toby sighed, but a ghost of a smile crossed his face. “Let’s just do this.”

  They entered the alley, the air cooler and damp with the scent of mildew. The shadows were thick, the buildings looming close, but Calwyn’s sharp eyes caught movement near the far end. He gestured to Toby, and they advanced, their footsteps light and cautious.

  The Noxlin stood at a dead end, its back against a wall of stacked crates. It hugged the wooden box to its chest, its eyes wide with panic as it realized there was no escape.

  “Alright, little thief,” Calwyn said, his voice light and teasing. “Hand over the box, and we won’t rough you up too much.”

  The creature’s fur bristled, and it bared tiny fangs. “Back off! It’s mine now! Finders keepers!” Its voice was high-pitched and scratchy, tinged with defiance.

  Toby stepped forward, his sword gleaming in the dim light. “That doesn’t belong to you. Return it, and we won’t have to fight.”

  The Noxlin’s eyes darted between them, its grip on the box tightening. “No! I need this! You don’t understand!”

  Calwyn’s curiosity flared. “What’s so special about that box, anyway? It just looks like old wood to me.”

  The creature hesitated, its eyes flicking down to the box. For a moment, it looked vulnerable, its bravado faltering. “It’s… It’s the only way to fix what’s broken. It’s my last chance.”

  Calwyn and Toby exchanged a glance, the tension easing just slightly. Calwyn’s voice softened. “What’s broken?”

  The Noxlin’s shoulders slumped, tail curling close to his side. “My home… my family, they’re sick. Getting worse by the day. The healer in town said there’s nothing more she can do. Not without magic.” His voice was thin, full of quiet desperation. “I’d heard rumors… that the noble kept strange things in his house. Old, enchanted artifacts. Collected from across the sea and deeper lands. Some say he’s got relics, real ones, powerful enough to mend even the deadliest illnesses.”

  He paused, eyes downcast, then glanced up hesitantly.

  “I didn’t mean to steal. I was hoping… maybe I could bring one of those relics to the healer. Or at least something I could trade for a cure. I only wanted to see what was in the box who knows where he was taking it or what it is.”

  His voice dropped to a whisper. “They say he has artifacts with old magic. Forgotten magic. Magic that could save my family. I don’t know if it’s true, but… I had to try. For them.”

  The Noxlin’s eyes glinted with desperation, the weight of its failure heavy in its gaze. “I didn’t want to steal, but what choice did I have? I couldn't just stand by and watch them die.”

  Toby’s jaw clenched, his grip on his sword tightening. “Stealing isn’t the answer. There are other ways”

  “What would you know?” the Noxlin snapped, its eyes blazing with anger and desperation. “You’ve never been hungry! Never watched your loved ones suffer while you’re powerless to help!”

  Calwyn’s smile faded, replaced by a look of quiet understanding. “I’ve been powerless before,” he said softly. “I know what it feels like.”

  Toby looked at him, surprised by the somber tone. Calwyn shrugged, his eyes never leaving the creature. “But stealing doesn’t solve anything. It just makes more trouble. If that box can really help, maybe we can find a way to use it without ending up in jail or worse.”

  Calwyn’s gaze grew distant for a moment, the weight of his words heavier than usual. “I get it,” he continued, the sharp edge of his usual humor slipping away. “I’ve been in situations where I didn’t know what else to do. I had a friend once, back when I was younger. He wasn’t the smartest guy, but he had a good heart. The kind of guy who’d do anything for his family. He got in deep with some bad folks, trying to protect his brother. Stole a few things, tried to make things right.” He shook his head, eyes darkening. “But it all went south. He ended up making things worse, and in the end, it didn’t help anyone.”

  He met the Noxlin’s eyes then, his tone firm. “I know the feeling of doing what you think you have to do. But there’s always a better way, if we don’t let desperation blind us.”

  The Noxlin blinked, hope flickering in its eyes. “You’d help me?”

  Toby looked conflicted, his sense of justice warring with his compassion. He sighed, sheathing his sword. “If the box is that important, we should at least find out what it is before deciding what to do. But you’re coming with us, and no more running.”

  The creature looked at them both, its posture slowly relaxing. “Name’s Riffel,” he said, voice cautious but grateful. “And… thanks.”

