The aftermath of battle clung to Goblin’s Hollow like a shroud of decay. Three days had passed since the coalition forces retreated, leaving behind the wreckage of their siege engines and the bloated corpses of their fallen. Ravens and other carrion feeders circled overhead, descending periodically to feast upon eyes and soft tissue, indifferent to the insignias that once proudly adorned the dead.
Reed stood atop the eastern wall, watching as goblin work crews dragged the coalition’s dead into great pyres. The stench of burning flesh had beco constant—a miasma that seeped into clothing, hair, and mory. Yet Reed found himself increasingly unmoved by it. The fragnts pulsing within him seed to consu his human revulsion, replacing it with cold, analytical observation.
"The inner sanctum is secure again," Kalia reported, climbing the rampart to join him. Blood still crusted the joints of her armor; she’d had no ti to clean it properly. "Shia has the wounded stabilized, but we lost twenty-eight defenders in the final push."
Reed nodded. "And the prisoners?"
"Seventeen officers, including two fragnt bearers. They’re... compliant." She hesitated. "Reed, the things you did to Lord Denwyr—whatever you showed him—it’s broken sothing in him. He sits in his cell, repeating the sa phrase over and over."
"What phrase?"
"’The void has eyes.’ What does that an?"
Reed turned to her, and for a mont, Kalia caught a glimpse of sothing beneath his skin—a writhing darkness that twisted through his veins like living ink before fading from view.
"It ans he saw the truth," Reed said simply. "About the fragnts. About what they really are."
Before Kalia could question him further, a goblin scout approached, her movents displaying the newfound grace that had begun to characterize all of Shia’s elite forces.
"Riders approaching from the north," the scout reported. "Not coalition. Different insignia—black robes, silver masks. Six in total."
Reed’s eyes narrowed. The rged fragnts within him surged in recognition, though he himself had never seen such a description before. It felt like ancestral mory—knowledge imprinted into the very essence of the fragnts themselves.
"Let them approach," he commanded. "But quietly alert Eris and Thorne. Have them ready, but unseen."
The visitors arrived with the precision of diplomats, not warriors. They rode black horses whose hooves made no sound upon the rocky path—a minor working of magic that nonetheless demonstrated considerable skill. Each rider wore robes of midnight silk embroidered with constellations in silver thread, their faces concealed behind featureless masks that reflected the world like polished mirrors.
They halted at the entrance to Goblin’s Hollow, making no move toward weapons when Shia’s guards surrounded them with spears and crude but effective crossbows.
"We seek audience with Reed of the rged Fragnts," announced their leader, a tall figure whose mask bore a single vertical line bisecting its surface. "The Council of Shadows extends its greetings."
Whispers rippled through the goblin ranks. Even Kalia stiffened beside Reed.
"The Council is myth," she murmured. "Bedti stories to frighten noble children into obedience."
"Evidently not," Reed replied, stepping forward to address the visitors. "I am Reed. State your purpose here or leave."
The leader dismounted with fluid grace, then removed her mask to reveal the face of a woman perhaps forty years of age. Her features were aristocratic but marked by a network of fine scars that resembled a spiderweb across her left cheek and eye. That eye glead with an unnatural silver light—the unmistakable mark of a fragnt bearer.
"I am Lysandra, Voice of the Council’s Ninth Seat," she said, her tone carrying the refined cadence of palace education. "We have watched you for so ti, Reed of Nowhere. The siege simply accelerated our titable for contact."
"Watched ?" Reed’s voice remained calm, but the air around him darkened imperceptibly. "For what purpose?"
"Perhaps this discussion would be better continued sowhere less... exposed?" Lysandra suggested, glancing aningfully at the gathered goblins and the still-smoldering pyres beyond the walls.
Reed considered her for a long mont, feeling the fragnts within him assessing, probing for deceit or threat. They found neither—only a curious resonance, as if Lysandra’s own fragnt recognized sothing in Reed’s rged power.
"The great hall," he decided. "Your companions may bring no weapons."
Lysandra smiled thinly. "We need none."
