I tread carefully over shattered cobblestones, the early light painting long shadows across the ruined village square. My boots crunch against fragments of what used to be homes, livelihoods, dreams. Sleep hasn't come easy these past nights, and my hands feel heavy with exhaustion, but inside my chest burns a fierce resolve that keeps me moving forward. This place – these people – they deserve more than rubble and fear.

  "Careful with that beam!" I call out to a group of villagers struggling with a massive timber. "Brace it against the wall first, then raise it slowly." They nod, adjusting their grip. My voice has grown hoarse from shouting directions since dawn, but there's no time to rest. Not when half of Harmonious lies in ruins.

  Three days since the attack, and the air still smells of smoke and something else – something acrid and unnatural. The work of magic gone wrong. Or perhaps magic used exactly as intended, just not for good.

  Across the square, Lyra kneels beside a small boy seated on an overturned crate, her blue hair catching the sunlight like frozen water. Her fingers move with gentle precision as she winds a clean bandage around his forearm. Her golden eyes – normally so serene – are narrowed in concentration. Even in the midst of this chaos, she carries herself with the grace of royalty, though I might be the only one who knows just how accurate that observation is.

  "Hold still, little one," she says, her voice a melody even in these simple words. "The pain will pass soon."

  The boy nods bravely, biting his lip. Lyra finishes securing the bandage, then produces a small wooden flute from a pocket in her robes. She plays three quick notes, and frost patterns dance briefly across the bandage, causing the boy to gasp – not in pain, but in wonder.

  "Ice to numb the ache," she explains with a soft smile. "Magic doesn't always have to be frightening."

  I pause in my work, watching her for a moment longer than necessary. My hands are numb from lifting stone and splintered wood, but I feel a warmth in my chest, an uncomfortable heat that I recognize as something dangerously close to love – a luxury I can't afford right now.

  At the center of our devastated square sits what remains of the old fountain. Its basin is cracked, water long since drained away, but that's not what draws the eye. Atop the ruined stonework rests a crystal the size of my fist, its surface black as midnight but somehow not reflecting light – consuming it instead. Eldrin Moonshadow crouches beside it, his white beard nearly brushing the fountain's edge as he peers through a magnifying glass at the crystal's surface.

  The Grand Sage hasn't spoken more than a dozen words since arriving yesterday, summoned by whatever mysterious means he uses to know when he's needed most. His silver-threaded robes shimmer faintly even in the subdued morning light, the mystical symbols woven into the fabric occasionally pulsing with a rhythm that reminds me of heartbeats.

  "Any insights, Elder?" I ask, approaching the fountain.

  Eldrin doesn't look up, his gnarled fingers tracing what appear to be carvings on the crystal's surface – patterns I can't discern from where I stand.

  "Songs written in stone," he murmurs, "melodies carved by hands that should not know such tunes." His deep-set eyes, when they finally meet mine, hold centuries of wisdom and a troubling concern. "This is old work, Aelia. Older than the Fall itself."

  I feel a chill that has nothing to do with the morning air. "Can it be destroyed?"

  "Would you burn the last copy of a forgotten book?" he replies, his voice layered with meaning I can't fully grasp. "What's written here may be dark, but knowledge is rarely evil in itself – only in how it's wielded."

  Before I can press further, a crash from across the square pulls my attention away. Two men struggle beneath a collapsed timber, panic in their eyes as it shifts precariously above them.

  "Hold it steady!" I shout, rushing toward them. "Everyone, to me now!"

  A half-dozen villagers respond immediately to my call, and together we brace and lift the massive beam. Sweat beads on my forehead as I guide our efforts.

  "On three, push it upright against that wall. One... two... three!"

  We heave in unison, muscles straining. The beam rises slowly, then slots into place against the remaining wall of what was once the bakery. I quickly direct two villagers to secure it with rope while we hold it steady.

  "Gather those broken boards," I order once the beam is secure. "We can salvage enough to reinforce the remaining walls. And someone fetch those nails from the blacksmith's cart. I want these structures sound enough to shelter everyone by nightfall."

  My orders ring clear across the square, providing direction amid chaos. This is what I was trained for – not just fighting, but protecting. The Rhythm Knights of old may be gone, their magic faded into legend, but their ethos of service remains in those of us who guard villages like Harmonious.

