A veil of shadow smothered the clearing where the bandits had made camp. Woven magic had blocked the light—meant to turn travellers and patrols away before they ever realised something was wrong.
After a strategic detour through the dim growth, Arion returned to the tree line bordering the clearing. He did not enter without a fallback plan.
His eyes narrowed, scanning every angle with slow, deliberate sweeps—left to right, high to low—searching for silhouettes, the twitch of torch light, the glint of weapons, anything that broke the veil's uniform darkness.
There was nothing. The shadow consumed detail whole, swallowing even the faint outline of distant tents and the occasional spark from a hidden fire.
He glanced back at the decimated ice effigy behind him, its fractured form stained red, jagged cracks still weeping slow rivulets of half-frozen blood.
They've lost their scout… he thought, gaze settling back on the unnatural veil of darkness.
This side has fewer eyes now.
He turned, stepping back into the dimness, boots crunching softly as crimson frost shifted and cracked beneath his weight, each step accompanied by a small, squelching pop.
The edge of Arion's lips curled as his eyes settled on the sculpture in front of him.
The ice at his feet did not meet his warmth.
It only got colder.
…
A murmur drifted through the veil, faint at first, then sharpening as the magic thinned.
Flickers of flame slowly came into view, dancing orange against the black.
"…that's what I said!"
The darkness thinned just enough to reveal two shapes near the camp's edge. Firelight licked at their outlines as voices carried through the crackle of burning wood.
"Where in the name of Luminae is Ruzvar? That flesh-eatin' mongrel takin' his sweet ass time!"
The taller one spat toward the ground, the glob landing with a wet smack on the frozen dirt.
"Probably found himself a wee snack," the shorter bandit chuckled from his rock-seat, shifting his weight with a creak of leather.
The taller bandit groaned, irritation leaking out as his patience ran dry.
"Arh! I don't care if it's only just the two of us, I'm burstin' for a piss mate. Cazza, how's 'bout you pick up ya bloody axe and look like you're doin' ya job, yeh?"
He glared at the man in question. A low groan slipped from Cazza's mouth.
"Fine, fine," he muttered, half grunt, half sigh, standing as he yanked his axe free from a carcass with a wet rip of meat.
"Oi—'urry up though, Gunar, otherwise Karlon won't be 'appy with ya—ey! Where ya goin'?"
"Into the shadow veil! I can't piss when someone's watchin', ya git! I—I get nervous, a'right?" Gunar snapped, his footsteps echoing as the veil swallowed him whole, the darkness folding around his silhouette like a closing curtain.
…
A few steps in, Gunar paused, undid his belt with fumbling fingers, and went about his business, the sound of liquid hitting frozen ground sharp in the silence.
The dark pressed close, thick and heavy against his skin. It carried the faint metallic chill of old blood.
That's when he sensed it.
He wasn't alone.
A figure loomed ahead—barely visible, its shape swallowed by shadow.
"Fuckin—!" Gunar jumped, heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird as he squinted ahead, piss still streaming down his leg.
He froze, muscles locking tight.
"Ruzvar? Don't creep up like that, unless ya want a blade in ya!"
The figure didn't move, standing unnaturally still.
He frowned, eyes adjusting to the deeper black. His stomach twisted before his mind could make sense of what he was seeing.
There was no face.
Only darkness, deeper than the veil itself. A hollow black maw where something familiar should have been, empty and endless, peering back at him.
Then he saw the ice.
It crawled up the figure in slow tendrils, propping the body upright like a mannequin frozen mid-step, crystalline veins pulsing faintly.
"The f—"
The words died as a biting chill struck him, racing up from the ground like invisible needles.
His gaze snapped downward.
Ice.
It crept up his boots in slow silence, first locking his ankles with a gentle crackle, then climbing his calves in thin, grasping fingers that bit straight through leather.
Ambush!
"A—"
Before he could say anything, a hand came out of the shadow, gripping his mouth hard enough to bruise, palm cold and unyielding, fingers digging into his cheeks.
His footing caught. Ice tendrils wrapped his knees and thighs, locking him where he stood as frost swallowed the dark around him.
The breath he dragged in never came back out, freezing in his throat.
Tiny specks of ice crackling finally ceased, the last faint pops dying into nothing.
Only the whisper of shadow remained.
—— ❖ —— —— ❖ —— —— ❖ ——
"Gunar, mate!?" Cazza called, stepping closer to the veil.
A pause stretched out, thick and unnatural.
No reply.
"Damnit, 'ows long does it take to piss, mate?"
He stopped, head tilting, ears straining.
A silhouette stirred in the darkness, looming just beyond the edge of what little he could see. It moved closer—slow, wrong.
"Gunar? Ruzvar? This ain't funny, lads!"
Dread climbed his spine so fast his grip tightened on the axe before he even knew he'd moved.
Cazza stretched out a hand and cast immediately, Vitalis surging through his veins as it made contact.
"Rock Shards."
Earth began forming above his hand—broken rock and earth spun in a tight vortex, sharp shards rotating faster and faster, edges glinting like broken glass.
Silence.
Only the distant racket of the camp from behind kept him aware of his surroundings.