  Calwyn grinned, his charm returning. “Nice to meet you, Riffel. I’m Calwyn and this is Toby. Now, let’s see what’s in that box.”

  The three of them stood together in the shadowed alley, the small wooden box held between them, its secrets waiting to be uncovered.

  Riffel hesitated, his furry fingers trembling as he held the box out toward Calwyn and Toby. His eyes were wide, a mixture of fear and hope swirling within them. Calwyn took the box gently, his movements slow and deliberate. It was surprisingly light, the wood smooth and worn from years of handling. There was no lock, no visible mechanism, just a simple hinge along the back.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Toby stood at Calwyn’s shoulder, his body tense, ready to react if needed. “Careful. We don’t know what kind of magic is inside.”

  Calwyn raised an eyebrow. “It’s just a box, Toby. What’s the worst that could happen?” He flipped the lid open.

  A faint glow pulsed from within, lighting up the alley with a, ethereal light. Inside, nestled on a bed of faded velvet, lay a small crystal shard. It shimmered with an otherworldly radiance, shifting colors like shadows on water. Calwyn’s eyes widened. “Well, that’s… something.”

  Riffel’s voice was a whisper. “It’s beautiful…”

  Toby’s expression hardened. “It’s enchanted. I can feel it. This isn’t just some trinket.” He looked at Riffel, suspicion darkening his gaze. “Where did you hear about this?”

  Riffel’s tail flicked nervously. “There are whispers… in the alleys, in the shadows. People talk about magic in the nobleman’s house. I didn’t know what it looked like, but… when I saw him put the box in his saddle bag, I just knew.” His voice wavered, guilt flickering across his face. “I was desperate. My family… they’re getting worse. Nothing helps. I thought… maybe magic could save them.”

  Calwyn glanced at Toby, his expression softening. “He’s just trying to help his family, Tobes.”

  “That doesn’t make it right,” Toby said, his voice stern but not unkind. “But… I get it.” He looked at Riffel, his shoulders relaxing. “I understand wanting to save the people you care about.”

  Calwyn turned his attention back to the shard, his fingers brushing its smooth surface. It felt warm to the touch, pulsing gently as if alive. “This thing’s got power, alright. But how do we know what it can do?”

  Riffel’s eyes gleamed with hope. “I… I know someone, the healer. A woman, on the edge of town. She knows about magic. If… if we take it to her, she’ll know what to do.”

  Toby folded his arms, his gaze scrutinizing. “And why didn’t you go to her before stealing it?”

  Riffel’s ears drooped, shame darkening his face. “She… she asks for payment. And I have nothing to give. But… if we bring her the shard, maybe… maybe she’ll help.”

  Calwyn looked at Toby, his grin returning. “Sounds like an adventure to me.”

  Toby sighed, his eyes rolling skyward. “We should be returning this to its owner.”

  “Yeah, and we will… after we find out if it can really help.” Calwyn clapped Toby on the shoulder, his eyes twinkling with excitement. “C’mon, Tobes. You know you’re curious, too.”

  Toby’s shoulders sagged in defeat. “Fine. But if this turns out to be a trap, I’m blaming you.”

  “Wouldn’t expect anything less.” Calwyn turned to Riffel, his smile warm and inviting. “Lead the way, little thief.”

  Riffel’s eyes brightened, gratitude softening his sharp features. “You won’t regret this. I promise.”

  The trio moved through the winding backstreets, Riffel guiding them with the nimbleness of one who knew every shortcut and hidden passage in town. Calwyn followed close behind, his movements fluid and quiet, his eyes sharp as they scanned each shadowed corner. His short bow was slung across his back, the worn wood resting comfortably against his shoulder. A quiver of arrows hung at his hip, their feathered ends whispering softly with each step. His dagger was strapped securely to his belt, its polished handle gleaming faintly in the dim light.

  Calwyn’s posture was relaxed, but his gaze was alert, every muscle ready to spring into action. His hair, dark and slightly tousled, fell just above his eyes, which gleamed with a spark of mischief even in serious moments. Dressed in muted leathers that allowed him to blend into the urban landscape, he moved with a quiet confidence, the grace of a hunter stalking his prey.