  A prickling sensation at the back of my neck makes me turn. Thane Darkthorn stands at the edge of the square, his lean frame silhouetted against the rising sun. Unlike the rest of us, his clothes bear no dust or tear marks, his appearance immaculate despite the surrounding destruction. He speaks to a small group of villagers, his voice too low for me to hear clearly, but his posture conveys intimate conspiracy.

  I move closer, pretending to inspect a damaged wall.

  "—must ask yourselves why this happened now," Thane is saying, his tone reasonable and concerned. "Such attacks don't occur without cause."

  "But what cause could there be?" asks a woman whose pottery shop was destroyed. "We're a peaceful village."

  Thane's smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Peaceful, yes. But perhaps harboring secrets." He leans in closer. "Her secrets have brought this curse upon us."

  I don't need to ask who "her" refers to. The pronoun hangs in the air like an accusation, aimed directly at Lyra. My jaw tightens.

  "Thane," I interrupt, my voice carefully controlled. "Aren't you supposed to be cataloging the eastern damages?"

  He straightens, that calculating smile now directed at me. "Just offering comfort to our distressed neighbors, Guard Aelia." The title sounds like mockery in his mouth. "In times of crisis, people deserve answers."

  "They deserve accurate information, not rumors," I counter, stepping closer. Though I keep my voice low, there's steel beneath my words. "If you want to help, there's plenty of actual work to be done."

  The dark scar at the corner of his mouth twists his smile into something sinister. "Of course. I simply believe in addressing all possibilities. Even those that might be... uncomfortable."

  Before I can respond, a collective gasp rises from the center of the square. Every head turns toward the fountain, where the dark crystal has begun to pulse visibly, its surface flickering with inner light – except it's not light at all, but something darker than darkness itself, a visual void that hurts to look at directly.

  Eldrin has stepped back, his staff raised defensively before him. Lyra moves quickly to his side, her hands poised to summon her ice magic if needed.

  I hurry toward them, positioning myself between the crystal and the gathered villagers. "Everyone, keep back!"

  "You see?" Thane's voice carries easily over the sudden hush. "It responds to her presence. Ask yourselves why."

  I whirl to face him, fury building in my throat, but it's Eldrin who speaks.

  "It responds to fear," the Elder says, his words falling like stones into still water. "To division. To exactly what you sow with your accusations, young man."

  The crystal's pulsing intensifies, drawing all eyes back to it. Each throb seems to pull at something inside me, a tugging sensation as if it's trying to extract notes from my very soul. I can see others feeling it too – villagers touching their throats, a few humming unconsciously.

  Lyra steps forward, her face composed but her eyes betraying concern. She reaches for the simple wooden flute at her belt but doesn't draw it yet.

  "What is it doing?" I ask Eldrin, keeping my voice steady for the benefit of the watching villagers.

  The old sage's expression is grave. "Listening. Learning. And soon, I fear... calling."

  "Calling to what?"

  "Not what," Eldrin replies. "Who."

  As if in answer, the crystal emits a pulse stronger than before, and for a brief moment, I hear a note – a perfect, terrible sound that makes my teeth ache and my heart skip. Several villagers clutch their ears, though the sound isn't exactly audible – it's felt more than heard.

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  "To work, everyone," I command, breaking the spell of fascination the crystal has cast. "This village won't rebuild itself. Focus on what needs doing, not on mysteries best left to those equipped to handle them."

  The villagers hesitantly return to their tasks, but I notice their eyes constantly darting back to the crystal, to Lyra, to Thane. Seeds of doubt have been planted, and I fear what harvest they might yield.

  Lyra approaches me, close enough that her shoulder brushes mine. "We need to speak," she says softly. "About what happened three nights ago. About what I saw before the attack."

  I nod once, sharply. "Tonight, after the repairs. For now, we need to be seen working, not whispering."

  She understands immediately, moving away to continue helping the injured. As she goes, the crystal's pulsing subtly changes rhythm, following her movements like an unwanted admirer.

  I turn to find Thane watching me, that unsettling smile still playing on his lips. He offers a small, mocking bow before turning to join a group clearing debris – making sure to position himself where he can continue his quiet campaign of insinuation.

  My hands clench into fists. Whatever game he's playing, whatever agenda he serves, I cannot – will not – let him undermine the fragile trust that holds our efforts together. Harmonious may be broken, but it remains our home, and I've sworn to protect it – from external threats and internal ones alike.

