The Shattered Crowns

"Where are you, Akash?" shouted a silver-haired girl, her voice cutting through the heavy air of the jungle.

She stood still for a moment, her sharp eyes scanning the foliage, the bow in her hands drawn and ready. She wore simple green-and-brown leathers, their earthy tones blending seamlessly with the vibrant jungle around her. Her breathing mask hissed faintly, venting quick puffs of water vapor as it kept the humid air from choking her lungs. A faint sheen of sweat glistened on her brow despite the shade of the thick canopy overhead.

Above her, the trees shifted in the breeze, the branches swaying in unison like ocean waves. Shafts of sunlight dappled her darker skin, which seemed to drink in the warmth filtering through the emerald ceiling. Somewhere above, hidden among the shifting leaves, was Akash.

Her sharp eyes scanned the treetops, searching for the faintest disruption in the sea of green. The boy could be anywhere, blending into the vast jungle canopy. The game of cat and mouse they played was a regular part of their lives, though it often left her exasperated.

Far above, nestled in the dense canopy, Akash reclined lazily against a tree trunk. His burgundy hair was a striking contrast to the sea of green around him, though the sleek, black suit he wore helped him melt into the shadows. Like the girl below, a breathing apparatus covered his face, releasing faint puffs of vapor as it filtered the humid air.

His muscles relaxed as the mask pumped fresh oxygen into his bloodstream, easing the strain of the jungle's oppressive atmosphere. From his vantage point, he had an unbroken view of the girl below, her bow drawn and her movements careful. He watched her with a faint smirk tugging at his lips, waiting for the perfect moment to act.

Akash raised a gloved hand and tapped the edge of his mask. A sharp, shrill whistle pierced the glade, shattering the quiet. A low, guttural growl answered his call, reverberating through the underbrush.

The girl, Daenys, immediately spun in the direction of the growl. Her movements were fluid, practiced, and deadly. She released an arrow into the jungle, its sharp tip vanishing into the thick foliage.

"Stop messing with me, Akash!" she yelled, her tone equal parts frustration and challenge. Her eyes darted upward, scanning the treetops again. "I know you're up there!"

The leaves above her rustled slightly, but she didn't have time to react to the hulking shape that leapt from the shadows. A faint shriek escaped her lips as a massive weight crashed into her, forcing her to the ground. She hit the soft jungle floor with a grunt, pinned beneath an enormous sabertooth tiger.

"Elys, get off me!" Daenys snapped, squirming beneath the beast. A rough, sandpaper-like tongue dragged across her cheek, and she let out a sound of pure disgust. "Ugh, that's disgusting!"

Elys, the tiger, remained firmly in place, his massive paws planted on either side of her. His deep burgundy fur gleamed in the dappled sunlight, the dark stripes along his coat blending almost perfectly with the surrounding foliage. Long, serrated fangs jutted from his powerful jaws, as sharp and dangerous as any blade. But despite his fearsome appearance, the tiger purred softly, clearly enjoying the game.

Laughter rang out from above. "Who's the winner now, Daenys?" Akash called down, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction.

Daenys shot a glare upward. "Winner? You're calling this a win?"

Akash grinned, leaning casually against the trunk of his tree. "Well, you're the one pinned to the ground, aren't you?"

Her lips curled into a sly smile. "Don't be so sure about that."

Akash's grin faltered as something caught his eye. An arrow was buried in the bark of the tree, mere inches from his head. His expression soured immediately.

"Fine," he muttered. "A tie."

Daenys sat up, brushing dirt from her clothes as Elys finally moved off her. She shook her head, still smiling. "Not even close to a tie."

Akash huffed and leapt down from the tree, landing lightly on the forest floor. "Don't let her get away with this, Elys," he said, pointing at the tiger. "She cheated."

The tiger let out a low growl, padding over to Daenys and brushing against her side like a loyal dog.

"You traitor," Akash muttered. "No fish for you tonight."

Daenys smirked, crossing her arms as she looked Akash up and down. "Face it, you lost. Maybe next time you'll think twice before underestimating me."

