The earth trembled as the chasm beneath their feet expanded, the jagged cracks snaking out like the fingers of a hand reaching to pull them under. Mary's heart pounded in her chest as she looked down into the abyss, the darkness below swallowing up any sense of depth or direction. The air grew cold, and an unnatural silence descended over them. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
"Mary, we need to move!" Lela's voice cut through the tension, urgent and steady, but it was drowned out by the rumbling of the earth. Loosie clutched her sword tightly, her small frame visibly shaking as the ground beneath them groaned in protest.
Mary didn't hesitate. She took a step forward, toward the edge of the chasm, her gaze locked on the figure of the Sleepless Kin, which stood motionless, its hollow eyes fixed on her with an unnerving intensity. The creature's finger, still raised, pointed downward, toward the chasm.
"You have stepped into the Shardlands," the Kin's voice echoed, distant but distinct. "And now, you must face the price."
Mary's pulse quickened, but she didn't step back. Her thoughts raced as she tried to anticipate what the creature meant. What price? What was the cost of claiming the weapon?
"Whatever it is," she said, her voice unwavering, "I'll pay it."
The Sleepless Kin's face—if it could be called that—remained expressionless, the blank mask of its features betraying no emotion. Slowly, it raised its other hand and gestured toward the darkness below. The ground quaked again, more violently this time, and a sharp, searing light pierced the blackness of the chasm. It was blinding at first, and for a moment, Mary thought she might lose her vision altogether. But then, as her eyes adjusted, she saw what lay beneath the light—a staircase made of shimmering, cracked stone, spiraling down into the depths.
"This is your trial," the Sleepless Kin intoned. "Descend, and face what lies beneath. Only those worthy of the weapon may return."
Mary's heart skipped a beat. There was no turning back now.
Without waiting for a response, she took the first step, her boots making a hollow sound as they struck the stone. The others hesitated for a moment, but Lela followed, then Loosie. Together, they descended into the abyss.
The air grew colder as they moved deeper, the light from the surface fading with each step. The staircase seemed endless, winding down into the heart of the Shardlands. Mary's senses were heightened, her instincts alert as she scanned their surroundings, searching for any sign of danger. But there was nothing. Only the oppressive silence and the feeling of being watched.
"Do you think this is some kind of test?" Loosie asked quietly, her voice a whisper against the howling wind.
"I don't know," Mary replied, her voice tight. "But I don't think they'd let us leave if it wasn't. We'll need to stay focused. Stay close."
Lela, who had been unusually quiet, spoke next. "What do you think we'll face down here? I don't like the idea of walking into a trap."
Mary's eyes flicked to Lela. "Whatever happens, we stick together. We'll face it head-on."
As they descended further, the walls of the staircase grew smoother, the stone now a strange blackened material that shimmered with an eerie, otherworldly glow. It was as though the very essence of the Shardlands had been poured into the walls of this place, and now it pulsed with a dark, malevolent energy.
Finally, after what seemed like hours of endless spiraling, they reached the bottom.
Before them stood an enormous chamber, its size impossible to comprehend. It was a vast, cavernous space, its walls stretching far out of sight. In the center of the room stood an altar, covered in ancient runes that glowed with a faint, purple light. The air in the chamber hummed with power, the oppressive feeling of the Shardlands growing stronger with every passing moment.
At the base of the altar, embedded in the stone, was a large shard—sharp, gleaming, and radiating an aura of intense energy. It was the weapon. Mary could feel it, could feel the power radiating from it, beckoning her forward.
But as she moved closer, the ground beneath them trembled again, and the air grew even heavier. A voice, dark and ancient, reverberated through the chamber, shaking the very stones.
"Do you truly believe you are worthy?" the voice boomed. "Do you think you can control the power of the Shardlands? You who walk in the shadow of death, whose blood is tainted by darkness?"
The voice seemed to come from everywhere at once, an ancient presence that made the very air seem to twist and crack. Mary's heart hammered in her chest, but she refused to back down.
"I'm not afraid," she said, her voice steady despite the rising fear. "I've faced worse than this. I will take the weapon."
A laugh echoed through the chamber, low and mocking. "You do not understand. The weapon is not something you take. It is something that claims you."
The shard in the altar flared with a bright, blinding light, and before Mary could react, a torrent of energy exploded outward, sending her and her companions stumbling backward. The air thickened, becoming almost impossible to breathe, and dark, twisting tendrils of magic spiraled out from the shard, wrapping themselves around Mary's body, pulling her toward the altar.
"Mary!" Lela cried, but her voice was muffled, drowned by the growing storm of energy.
Mary's body was seized by the force of the magic, her limbs freezing as if she were being encased in ice. Her mind screamed for control, but the magic was too strong. It was as if the shard was alive, aware of her presence, and it was trying to bind her, to claim her as its own.
She struggled against the dark tendrils, her fists clenched, her heart pounding. Her vision blurred as the power of the Shardlands threatened to overwhelm her.
Then, a voice, not her own, whispered in her mind, its words dripping with malice.
You are nothing but a tool, Mary. A pawn in a game you cannot even begin to understand.
Mary gasped, her breath coming in ragged gasps as the voice swirled around her, growing louder and louder. It was Hollowlight.
But as the tendrils of magic continued to close in around her, a flicker of understanding pierced through the fog in her mind. This was her test. This was the price.
And she would pay it.
With all the strength she could muster, Mary called on the power within her—her blood, her magic, everything that had brought her this far—and wrenched herself free from the magic that held her. The tendrils recoiled as if burned, and the shard in the altar pulsed with fury.
"I am not your pawn!" Mary screamed, her voice carrying across the vast chamber.
The shard responded with an explosion of power, but this time, Mary was ready. She stepped forward, her hand outstretched, and with a final, desperate surge of energy, she claimed the weapon. The room erupted in light.