Page 29 of Sundered By Fate

The townsfolk began to emerge from their homes, wide-eyed and murmuring in awe. Aric's heart sank as he noticed the way they looked at him—an unspoken question hanging in the air.

He didn't have an answer for them; didn't even know how to begin explaining what had happened. And yet there was still so much more he needed to understand.

As the demon army retreated into the night, Aric slumped against the town's walls, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The golden aura around him flickered and died, leaving only a faint shimmer in its wake.

The townsfolk gathered around him, their eyes wide with awe and fear. But Aric couldn't bring himself to meet their gazes; he was too drained, too weary.

He'd done it. He'd saved Thornhaven from the demons' attack, contained the anomaly before it could cause further damage. But at what cost?

As the adrenaline faded, questions began to flood his mind. Where had this incredible power come from? Why had he been able to access it now? And what was the truth about the anomaly?

The sealed rift still pulsed faintly in the town square, a reminder of the threat that lingered even now. And they were no closer to understanding its origins or purpose.

Olaya rushed forward to check on Aric, her hands fluttering over him like she wanted to help but didn't know how. "Aric—are you all right?"

He tried to brush her off, but he could feel the exhaustion settling into his bones, the lingering aftereffects of the magic he'd drawn upon. He sagged, weary, but forced himself to stay upright.

"I'm fine," he said, though it sounded more like a gasp than anything else.

"You're not fine," Davin said, coming up beside them. He slipped an arm around Aric's waist, steadying him when his legs threatened to give out.

Aric clung to them both, grateful for their support even as he resented needing it. His pride stung at the thought of appearing weak, but he knew the dangers of pushing himself too far.

"The anomaly's even stronger than I thought," Aric said, his voice hoarse. "And the things I glimpsed in it . . ."

A shiver ran through him as he remembered the visions that had assaulted him during the battle. Flashes of other worlds and timelines, memories that weren't his own. A terrible sense of wrongness that threatened to consume him.

"We have to warn the Silver Tower," he said. "The king's court, too. They need to know what's happening."

He looked up at Olaya and Davin, their expressions grim but resolute.

"Pureblades be damned. We have no choice."

They exchanged a glance, then nodded in unison.

"Then we go back to Astaria."

Seven

Aric stood at the prow of the river barge as it glided through the thick morning mist, revealing the city of Astaria's sprawling silhouette. Even from a distance, the sight of it set his heart pounding—a chaotic clash of emotions. The gnawing guilt of all that had transpired during his absence. The treacherous hope that perhaps, just perhaps, he could set things right.

But mostly, there was the sheer, paralyzing terror of what awaited him.

He gripped the railing tight, his knuckles white as the memories came flooding back—the heavy scrape of iron gates, the sharp tang of wards thick in the air. How he'd begged for an assignment, any assignment that would get him to the front lines where he could make a difference. How naively he'd believed he could fix everything with sheer force of will.

That certainty seemed laughable now. Astaria had endured while he was away, adapting and surviving without him. New fortifications rose along the skyline, strange silhouettes disrupting its familiar lines. Thick, shimmering wards, rough and scattered without the larger wards to shelter them, encased entire districts like freshly laid scabs.

How much had changed? Within himself, a great deal, certainly. But in this world he once called home?—

Well. It was time he found out.

The ship nudged against the dock, ropes thrown and secured with brisk efficiency. Aric followed Olaya, Ruta, and Davin down the gangplank, his legs uncertain after the days spent on the river.

The port swarmed with life, yet every sound and scent scraped across Aric's senses, raw and jagged. Too much, too soon. Dockworkers called to one another in harsh cadences as they heaved crates from cargo holds. Merchants hollered prices in voices like rusted iron, scents of fish and spices mingling around them.

All around him, people eyed him furtively before quickly looking away. Some whispered to their neighbors; others hurried past, hands clenched into fists. And above it all came the faint thrum of distant wards. Barely audible now, but still enough to raise the fine hairs on the back of his neck.

Aric's sigil pulsed hot beneath his shirt like a brand. How had he ever believed he could simply slip back into this life? Into this skin that felt more and more like an ill-fitting mask with each step he took.

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