"I told you, Akash, you're not getting away with being late this time," Daenys said as they walked through the underbrush. She adjusted her bow, the weapon now slung over her shoulder, and shot him a pointed look. "The Midnight Summer Festival is important. You know how the elders get when people don't show up on time."

Akash rolled his eyes, brushing a stray leaf out of his burgundy hair. "Old hags hate me anyway. They'll survive if I'm late."

Daenys stopped in her tracks, turning to face him. Her arms were crossed, and one eyebrow arched. "You're coming, right? And not in your hunting clothes?"

Akash groaned. "What's wrong with my clothes?"

"They're dirty, for one. And you wear them everywhere. This is the Midnight Summer Festival, Akash. You're supposed to dress up."

"I'm not wearing anything fancy," Akash grumbled. "You can't make me."

Daenys smirked. "Oh, I'll make you. Don't forget, masks aren't allowed during the festival."

"Great," Akash muttered. "Then I get to see old man Cami's face in all its wrinkled glory. That guy could scare a mikar."

Daenys snorted, shaking her head. "You're hopeless. Just don't forget to bring Mirak's gift, or I'll never hear the end of it."

Akash leaned against a thick tree trunk as sunlight filtered through the emerald canopy above, speckling the forest floor in shifting patterns. Elys padded quietly beside him, the great tiger's burgundy fur rippling like waves with each step.

"Looks like we have to go back to the village, Elys. Joy," Akash muttered, his tone dripping with sarcasm. He scratched the back of his head, glancing up at the faint outlines of wooden bridges suspended high in the treetops far to the north. "I was hoping it'd be a few weeks before we had to deal with the elders again."

Elys let out a low growl, brushing against his side in a show of solidarity.

"I know, I know," Akash said with a faint grin, patting the tiger's flank. "Mom would want us there. It's just... they're always watching. Judging." His voice softened. "Like I don't belong."

Elys rubbed his massive head against Akash's arm, purring lightly.

"Yeah, yeah. Lazy cat. You just agree with me because you hate climbing up to the village," Akash teased, his grin widening.

He fished into his pocket and pulled out a small vial of red resin. The substance inside shimmered as it caught the sunlight, its crystallized surface shifting like molten glass. Akash turned it in his hands, watching the way it glimmered before slipping it back into his pouch.

"Better not lose this. Mirak's gonna love it," he muttered to himself.

Elys gave him a knowing look as Akash shrugged. "What? Oh, right. I forgot to change. Guess the hags will just have to deal with it."

Together, they made their way through the dense undergrowth. Akash moved carefully, his footsteps deliberate as he navigated the uneven terrain. The jungle was alive with sound—birds chirping high above, insects buzzing in the thick air, and the occasional distant roar of a predator.

They approached one of the many paths marked by shallow carvings on the trees. Akash reached up and grabbed a low-hanging fruit from a nearby branch, its waxy surface glistening with moisture. He bit into it, savoring the sweet, citrus-like juice, and tossed the other half to Elys, who caught it effortlessly in his jaws.

"Nice catch," Akash said with a chuckle.

As they neared the village, the dense underbrush began to thin, and the towering trees around them grew even more massive, their roots spreading like great veins across the forest floor. The clearing at the base of the village came into view, where enormous trees stretched high into the sky, their thick branches supporting the wooden homes above. Bridges of rope and wood crisscrossed between the trees, forming a sprawling network that hung above the glade like a giant spiderweb.

Akash and Elys came to a halt near one of the towering roots that marked the village's entrance. A crude mechanism with ropes and pulleys hung nearby, ready to haul supplies—or the occasional passenger—up to the treetops.

"Alright, Elys. Time to go up," Akash said, kneeling to attach a harness to the tiger's massive body. Elys growled softly, pawing at the ground in protest.

"Don't give me that look," Akash said, tightening the straps. "You know you can't climb all the way up. Just hold still."

Elys growled again, but he didn't resist as Akash secured him to the mechanism. With a final pat to the tiger's head, Akash pulled the lever, and the ropes groaned as the system lifted Elys into the air. The tiger's wide eyes darted around nervously, his tail flicking as he ascended toward the village.