  The sun climbs higher, promising a long day ahead. I roll up my sleeves and move to the next task, keeping one eye on the pulsing crystal and the other on Thane Darkthorn. The weight of leadership sits heavy on my shoulders, but not as heavy as the unspoken truth Lyra and I have been keeping.

  Some secrets are worth protecting, no matter the cost. At least, that's what I keep telling myself as I return to the endless work of rebuilding what was lost.

  I stand behind the rickety wooden podium, its surface still bearing scorch marks from three nights ago. The canvas overhead snaps in the wind like impatient fingers, casting shifting shadows across the faces of villagers gathered below. Their eyes hold the same question – why us? – though their expressions range from anger to fear to a hollow resignation that troubles me more than outrage ever could. Beside me, Lyra shifts her weight, her royal blue cloak slightly askew after a morning spent bandaging wounds instead of adjusting her appearance.

  "She looks nervous," whispers an elder woman sitting in the front row to her neighbor. "Never seen the healer so unsettled."

  I clear my throat, drawing their attention. My guard uniform, dusty from the morning's work, still carries enough authority to silence the murmurs. For now.

  "Neighbors," I begin, my voice projecting across the makeshift meeting space. "I know you're frightened. I know you want answers about what happened to our village."

  Eyes dart to the dark crystal now mounted on a battered pillar at the edge of our gathering. Eldrin insisted on moving it here, saying we need to "observe its responses to collective emotion." Whatever that means. The old sage himself stands apart from the crowd, his gaze fixed not on me but on the crystal's obsidian surface.

  "The attack three nights ago was unlike anything Harmonious has faced before," I continue. "But we've already begun rebuilding. The eastern quarter will have roofs by nightfall, and the well is functional again thanks to the efforts of—"

  "We didn't come to hear about repairs," interrupts a man whose tavern was among the first buildings to burn. "We want to know why we were targeted. And if it will happen again."

  Murmurs of agreement ripple through the crowd. I grip the edges of the podium, my knuckles whitening.

  "That's precisely why Elder Eldrin is examining the crystal left behind. It appears to be connected to the attack, though we don't yet understand exactly how." I gesture toward the old sage, hoping his reputation will lend weight to my words. "Until we have more information, speculation will only breed fear."

  Lyra steps forward slightly, her presence a reassuring warmth at my side. The sunlight catches in her blue hair, turning it almost silver at the edges. There's something regal in how she faces the crowd – a quality she's tried to suppress since arriving in our village, but which emerges in moments of stress like an ingrained reflex.

  "I've been working with the Elder," she says, her voice carrying the subtle melody that makes even her plainest statements sound like the beginning of a song. "The crystal appears to be an ancient artifact, possibly predating the Fall. Its purpose isn't yet clear, but—"

  "Its purpose seems perfectly clear to some of us," comes a smooth voice from the back of the crowd.

  The villagers part as Thane Darkthorn moves forward with measured steps. Unlike the rest of us, he wears no dust from the morning's rebuilding efforts. His dark clothes remain immaculate, his hair perfectly in place. He steps to the front with a calculating smile that never reaches his eyes, positioning himself where everyone can see him – a performer taking center stage.

  "Friends," he says, that single word somehow both warming and chilling. "I understand Guard Aelia's desire to focus on practical matters. It's admirable." He offers me a slight nod that manages to be both courteous and dismissive. "But we cannot rebuild without understanding what we face."

  I resist the urge to interrupt him, knowing it would only make me appear defensive. Instead, I watch as he turns to address the crowd directly, his posture open, inviting trust.

  "It is no coincidence that this calamity befalls us," he declares in a clear, measured tone. "Nothing in our world happens without cause and effect. We must ask ourselves: what changed recently in Harmonious? What – or who – might have drawn this attention to our peaceful village?"

  His gaze slides meaningfully to Lyra, whose fingers have tightened on the edge of her cloak. I feel a protective anger rising in my chest.

  "Consider if the runaway princess hides the true cause," Thane continues, his voice lowered as if sharing a confidence, though it carries perfectly to every ear. "Strange, isn't it, that a woman of such unusual talents appeared in our village mere months before this attack? A woman whose past remains conveniently shrouded in mystery?"

  The crowd's reaction is immediate – heads turning toward Lyra, whispers blooming like poisonous flowers. I've heard the rumors myself over the past few weeks: that Lyra might be connected to royalty, that her mysterious arrival might have deeper implications. But to hear Thane voice them so bluntly, so publicly, sends a surge of anger through me.