The great hall of Goblin’s Hollow bore little resemblance to its na. Once a natural cavern, Reed and Shia had transford it into a functional command center, lit by crystalline sconces that emitted steady blue light. Maps covered rough-hewn tables, and the walls were lined with shelves of scrolls and artifacts salvaged from a dozen ruins. At the center stood a circular stone table—a recent addition, carved with runes that glowed faintly when fragnt bearers approached.
Reed sat with Kalia and Shia at his side. Eris and Thorne positioned themselves in shadowed alcoves, weapons ready. Across from them, Lysandra and two of her companions had removed their masks, while three remained concealed.
"The Council of Shadows," Reed began, "is said to have been destroyed during the Sorcerers’ Purge. Yet here you sit."
"Rumors of our destruction served our purposes," Lysandra replied. "For five centuries, we have operated beyond the sight of kings and lords. We observe, we record, and occasionally... we intervene."
"And what intervention brings you to my door?"
"You do, Reed. Or more precisely, what you have accomplished." She gestured to his chest, where beneath his clothing, the rged fragnts pulsed. "In all our records, dating back to the First Cataclysm, there exist only three docunted cases of successful fragnt rging. Two resulted in the bearer’s death within days. The third produced a being of such power and instability that the Blighted Lands stand as testant to its passing."
Reed leaned forward. "Yet here I stand."
"Indeed. Your success intrigues us. More than that—it represents a potential solution to a crisis that approaches."
One of the masked figures placed an object on the table—a crystalline sphere that imdiately began to emit a soft, pulsating light. Within its depths, images ford: vast landscapes changing, mountains crumbling, seas boiling, and finally, a tear in reality itself—a wound in the world that leaked darkness.
"The Veil weakens," Lysandra continued. "The barrier between our realm and what lies beyond—the source from which all fragnts originate—grows thin. Our calculations give us less than two years before catastrophic breach."
Shia hissed through sharp teeth, her fragnt responding to the images with vibrations that Reed could sense across the table.
"If this is true," Kalia said, "why co to us? Surely the Dewan Lords or the Royal Houses have resources—"
"The Dewan Lords are the problem," interrupted one of the unmasked councilors, an elderly man with skin like weathered mahogany. "For generations, they have hoarded fragnts, treating them as objects of power and prestige rather than what they truly are."
"And what are they truly?" Reed asked, though a part of him—the part where the rged fragnts resided—already knew the answer.
Lysandra’s silver eye flashed. "Keys, Reed. The fragnts are keys, pieces of an ancient chanism designed to repair the Veil when it weakens. They were never ant to be separated, scattered across bloodlines and buried in vaults. They were ant to be united."
The implications washed over Reed like ice water. "You’re suggesting that what I’ve done—"
"Is precisely what the fragnts were designed for," Lysandra confird. "Your rging of the Warden and Sovereign fragnts isn’t an abomination as the Dewan claims. It’s the beginning of restoration. The fragnts seek reunification. They call to each other across distances. What you’ve experienced as increased power is rely a fraction of their true purpose."
Reed felt the fragnts pulse in confirmation, resonating with Lysandra’s words. Deep within, he sensed sothing unfurling—a knowledge locked within the fragnts themselves, accessible only now that soone had given it context.
"If what you say is true," he said slowly, "then the third fragnt in my possession—"
"Should be rged as well," Lysandra finished. "And others after that. As many as can be gathered before the Veil fails completely."
Kalia’s hand went to her sword hilt. "This sounds like madness. You’re asking Reed to absorb more fragnts? The two he carries already transform him by the day. His humanity—"
"Is a small price to pay for the world’s survival," said the elderly councilor harshly.
The room fell silent. Reed felt the weight of all eyes upon him—the councilors’ calculation, Kalia’s concern, Shia’s fascination, and sowhere, watching from shadow, Eris’s cold assessnt.
"You want to join your Council," Reed surmised. "To beco your instrunt against this coming crisis."