  Toby walked behind, his hand resting on his sword, ever vigilant. His shoulders were squared, his demeanor disciplined and steady, the weight of duty evident in every step.

  They wove through the labyrinth of alleys, the air thick with the scent of smoke and lingering spices from market stalls. Shadows danced along the cobblestones as they passed under flickering lanterns, their footsteps echoing softly against the stone walls. Calwyn noted every turn, memorizing the winding path in case they needed a quick escape.

  Riffel led them through narrow gaps between buildings, through archways covered in creeping vines, and past shuttered windows where whispers floated from behind wooden slats. Calwyn’s senses were heightened, every creak and murmur cataloged. He felt the pulse of the city, alive and breathing around them.

  They reached the edge of town as the sun dipped below the horizon, the sky tinged with hues of pink and gold. The air grew cooler, a gentle breeze rustling the leaves above. Before them stood a small, crooked house, its windows glowing softly with amber light. Vines curled along the walls, and strange symbols were carved into the doorframe.

  Riffel hesitated, his ears flattening. “She… she’s not always friendly. But she’s wise. She’ll know what to do.”

  Calwyn stepped forward, his shoulders relaxed. “Then let’s go say hello.” He knocked on the door.

  For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the door creaked open, and a woman stood before them. Her hair was long and silver, cascading down her back in tangled waves. Sharp eyes gleamed with intelligence as they swept over the group, calculating and curious. Her face was lined with faint wrinkles that spoke of age and experience, but there was a vitality to her expression that made her seem ageless.

  She wore robes of deep violet, worn at the edges and faded in places, as if they had once been grand but were now weathered by time. Golden runes were embroidered along the hems, catching the light and shimmering faintly, giving the fabric an otherworldly aura. Around her neck hung a simple silver chain with a crystal pendant that glowed softly, pulsing in time with her heartbeat.

  “Well, well,” she said, her voice smooth and low, carrying a tone of bemused curiosity. “What brings a pair of human boys and a little thief to my doorstep?” Her gaze flicked to Riffle, her lips curving into a slight smile that was more knowing than friendly.

  Her eyes settled on the box in Calwyn’s hands, narrowing as she studied it. Her fingers twitched, the only sign of the excitement she was clearly restraining. “Ah… I see. You’ve found something interesting.” Her voice lowered, taking on a conspiratorial tone. “Do you even know what you carry?”

  Riffel’s voice was small, trembling with respect and fear. “Mistress Sylvara… we… we need your help.”

  Sylvara’s gaze softened, just a fraction. “Come inside. Let’s see what you’ve brought me.”

  The door creaked wider, revealing the interior of the house. The air was thick with the scent of herbs and old paper, mingling with the faint trace of smoke from a smoldering hearth. The walls were lined with shelves that bowed under the weight of countless books and scrolls, their spines cracked and faded. Some were stacked haphazardly, leaning against jars filled with curious substances, glowing powders, twisted roots, and murky liquids that swirled of their own accord.

  Bundles of dried herbs hung from the ceiling beams, their leaves rustling softly as the door closed behind them. The plants cast shadows on the walls, dancing in the flickering light of candles set in holders shaped like clawed hands. Intricate tapestries adorned the walls, their patterns swirling with arcane symbols that seemed to shift when looked at too long.

  A cauldron bubbled softly in the far corner, its contents shimmering with a faint, otherworldly light. Wisps of steam curled upward, carrying the scent of lavender and something sharper, almost metallic. The fire beneath it burned with a pale blue flame, flickering without sound.

  Strange trinkets were scattered across every surface, crystal orbs, feathered talismans, and small carved idols that seemed to watch them with hollow eyes. A mirror hung crookedly above a cluttered desk, its glass cloudy and fractured, reflecting the room in distorted fragments.

  Sylvara moved with effortless grace, her robes whispering against the floor as she navigated through the organized chaos. She wove between piles of scrolls and stacks of parchment as if she knew every uneven step by heart. Her fingers brushed against the spines of books as she passed, a gesture that seemed almost affectionate.

  She led them to a low table draped in dark fabric, its surface crowded with candles melted down to twisted stubs. An empty space lay at its center, framed by a circle of chalk symbols that radiated faint energy. Sylvara gestured to the space, her sharp eyes fixed on the box in Calwyn’s hands. “Place the box here.”

