My vision fades in and out, each blink stretching into an eternity. My legs stumble forward as if guided by forces outside myself. Whether it’s Lyra, the corruption, or the witch’s residual magic, I can’t tell. I’m beyond questioning. Every step feels disconnected from my conscious mind, yet I continue through the cracked expanse of glass and ash. Ghostly shapes twist at the edges of my failing sight—spires of half-melted sand, shattered sculptures of lives long lost. My arm burns with the corruption’s clawing presence, and whenever I try to focus, the world swims in uneven waves of nausea.

  Time passes in a blur—maybe hours, maybe days—until I hear a soft, insistent voice coaxing me back to awareness.

  “Wake up, you don’t have time to waste.”

  Forcing open my eyes feels like lifting a leaden gate. The first thing I see is a pale statue rising from the glass-littered ground. Its material is worn smooth, veined with crystalline fissures. A slender figure sits upon a throne carved from thick blocks of crystal, her posture regal yet fragile. Rivulets of what appear to be ancient tears streak her cheeks. The statue’s face, though eroded, still exudes sorrow so profound it makes my own heart ache. The Weeping Sage.

  I glance down at my arm. The ward I carved there is faint but intact, containing most of the corruption’s advance. My hand still throbs, but nowhere near the agony I felt before. My thoughts are clearer too, the suffocating haze of illusions gone for the moment.

  “Lyra…?” I whisper, pressing a palm to the Silver Eye Pendant. Only silence greets me at first. Then a thin pulse of warmth flows under my fingers.

  “I’m here, Eldrin,” her voice murmurs inside my mind, steadier than before. “I used much of my energy suppressing the corruption and bringing you here, but the Sage… she healed you as well. I’m still with you.”

  Relief flickers in my chest, a brief moment of gratitude that she hasn’t abandoned me. I lift my gaze to the statue again, the so-called Weeping Sage, trying to piece together why she matters, or how.

  “Is this what I came for?” I ask in a hushed voice. “I thought the Weeping Sage was… I don’t know, something more.”

  Lyra’s response is quick but faint, as if she’s struggling to stay connected.

  “Yes and no. This is only a lonely remnant of a long-ago temple, the true temple lies in the Blind Citadel. But your foe, Kael… he’s already close to the Citadel. You must stop him before he claims the Heart of the Cataclysm.”

  Her final words fade, leaving a hollowness in their wake. I let my hand drop from the pendant, focusing on pulling myself upright. My limbs feel bruised and stiff, but somehow more functional than they’ve been in days. The Weeping Sage’s presence has stabilized me, or maybe it’s Lyra’s final push of magic. Either way, I can’t linger. If the witch’s game was meant to stall me, she succeeded—but not for long.

  I glance around, taking in this strange domain surrounding the statue’s throne. The air here is sharper, as though tiny shards of crystal float on every breeze. They nip at my exposed skin, leaving hairline scratches. Beyond the statue, vast spires of warped glass curve like rolling waves frozen in place, their fractured angles reflecting the greenish sky in dizzying patterns. The overall effect is disorienting, as if I’m standing within the guts of some massive, glittering beast.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  The bone map at my side glows dimly, a cool blue shimmer that seems to respond to this place. Squinting, I hold it up, following the faint lines converging toward a gap between two towering monoliths of green-tinged glass.

  So that's my path. And once again, I’m reminded of how precarious my time is—if Kael truly has a head start, every hour I waste brings him closer to unlocking catastrophic power.

  My first steps toward the narrow pass send shards of glass clinking and sliding underfoot. Echoes ripple across the canyon of spires, and I realize with a spike of alarm that the wasteland isn’t dormant. Sinister shapes flicker in the corners of my vision, ducking behind the glass walls. They move too fast to be ordinary travelers—more like darting phantoms or beasts on the hunt.

  The Silver Eye Pendant grows colder with each step I take, as though warning me of the threats lurking here. My skin tingles where the ward rests, and I sense a stirring of the corruption. Part of me wonders if these shapes are Kael’s minions, illusions, or some native horror of the Wastes. None of those options bring comfort.

  I tighten my hold on my staff. The crystal at its tip flickers, reflecting my own uncertainty. If there’s going to be an ambush, I’d rather face it head-on than stumble blindly into it. My breath comes shallow, heart pounding. Keep moving. The only way out is forward.

  I spare one last glance at the far Weeping Sage’s statue, feeling a faint tug of regret that I can’t do more to restore whatever lost temple once stood here. I can’t help imagining what it might have looked like in an age before the Cataclysm, when worshipers came to seek wisdom or comfort from this stony figure. Now she’s just another ruin in a land of endless ruin.

  I step through the narrow pass. The walls of glittering glass arch high above, forming something akin to a tunnel that shimmers with shifting reflections. Each pane shows me twisted, distorted versions of myself—some monstrous, some heartbreakingly young, others cloaked in illusions of grandeur. They vanish when I move, replaced by new phantasms. I grip my staff more tightly, refusing to be ensnared by what might just be another trick.

  Every so often, I catch sight of a shadow darting around a corner. A low, guttural hiss echoes somewhere ahead, sending a chill through my spine. I brace for an attack, but none comes—yet. Anxiety claws at my mind. Is this a pack of beasts, or something more cunning? My instincts scream that I’m being corralled, but I have no other route to the Citadel.

  At last, the pass begins to widen, spilling out into a glass-strewn valley. Tall spikes rise on either side, shimmering faintly in the poisonous daylight. The bone map’s glow brightens, as if urging me onward. Dust, tinted green, swirls around my feet, making it hard to see more than a few yards ahead.

  I swallow a knot of fear and press onward. Despite the swirling ash and the shards that slice at my cloak, I can’t help feeling a surge of determination. My mind is clearer than it’s been since I awoke in that ruined tower, and though my ward is fragile, it’s holding. Lyra’s voice, however faint, still resonates at the edges of my awareness. And somewhere in these Wastes lies Kael—closing in on the Citadel’s hidden power.

  If I allow him to reach it first, this world might tear apart under the weight of his ambition. If I fail, my own corruption may devour me from within. But for now, the Weeping Sage’s remnants have granted me a moment’s respite and a renewed sense of purpose. I have enough strength to press on, and I will.

  The shadows still move around me, the cold bite of the pendant intensifies, and the corridor of glass ahead is filled with uncertainty. But I grit my teeth, clutch my staff, and step forward without hesitation. Because no matter what lurks in these fractured spires, I refuse to let Kael reshape our broken world into something even more twisted.