  "That's enough," I say, stepping forward. "Throwing accusations helps no one."

  "Is seeking truth an accusation?" Thane asks innocently. "I merely suggest we consider all possibilities."

  "And I suggest you focus on facts," I counter, my voice hardening. "Fact: Lyra has healed dozens of our wounded since the attack. Fact: She's been a valued member of this community since her arrival. Fact: We are protecting our home; focus on repair, not rumor."

  A few voices murmur agreement, but I can see the damage is already done. The seed of suspicion has been planted, and it's taking root in fertile ground fertilized by fear.

  The baker's wife stands, her flour-dusted apron still bearing bloodstains from helping the injured. "If there's something you're not telling us, Aelia, we deserve to know. Our children's safety—"

  "Is exactly why I wouldn't withhold important information," I finish firmly. "We're all neighbors here. We've broken bread together, celebrated harvests together, mourned losses together. I've served as your guard for seven years, and in that time, when have I ever given you reason to doubt my commitment to Harmonious?"

  This generates stronger support, heads nodding throughout the crowd. I press my advantage.

  "The attack came from outside our village. Whatever force left this crystal means us harm, yes – but division from within will only make us more vulnerable. We need unity now more than ever."

  Lyra steps forward, her voice steady despite the accusation still hanging in the air. "I came to Harmonious seeking peace, as many do. My past is my own, but my present and future belong to this village – to helping rebuild what was lost and protecting what remains."

  Her words seem to resonate, the tension easing slightly. I allow myself a small breath of relief, which proves premature when a tremor suddenly shakes the ground beneath our feet.

  It starts subtly – a vibration that might be mistaken for distant thunder – but quickly intensifies. The canvas above us snaps violently. Loose tiles scatter from damaged rooftops, and the bundled firewood stacked against a nearby wall topples with a crash.

  Cries of alarm rise from the crowd as people grab for support. I brace myself against the podium, which wobbles precariously.

  "Everyone stay calm!" I shout above the noise.

  At the edge of our gathering, the dark crystal mounted on its pillar begins to pulse, its rhythm accelerating like a quickening heartbeat. The glow that emanates from it isn't light – it's more like a visible absence, a void that pulls at the eyes and leaves afterimages when you look away.

  Eldrin moves toward it, his staff raised defensively, but even the old sage keeps his distance as the crystal's pulsations grow more intense.

  "It's responding," he calls to me over the rumbling. "Just as it did this morning – but stronger now."

  "Responding to what?" I demand, but my question is lost as the tremor peaks in a violent jolt that knocks several villagers from their feet.

  In the moment of stunned silence that follows, a young woman near the back stands, her face pale. "It's him," she says, her voice shaking. "My cousin in Westhollow spoke of this before their village was destroyed last season. The dark crystals. The tremors. It's the work of Zephyr Nightbreeze."

  The name sends a visible ripple through the crowd. I've heard it myself – whispered in taverns, mentioned in reports from other villages. A powerful sorcerer, they say. A man who collects ancient artifacts and leaves destruction in his wake.

  "That's just a rumor," I start to say, but another voice cuts through.

  "No, she's right! The trader who passed through last month told similar tales. Villages reduced to ash, and always these strange crystals left behind."

  The crystal's pulsing intensifies at the mention of Zephyr's name, the void-like glow cutting through the swirling dust kicked up by the tremor. Its rhythm changes, becoming almost musical – though a music that sets teeth on edge and makes hair stand on end.

  "It's calling to him," Eldrin's voice carries unnaturally over the growing chaos. "The crystal serves as both beacon and eye."

  Panic erupts in an instant. Villagers scramble from their seats, some running for their homes, others shouting warnings about another attack coming. A mother grabs her children and pushes toward the village outskirts. The blacksmith calls for weapons to be distributed.

  "SILENCE!" I roar, channeling every ounce of authority I possess.

  Surprisingly, it works – at least partially. The crowd's movement slows, eyes turning back to me.

  "We don't know that this Zephyr person is connected to what happened here," I say firmly. "What we do know is that panic will not help us prepare or protect ourselves. Return to your homes. Secure your families. Representatives from each quarter will meet at the guard post at sundown to organize watch rotations."

  My practical instructions provide a framework that some desperately need. About half the villagers begin moving in more orderly fashion, the panic receding into purposeful action.