  Calwyn set the box down, his eyes never leaving her. “We found it with a nobleman. Or rather, our friend here found it for us.” He winked at Riffel, who looked away, his cheeks flushing beneath his fur.

  Sylvara’s eyes danced with amusement. “I see. And now you wish to know what it is?”

  Toby stepped forward, his stance rigid. “We need to know what it can do. This one’s family is sick.” He glanced at Riffel, his expression softening. “He stole it out of desperation to find a solution.”

  Sylvara’s gaze turned thoughtful. “Magic born of desperation… it is often the most powerful.” She traced her fingers over the box, her lips moving in a silent incantation. The crystal shard glowed brighter, its colors swirling like liquid fire.

  “This is a Shard of Souls,” Sylvara murmured, her eyes widening with awe. “An ancient relic, said to contain the power of life itself. It can heal, among other things… yes. But the cost…” Her voice trailed off, her expression growing dark.

  Calwyn frowned, his gaze fixed on the shard as it pulsed faintly with a soft, emerald light. “What cost?”

  Sylvara’s fingers hovered over the shard, careful not to touch it. The glow seemed to respond to her presence, swirling like mist trapped within glass. “The Shard of Souls does not create life… it borrows it. It draws power from souls, those who die nearby.”

  Toby’s eyes narrowed, his posture rigid. “Souls of the dead?”

  Sylvara’s expression was grave. “Yes. When someone dies within the shard’s influence, their soul does not pass on. It is drawn in, absorbed, and converted into energy to fuel the shard’s powers. It traps them, feeding on their essence.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, as if the walls themselves were listening. “The more souls it consumes, the more powerful its magic becomes.”

  Riffle’s fur bristled, his eyes wide with fear. “You mean… it keeps them inside? Forever?”

  Sylvara nodded slowly. “Trapped. Unable to move on, their essence bound to the shard. They are the fuel that powers its miracles. But they remain conscious… aware. The ancient texts call it ‘The Eternal Prison.’”

  Calwyn’s stomach churned as he looked at the shard, its light pulsing rhythmically, almost like a heartbeat. “That’s why he wanted it… to gather souls. To use them for his own gain.”

  A shadow crossed Sylvara’s face. “Yes. And if he is willing to bring death close to the shard… he could amass the power to cheat fate itself. To restore life… or to extend his own.”

  Toby’s jaw tightened, his fists clenched. “He was willing to kill for this power… to trap souls just to save one life?”

  Sylvara’s voice was cold. “That is the curse of the Shard of Souls. It gives hope to the desperate and power to the wicked. But its gift is always built upon the suffering of the lost.”

  The room fell silent. Calwyn felt a chill run down his spine as he realized that each pulse was the echo of a soul, trapped and yearning for release.

  Sylvara’s gaze was pitying. “Magic always has a price, young paladin. The question is… are you willing to pay it?”

  The room fell silent, the glow of the shard flickering like a heartbeat.

  Riffel’s shoulders sagged, his tail drooping as he stared at the shard, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I… I didn’t know. I just wanted to help them.” His voice cracked, pain lacing every word. “They’re all I have. Without them… I’m nothing.”

  Calwyn’s chest tightened, a lump forming in his throat. He knew that feeling all too well, of losing everything, of being alone. He reached out, placing a hand on Riffel’s shoulder. “We’ll figure this out. There’s got to be another way.”

  Toby’s eyes never left the shard, his face carved from stone. “Magic this powerful doesn’t leave room for loopholes.” His gaze flicked to Sylvara. “You knew what this was the moment you saw it. What else aren’t you telling us?”

  Sylvara’s lips twitched, a hint of a smile. “Perceptive, aren’t you?” She leaned back, her fingers tapping rhythmically on the table. “There is… one other option. But it’s risky. Dangerous, even.”

  Calwyn’s eyes narrowed, his posture tense. “Danger’s our middle name. What is it?”