Then the figure lunged, exploding forward in a sudden blur.
Cazza didn't hesitate. He released.
THNK!—THNK!—THNK!
The sound was wrong—like a shell splitting against stone. The figure staggered, but didn't fall.
As it breached the veil, Cazza leapt back, axe already rising in a defensive arc.
Something burst from the darkness and hit the ground with a heavy THUMP, the impact sending vibrations up through his boots.
His eyes widened, horror slamming into him.
…Gunar!
Frozen solid. Impaled. His face locked in terror, mouth stretched in a silent scream beneath a mask of ice.
The veil beside him tore open with a ripping whisper.
Cazza barely had time to curse, the word dying on his lips.
A sharp whistle of air cut through the dark. He turned, axe dropping in a high arc over his shoulder—
CRUNCH!
His windpipe collapsed, cartilage giving way like dry twigs.
He dropped to his knees, axe dropping as he clawed at his throat, breath whistling like a broken flute through the ruined pipe, fingers scrabbling uselessly at the crushed flesh.
The pain ended abruptly as a second blow cracked his skull with a sickening crack.
His body went slack and hit the ground in a boneless heap, blood already pooling beneath his cheek.
—— ❖ —— —— ❖ —— —— ❖ ——
Arion looked down at the two men, chest rising and falling in steady rhythm, then dragged their bodies back into the veil.
He picked up the man's axe. Its shard sat fixed in the handle, but the embedded crystal was dull and lifeless. Whatever power it once held was unusable now.
Now it was just a common axe. But a weapon was still a weapon.
His footsteps faded away as he moved further within, leaving only the faint crack of cooling ice settling over the dead.
—— ❖ —— —— ❖ —— —— ❖ ——
Arion crouched behind the nearest tent after slipping into the camp, the rough canvas brushing his shoulder, his robe blending into the gloom.
Beyond it lay a quieter stretch—supply stacks piled haphazardly, metal cages glinting dully, stored goods wrapped in leather-like material.
He waited, eyes narrowed, listening to the distant murmur of voices and the pop of fires.
Then he moved with careful, silent steps.
The sound of canvas shifted nearby, the rustle cutting through the night.
He froze, inches from leaving cover, breath held tight in his chest.
A man stepped out of a tent only metres away—dark skin, red eyes glowing faintly in the firelight, posture relaxed and careless.
"Seems this was a fruitless endeavour after all. No clues, no information—tch. What a bore."
The man wandered toward the inner camp, kicking a loose stone aside with a bored flick of his boot.
Arion's hand started to shake. His gaze settled on it, finding frost still clinging to his skin. He clenched it tight until the tremor stopped and the frost whispered away.
He waited until he was gone, the footsteps fading completely, then moved again, slipping between shadows like smoke.
The scent of blood and smoke thickened in the air, heavy and coppery, guiding him forward.
He was close now.
…
Only the sounds of flickering flame and distant bickering could be heard in this silent corner of the camp, the fire casting long, dancing shadows across the ground.
A man stood beside a metal cage, chewing bread and meat, stuffing his mouth without care, grease glistening on his chin.
He tossed a scrap inside and stared into the cage as if it were an exhibit, waiting for even the smallest reaction.
A young boy sat on the metal floor—cold, hungry, still. He stared blankly at the world outside the cage, small shoulders hunched against the chill.
Movement only came when his body would shiver violently, thin arms wrapped around his knees.
DUFF!
The cage jolted as the man kicked it hard, metal ringing out. The boy flinched violently, pressing himself back against the bars.
"How borin'! I miss when we were traffickin' Ravnir kids—at least they had the will of beasts! Fought each other for scraps like proper little animals."
The man crouched, eyes alight with something broken and cruel.
"I wonder what face you'll make when the light fades—when your Vitalis returns to the earth and you finally stop breathin'."
A grin spread across his face, slow and ugly.
"Ah, now that would be so—"
CHUNK-KRRAK!
His expression froze—confusion flashing first, then shock ripping across his features as a heavy axe buried itself in his back with brutal force, cleaving through flesh, muscle, and spine in one brutal stroke.
He collapsed without protest, only wet gurgles escaping as nerves fired their last signals.
One last twitch.
Then stillness, the body settling with a final sigh of escaping air.
The boy's shoulders jerked once at the collapse, then drew in tight and stayed there.
"I guess it'd look like that," Arion said from behind him, voice low and flat.
—— ❖ —— —— ❖ —— —— ❖ ——
Rock Shards
Tier 2 — School of Earth
Description:
A fundamental earthen projection technique that fractures nearby stone or soil into jagged shards, launching them in a wide barrage toward the target.
Favoured for its simplicity and adaptability, it offers both suppression and raw destructive output at short to mid range.
Essence Principle:
Earth remembers pressure. When Vitalis agitates that memory, the built tension releases in violent fragmentation. Each shard carries the echo of that strain, biting through armour and bone with compressed momentum.
Practitioner's Note:
Balance aggression with restraint. Overdraw fractures control and scatters power uselessly. Guide the pressure through the ground, not against it. Let the earth exhale through your intent.
Maxim:
"Force the earth, and it breaks. Move with it, and it strikes for you."