Lysandra inclined her head. "We offer knowledge, resources, and protection. The Dewan Lords already hunt you. Prince Tarrant gathers a force unlike any seen in generations—thirteen fragnt bearers united under royal command. Even with your power, you cannot stand against such opposition alone."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then we find another solution," Lysandra said simply. "Though ti grows short, and you remain the most promising path forward."
Reed rose from the table, walking to the far wall where a rough map showed the known domains. The fragnts within him stirred, pushing at his consciousness with images and sensations: a world torn asunder, reality unwoven, and darkness pouring through.
"You’ve watched for so ti," he said without turning. "Then you know what I’ve learned about the nature of power and those who wield it. The Council claims noble purpose now, but what guarantee do I have that once the crisis passes—if it passes—you won’t simply beco the new Dewan? New masters of a world remade?"
One of the masked councilors shifted, but Lysandra raised a hand for silence.
"No guarantee but this," she said. "We offer you full mbership in the Council, not servitude. Equal voice, equal knowledge. Your seat would be the Seventh, vacant since the Breaking of Moons."
Reed turned back to face them. "And my people here? The goblins who fought and died while your Council watched?"
"Protected," Lysandra promised. "Recognized as sovereign domain under Council charter."
The offer hung in the air between them. Reed sensed Kalia’s growing skepticism, Shia’s cautious optimism. The fragnts within him churned with contradictory impulses—ancestral mories of betrayal warring with the fundantal drive toward reunification.
"I need ti," he said finally. "One day to consider your offer."
Lysandra rose. "One day. We shall await your answer at the crossroads north of here." She replaced her mask, the silver line catching the light. "Choose wisely, Reed of Nowhere. The Veil tears regardless of our politics."
The councilors departed as silently as they had arrived, leaving behind the crystal sphere, still pulsing with apocalyptic visions on the stone table.
Night fell over Goblin’s Hollow, but Reed found no rest. He stood in his private chamber, staring at the container that held the third fragnt—an unassuming iron box etched with containnt sigils. Through its sealed lid, he could feel the fragnt’s call, stronger now that he understood its purpose.
"You don’t trust them," Eris said, materializing from the shadows as was her custom.
"I don’t trust anyone who conceals themselves for centuries while claiming to safeguard the world," Reed replied.
"Yet their story explains much. The fragnts’ behavior. The changes in you." She stepped closer, examining his face with professional detachnt. "You’re less human by the day, Reed. Your eyes changed color again this morning."
He didn’t contest the observation. "If they speak truth, my humanity may be necessary sacrifice."
"And if they lie?"
Reed placed his hand on the iron box, feeling the fragnt within respond to his rged power. "Then I beco sothing they cannot control, regardless of their plans."
The door opened, admitting Kalia and Thorne. Both looked grim.
"Riders on the north road," Thorne reported. "Royal banners. Prince Tarrant’s vanguard approaches faster than we anticipated."
Kalia’s face was drawn with concern. "The Council must have known. This is their way of forcing your hand."
"Or," Reed countered, "their presence here forced Tarrant to accelerate his plans." He made a decision, lifting the iron box. "Either way, we need more power to face what cos."
"Reed, no—" Kalia began, but he had already broken the seals.
The chamber filled with pulsating light as Reed opened the container, revealing the third fragnt—a jagged shard of obsidian that seed to devour the light around it. The Void Walker fragnt, ancient beyond reckoning, harvested from the corpse of a chaos mage weeks earlier.
"If I am to choose between masters," Reed said as the fragnt rose from its container, drawn to the rged power within him, "I choose none."
The fragnt hovered before him, rotating slowly, its edges bleeding darkness. Within its depths, Reed glimpsed infinities—the sa void that had driven Lord Denwyr to madness.
"I may not return from this as myself," he told his companions. "If that happens, do what must be done."
Before they could respond, Reed grasped the fragnt and pressed it against his chest. Reality fractured around him as a third power entered the impossible rger, his screams echoing through Goblin’s Hollow as flesh and spirit reconfigured to accommodate what no human was ant to contain.
Beyond the walls, Prince Tarrant’s forces crested the horizon, thirteen fragnt bearers glowing with power at their head.
And sowhere in the darkness between stars, the Veil tore a fraction wider.
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