  Sylvara gestured to the cauldron, its contents swirling with light. “In the forest to the north, there’s a place where the veil between life and death is thin. A temple, lost to time, where ancient spirits still linger. If you take the shard there, you might be able to harness its power without the cost of an innocent soul. But…”

  Toby’s eyes darkened, his hand unconsciously tightening on the hilt of his sword. “But?”

  “There are guardians,” Sylvara continued, her voice low and solemn. “Spirits that protect the temple, bound to it for eternity. They do not take kindly to the living trespassing on sacred ground.” Her gaze grew distant, haunted. “These spirits are not benevolent. They were wicked in life, corrupted by greed, malice, and bloodlust. In death, they became worse, twisted echoes of who they once were, filled with hatred and envy for the living.”

  Calwyn shivered, the air in the room growing colder. “Evil spirits?”

  Sylvara nodded, her expression grim. “Yes. Murderers, tyrants, souls so dark they were barred from passing on. When the temple was abandoned, their spirits were trapped there, festering for centuries. Now, they’re consumed by wrath, lashing out at any who dare approach.”

  Riffle’s tail bristled, his voice small. “And… they guard the temple?”

  “Guard it… haunt it… the lines blur when hatred is all that remains,” Sylvara said softly. “But that hatred gives them power. They drain the life from intruders, feeding on their fear, their pain. And if they catch you…” She paused, her eyes meeting Calwyn’s. “They’ll rip your soul from your body and add it to their ranks.”

  Calwyn’s throat went dry. “They can… do that?”

  “They hunger for it,” Sylvara whispered. “They were denied peace in death. Now they crave the souls of the living, hoping to fill the emptiness within. If you go there, you won’t just be fighting for your life. You’ll be fighting to keep your soul.”

  Toby’s jaw clenched, his eyes blazing with determination. “Then we fight.”

  Calwyn shot him a look. “You’re sure about this?” Toby’s gaze didn’t waver. “Those spirits were monsters in life. They deserve no pity in death. And we’re not letting that man use this shard to hurt anyone else.

  Sylvara watched them, a flicker of admiration in her eyes. “You’re brave. Or foolish. Perhaps both.” She waved her hand, and the cauldron’s light shifted, revealing an image of twisted trees shrouded in mist. “The temple lies deep within the cursed woods. The spirits will know you’re coming the moment you set foot there. They’ll stalk you, toy with you, twist the very forest to lead you astray.

  Calwyn squared his shoulders, his eyes hard. “Then we’ll be quick. In and out.”

  Sylvara’s expression softened. “Be careful. They are ancient… powerful. They know every trick, every shadow. Trust nothing you see, and no voice you hear. Their lies are venomous, and their hatred is endless.”

  Toby tightened his grip on his sword. “They were evil in life. They’re evil now. We end this.”

  Sylvara gave a solemn nod. “Then may the light protect you… for the darkness will do everything to claim you.”

  Riffel’s ears perked up, hope flaring in his eyes. “But… if we succeed…?”

  “The shard will capture the wicked souls,” Sylvara confirmed. “The defeated spirits will become the life energy themselves, giving the shard what is needed.”

  Calwyn looked at Toby, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “Sounds like an adventure worth having.”

  Toby sighed, his shoulders drooping. “You never do things the easy way, do you?”

  Calwyn’s grin was all mischief. “Where’s the fun in that?”

  Sylvara stood, her robes billowing as she moved to a shelf, retrieving a small, ornate vial filled with silvery liquid. “Take this. It’s a warding potion. It won’t protect you from the spirits, but it will allow you to see them. To understand them.” She handed the vial to Calwyn, her fingers lingering for a moment. “Be careful. The spirits are ancient… and they remember pain.”

  Calwyn tucked the vial into his pouch. “We’ll be fine. We’ve got Toby here to keep us out of trouble.”

  Toby shot him a look. “I spend more time getting you out of trouble than I care to admit.”

  Riffel’s tail flicked with nervous energy. “Are… are you sure about this? I don’t want anyone getting hurt because of me.”

  Calwyn ruffled the fur on Riffel’s head, his touch gentle. “Hey, that’s what heroes do. We help people. And you’re part of the team now.”

  Riffel’s eyes widened, his face lighting up with hope. “Team… I like that.”

  Toby shook his head, but his eyes were warm. “Alright. Let’s get moving before I change my mind.”