"See? Nothing to worry about," Akash called after him before turning to the massive tree trunk. He jumped up, grabbing the first of many branches, and began climbing.

The ascent was familiar to him, though it was still as exhausting as ever. The branches creaked under his weight, but they held firm as Akash climbed higher and higher. His black suit clung to his skin, sticky with sweat from the effort.

He hummed softly to himself, an old tune his mother used to sing:

In a land of blackened stone and ashen might,

Lies a tale of shattered light.

Oh, the gods, they struck fiery blows,

Claws and hammers clashed, the everlasting foes.

The song echoed faintly in his mind, a bittersweet reminder of simpler times.

When he finally reached the lower bridges of the village, Akash paused to catch his breath. Elys was waiting for him, pacing nervously near the edge of the wooden planks.

"I told you I'd catch you if you fell," Akash said with a grin as he unlatched the tiger's harness.

Elys let out a huff, clearly unimpressed.

Akash wiped the sweat from his brow and straightened up, turning toward the heart of the village. Before he could take more than a few steps, a familiar voice called out to him.

"Daenys said you'd be coming. You're late."

Akash looked up to see a man about his age standing nearby, a thick book in his hands. The man's raven-black hair was neatly parted in the middle, and his dead-black eyes were as sharp as ever.

"Mirak," Akash greeted, rolling his eyes. "You know I'm always late."

Mirak turned a page in his book, glancing up briefly. "She said you'd be earlier. And knowing her, she'll make you regret it if you don't show up on time."

Akash groaned. "Yeah, yeah. I'm here now, aren't I?"

Mirak gave him a wry smile, closing his book with a soft thud. "What took you so long? The festival's starting soon."

"Ran into a little trouble," Akash said vaguely, brushing a hand through his hair. He pulled the small vial of red resin from his pouch and held it out to Mirak. "Anyway, this is for you."

Mirak's eyes widened as he took the vial, holding it carefully in both hands. The crystallized substance shimmered in the sunlight, casting faint red glints onto his pale skin.

"This... This is resin," Mirak said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Akash, how did you get this?"

Akash shrugged. "Traded for it. Found a merchant with a big hat."

Mirak gave him a flat look, clearly unimpressed by the explanation. "This stuff is rare, Akash. It's crystallized Atta. You can't just 'find a merchant' and walk away with something like this."

"Well, I did," Akash said with a grin. "Figured you'd like it."

Mirak stared at the vial for a long moment before finally slipping it into his pocket. "This is... too much, Akash. You shouldn't have—"

"Relax," Akash interrupted, waving him off. "Consider it an early festival gift."

The village buzzed with activity as the festival began in earnest. Colorful lanterns hung from the branches, their warm glow illuminating the wooden walkways. Villagers, dressed in vibrant silks and intricate weaves, moved between the stalls that had been set up along the bridges, their laughter and chatter filling the air.

Akash, Mirak, and Daenys walked together through the heart of the village, weaving through the crowd.

"You could've at least put on clean clothes," Daenys said, eyeing Akash's scuffed suit with a frown.

Akash shrugged. "I like these clothes. They're practical."

"Practical isn't the point," Daenys shot back. "This is the Midnight Summer Festival. It's tradition to dress up."

"Let him be, Daenys," Mirak said with a faint smile. "At least he's here."

The Midnight Summer Festival was in full swing by the time Akash, Daenys, and Mirak reached the heart of the village. Wooden walkways, illuminated by lanterns in shades of orange, blue, and green, stretched out like veins across the treetops. The lights cast a warm, ethereal glow that mingled with the faint shimmer of the jungle's natural bioluminescence.

Villagers bustled around them, their laughter echoing through the trees. Children darted between stalls, clutching sweets wrapped in bright leaves, while adults bartered for trinkets, tools, and rare fruits. Above it all, the Utukmarvi—the grand tree at the center of the village—rose like a silent sentinel, its massive twin trunks spiraling upward until they disappeared into the dense canopy.

