THE LAST STARWEAVER : THE SUNDERING
Chapter 6: The Sundered Lands
The Sundered Lands began at the edge of a cliff.
Zephyra stood at the precipice, looking out at the wasteland below. The earth was cracked and black, split by fissures that glowed with faint, pulsing light. The sky was gray—not the soft gray of morning clouds, but the hard gray of stone, of ash, of death. No birds flew. No wind blew. No sound broke the silence.
It was the quietest place she had ever been.
And the loudest.
Because she could hear them.
The whispers.
Not the whispers of the Emberwood. Not the echoes of Thornhaven. Different whispers. Older. Colder. Hungrier.
Starweaver, they hissed. Starweaver. Starweaver. Starweaver.
Zephyra gripped the knife at her belt.
Theron stood beside her.
“The Sundered Lands were once the heart of the Starweavers’ kingdom,” he said. “A place of beauty. A place of light. A place of hope.”
“What happened?”
“The door opened. The darkness poured through. The Starweavers tried to seal it. They failed.”
“And now?”
Theron looked at the wasteland.
“Now it is a tomb.”
They descended into the darkness.
The path was narrow, cut into the side of the cliff, barely wide enough for one person. The stone was loose, crumbling beneath their feet. Zephyra pressed herself against the wall, her heart pounding, her breath shallow.
Below her, the fissures glowed.
Below her, the whispers grew louder.
Starweaver. Starweaver. Starweaver.
“Don’t listen to them,” Theron said.
“I can’t help it.”
“Yes, you can. Focus on my voice. Focus on the path. Focus on the light.”
“What light?”
Theron looked at her.
Her eyes.
One brown. One silver.
“Your light,” he said. “The light that burns inside you. The light that the darkness fears.”
They reached the bottom of the cliff.
The ground was black and cracked, covered in a layer of ash that rose in clouds with every step. The fissures were wider here, deep enough to swallow a person whole. The glow from within pulsed like a heartbeat.
Zephyra walked carefully.
Theron walked beside her.
“The first trial is close,” he said.
“How do you know?”
He pointed at the sky.
She looked up.
The clouds were parting.
And through them, she saw it.
A star.
Not a dying star. Not a new star.
A broken star.
Cracked and shattered, its light flickering, its pieces scattered across the horizon like shards of glass.
“The Broken Star,” Theron said. “The first to fall. The first to die. The first to be forgotten.”
“What do I have to do?”
Theron looked at her.
“Find its heart. Claim its power. Survive.”
They walked for hours.
The wasteland stretched before them, endless and empty. The ash rose in clouds. The fissures glowed. The whispers grew louder.
Zephyra’s legs ached. Her lungs burned. Her eyes stung.
But she kept walking.
She could not stop.
The star was calling her.
Come, it whispered. Come and find me. Come and claim me. Come before the darkness does.
And the darkness was coming.
She could feel it.
Behind her.
Watching.
Waiting.
Hungry.
Theron stopped.
His hand went to his sword.
“What is it?” Zephyra asked.
He pointed at the horizon.
At the shadows.
At the movement.
“Something is out there.”
Zephyra squinted.
At first, she saw nothing.
Then—
Movement.
Shapes in the darkness. Low to the ground. Moving fast.
“They’ve found us,” Theron said.
“What are they?”
Theron drew his sword.
The blade blazed with pale light.
“The Hounds of the Void. The darkness’s hunters. The ones who killed the last Starweaver.”
The first Hound lunged.
It was not a wolf. Not a dog. Not anything Zephyra had ever seen. Its body was made of shadow and smoke, its eyes were pits of darkness, its teeth were shards of broken glass.
Theron met it head-on.
His sword cut through the shadow.
The Hound screamed.
It dissolved into smoke.
But more were coming.
Dozens of them. Hundreds. Pouring out of the fissures, out of the darkness, out of the hunger.
“Run!” Theron shouted.
Zephyra ran.
She ran through the ash, through the darkness, through the whispers. The Hounds chased her. Their howls filled the air. Their breath was cold on her neck.
She ran faster.
Her lungs burned. Her legs screamed. Her heart pounded.
And then—
She fell.
The ground opened beneath her.
She tumbled into darkness.
She landed hard.
The breath was knocked from her lungs. Her head struck stone. Her vision blurred.
Above her, the Hounds howled.
But they did not follow.
They could not.
She had fallen into a fissure.
And the fissure was sacred.
The Hounds could not enter.
Zephyra lay on the cold stone, gasping for breath, waiting for death.
Death did not come.
Instead—
Light.
Not the cold light of the fissures. Not the warm light of the sun.
A different light.
Pale and silver, like moonlight on snow.
She looked up.
The Broken Star was before her.
Not in the sky.
In the fissure.
Its heart.
Its power.
Its light.
Zephyra pushed herself to her feet.
Her body screamed.
But she walked.
She walked toward the light.
The whispers grew louder.
Starweaver. Starweaver. Starweaver.
She reached the heart of the Broken Star.
It was a crystal—small and jagged, pulsing with pale light. It floated in the center of the fissure, suspended by nothing, waiting.
“Take it,” a voice said.
She turned.
Theron stood behind her.
His sword was dark. His face was pale. His eyes were steady.
“Take it,” he said again.
“What will it do to me?”
Theron was silent for a long moment.
“It will change you. It will hurt you. It will make you more than you are.”
“And if I don’t?”
Theron looked at the fissure’s opening.
At the Hounds.
At the darkness.
“Then we die.”
Zephyra reached out.
Her hand trembled.
Her fingers touched the crystal.
The light exploded.
Not the cold light of the star. Not the warm light of the sun.
A different light.
A light that was everything.
It filled her. Flooded her. Consumed her.
She felt her bones crack and reform. Her blood burn and cool. Her mind shatter and heal.
She saw things—ancient things, terrible things, beautiful things.
She saw the Starweavers, standing in their tower, singing the stars into existence.
She saw the Betrayer, opening the door, letting the darkness pour through.
She saw the Starfall, the sky breaking, the stars dying.
She saw the world burning.
And then—
Silence.
She opened her eyes.
The crystal was gone.
The light was gone.
The fissure was dark.
But she was different.
She could feel it.
The power.
Sleeping in her blood.
Waiting.
Theron knelt before her.
“Starweaver,” he said.
Zephyra looked at her hands.
They were glowing.
Pale silver light, pulsing gently, like a heartbeat.
“What have I become?” she whispered.
Theron looked up at her.
His gray eyes were wet.
“You have become what you were always meant to be. The last hope.”