  But others remain unconvinced. A cluster gathers around Thane, who leans in, speaking too quietly for me to hear. From their glances toward Lyra, I can guess the content of his whispers.

  The crystal's pulsing suddenly intensifies, the pitch of its silent music rising to something almost painful. Several people clutch their ears, though there's no actual sound – only the sensation of one.

  "We need to move it," Lyra says urgently at my side. "Away from the village."

  "Agreed," I reply, then raise my voice again. "Clear the square! Everyone back!"

  As villagers scatter, I step toward the crystal, determined to somehow contain this threat. But before I can reach it, the tremor returns – stronger this time, violent enough to crack the already damaged cobblestones. The battered pillar supporting the crystal totters.

  Lyra reaches for her flute, her fingers moving to summon her ice magic, but Thane's voice cuts through the chaos.

  "See how the witch responds!" he calls out. "See how eagerly she approaches what destroyed our homes! Ask yourselves why!"

  Several villagers pause in their flight, turning back with suspicion in their eyes. I stand with raised fists, my stance widening as I position myself between Lyra and the onlookers, a determined glare fixed on my face.

  "Get them to safety," I tell a fellow guard who appears at my side. "All of them. Now."

  As the square empties, Lyra, Eldrin and I form a triangle around the crystal, which now pulses with a rhythm that feels almost like words – a message I cannot quite comprehend but that resonates in my bones.

  "What is it saying?" I ask Eldrin, who stands with his staff planted firmly before him.

  The old sage's expression is grave. "It speaks of a master returning. Of a key and a door. Of music that will unmake what was made."

  Lyra raises her flute to her lips. "I can try to counter its rhythm with ice magic. Perhaps freeze it temporarily."

  "No," Eldrin says sharply. "Its power would merely be contained, building pressure until it breaks free more violently. We must understand its purpose before attempting to nullify it."

  The ominous light of the crystal cuts through the swirling dust, casting unnatural shadows across our faces. In that eerie illumination, I see Lyra's expression harden with determination and something else – recognition.

  "You've seen something like this before," I say. It's not a question.

  Her golden eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I glimpse the weight of secrets she carries. "Not like this exactly. But similar artifacts were kept in the royal vaults, locked away and forbidden to touch. They were said to be remnants from before the Fall."

  "And now one appears in our village, just after you arrive," comes Thane's voice from the edge of the square. He hasn't fled with the others but stands watching us, that calculating smile playing on his lips. "Such interesting timing."

  I step toward him, anger overriding caution. "If you have something to say, Darkthorn, say it plainly."

  "I believe I already have." His dark eyes shift to Lyra. "The runaway princess brings more than just her talents to our humble village, it seems. She brings her troubles as well."

  Before I can respond, the crystal emits a pulse so strong it knocks us all back a step. The void-light intensifies, swirling like liquid darkness, and within it – just for an instant – I see a face. Sharp, aristocratic features. Dark hair falling in elegant waves. Eyes that seem to absorb light rather than reflect it.

  Then it's gone, the crystal's pulsing subsiding to a steady rhythm once more.

  "Zephyr," Eldrin whispers, confirming my worst fear.

  Thane's expression registers genuine shock for once, quickly masked behind his customary smirk. "Well," he says, straightening his immaculate clothes, "it seems we have our answer about who is coming. The question remains: who invited him?"

  I stand my ground, fists still raised, the crystal's light casting long shadows across the abandoned square. My heart pounds a rhythm that feels disturbingly similar to the crystal's pulse, as if it's somehow synchronizing with my very life force.

  "It doesn't matter who he's coming for," I say, my voice low and determined. "He'll have to go through me first."

  The wind picks up, sending abandoned papers swirling around our feet. The canvas overhead tears free from one corner, flapping like a wounded bird. In the distance, thunder rolls – or perhaps it's another tremor building. Either way, I know with cold certainty that this is just the beginning.

  Harmonious has faced hardship before, but never an enemy like this – never a threat that seems to target not just our village, but Lyra specifically. Whatever secrets she carries, whatever past she fled, it's caught up with her at last.

  And as the village's guard, as her friend, as the woman who's fallen foolishly, completely in love with her, I will stand between her and the coming storm, no matter the cost.

  The dark crystal pulses on, a sinister heartbeat counting down to something I cannot yet name but instinctively dread. Somewhere, Zephyr Nightbreeze is coming. And if the legends about him are even partly true, we'll need more than courage to face what lies ahead.