"See? Isn't this better than sulking in the jungle?" Daenys teased, nudging Akash with her elbow.

Akash glanced around, his burgundy eyes scanning the lively scene. He gave a half-hearted shrug. "It's alright, I guess. Still not worth dressing up for."

Daenys rolled her eyes. "You're hopeless."

Mirak, walking a few steps behind them, adjusted the collar of his white shirt and shifted uncomfortably. "Why is formalwear always so tight?" he muttered.

"Because you never wear it," Daenys shot back without missing a beat. "And stop pulling at it—you look fine."

Akash chuckled, glancing over his shoulder at Mirak. "Don't let her bully you, Mirak. You're making the rest of us look bad."

Daenys arched an eyebrow. "You mean you're making the rest of us look bad."

Before Akash could retort, the group was intercepted by an elderly man sitting at a stall adorned with colorful feathers and polished stones.

"Trinkets for sale! Finest in the jungle!" the man called, his grin revealing a missing tooth. He held up a carved pendant shaped like a bird in flight. "Good luck charm for hunters, made from the feathers of the great jungle cranes. What do you say?"

Daenys leaned in, eyeing a small quiver of hand-carved arrows on the edge of the stall. "How much for these?"

The old man scratched his chin. "A few good skins come next season. Maybe four or five."

Daenys raised an eyebrow. "Four or five? For this? You'd be lucky to get one."

"Bah! Kids these days," the man grumbled. "Always trying to haggle like they know everything."

Daenys crossed her arms and waited, unmoving, until the man relented with a huff. "Fine, fine. One skin, and you bring me a proper crane feather next time."

Satisfied, Daenys took the quiver and slung it over her shoulder. Akash, meanwhile, had wandered over to a display of ornate plates and bowls, their glossy surfaces painted with jungle motifs.

"These for sale?" he asked, running a finger along the edge of a plate.

The old man shot him a sharp look. "Not for you, boy. You'd break 'em down on the surface."

Akash frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means they're not for sale," the man replied gruffly, shooing him away. "Find something that suits you better."

Mirak stepped in before Akash could argue further. "Come on," he said, tugging on his friend's arm. "There's more to see."

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, the colors of the festival grew richer. Lanterns now glowed more vividly, their light reflecting off the polished wood of the walkways. Villagers began gathering in larger groups, their laughter and conversation filling the air with an almost electric energy.

Daenys pulled the others toward a small stall selling sweets. "Let's grab something before the ceremony starts," she said, her voice bright with excitement.

Akash eyed the trays of honey-dipped pastries and bowls of candied fruits. "Bet I can eat more than you," he challenged, grabbing a handful of jam-filled pastries.

Daenys laughed, taking a seat next to him. "You mean like last time? When you threw up halfway through?"

"That was a fluke," Akash said, already stuffing his mouth with the sticky-sweet treats.

"You're impossible," Daenys muttered, though she grabbed her own handful and began eating with just as much enthusiasm.

Mirak sat a little further back, flipping through a small notebook he'd traded for earlier. His dark eyes occasionally flicked toward his friends, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips as they bickered over who had eaten more.

Nearby, a woman with a large, drooping hat stood quietly, her dark eyes fixed on Akash. She stepped closer, her presence drawing immediate attention.

"We meet again, little rope-swinger," she said, her voice smooth and measured.

Akash looked up, startled, his cheeks still full of pastry. "You!" he said, swallowing quickly. "The funny hat person!"

The woman arched an elegant brow. "I prefer to think of myself as a lady, thank you."

Daenys glanced between them, confused. "Who is this, Akash?"

"She's the merchant I traded with," Akash explained. "The one I got the resin from."

The woman, who introduced herself as Winter Blackwood, inclined her head slightly. "And you've already found a use for it, I see."

Mirak pulled out the vial of red resin from his pocket, holding it up for her to see. "You traded this to him? For what?"

Winter waved a hand dismissively. "The details aren't important. Let's just say he was resourceful enough to catch my attention."

Mirak frowned. "This is far too valuable for whatever he gave you. Resin is crystallized Atta—power in its purest, most concentrated form. Even a small vial like this could..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "Why would you give it away so easily?"

Winter smiled faintly, her expression unreadable. "Perhaps it's because I see potential in your little group. Or perhaps I simply enjoy watching fate unfold."

Akash tilted his head. "That's... vague. Are you always this cryptic?"

Winter's smile widened slightly. "You'll find that life beyond this village is rarely straightforward, little one."

The festival's energy shifted as the villagers began gathering near the Utukmarvi. The grand tree loomed over them, its twin trunks spiraling upward like the hands of a deity reaching toward the heavens. Lanterns of every color hung from its lower branches, casting long, dancing shadows across the gathering crowd.

The air grew quieter, the laughter and chatter fading into a reverent hush as the elders took their places near the base of the tree. They sat in a semicircle, their worn faces lit with a soft glow from the lanterns. At their center sat Daenys's mother, the leader of the village. Her presence commanded silence, her piercing gaze scanning the gathered villagers with a weight that seemed to press down on the very air.

Akash lingered at the edge of the gathering, his arms crossed. He felt out of place here, as he always did during the Midnight Summer Festival. The villagers sat with their families, leaning close and whispering in hushed tones. But Akash had no one to sit with.

He glanced toward Daenys, who was seated with her mother and younger sister near the front. Mirak sat further back, close to his own mother, who reached over to wipe dirt from his face with the corner of her sleeve. Akash turned away, the sight twisting something deep in his chest.

He hated this festival.

The rhythmic beating of drums filled the air, low and steady, as the Midnight Summer Festival's ceremony began. The crowd, once lively and bustling, now sat in solemn silence, their gazes fixed on the towering Utukmarvi at the center of the village.

The twin trunks of the great tree spiraled upward, one side glowing with the crisp orange of the changing season, the other still cloaked in the rich green of summer. The tree seemed almost alive in the flickering light of the lanterns, its massive branches stretching outward like ancient, gnarled arms.

Akash lingered at the edge of the crowd, his back leaning against a sturdy wooden pillar. He didn't feel like joining the others. He never did. Instead, he watched from the outskirts, arms crossed, his breathing mask dangling loosely from his belt. The voices of the elders carried over the soft hum of the drums.

"Another year has passed in the protection of the Great Shifter," one elder intoned, her voice steady and commanding. "The Utukmarvi stands as our connection to the first men and their spirit, as it always has, guiding us through the trials of the jungle."

The other elders murmured in agreement. Villagers closed their eyes, hands resting in their laps as they prepared for the ceremony's next phase.

Akash, still standing apart, felt his gaze drift toward Daenys. She sat near the front with her mother and little sister, her posture straight, her expression calm but unreadable. Her mother, the village leader, was seated closest to the Utukmarvi, her hand resting lightly on its bark.

Further back, Mirak sat with his own mother, who whispered something into his ear. He nodded, glancing once toward the elders before closing his eyes like the others.

Akash frowned. This was the part he hated the most. The moment where everyone closed their eyes and gave themselves to the rhythm, to the "spirit of the first men." It felt like an act of submission, a ritual he could never bring himself to fully trust.

Still, the drums continued their steady beat, a hypnotic rhythm that seemed to seep into the very bones of the village.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Akash's eyelids grew heavy, his body relaxing despite himself. He leaned more heavily against the pillar, the sound of the drums growing louder, deeper, until it seemed to echo inside his chest. He could feel it, pulsing in his veins, in his heartbeat.

The air around him seemed to change, thickening with an energy he couldn't quite place. Colors swirled at the edges of his vision—deep greens, vibrant oranges, and soft blues that shimmered like sunlight on water. The world around him blurred, the faces of the villagers fading until only the Utukmarvi remained, looming larger than life.

Then, the first strange sound broke through the drums: a faint, haunting melody, like the whistle of a distant flute. The note wavered, clashing with the steady rhythm of the drums.

Akash's eyes snapped open, but the world he saw was no longer the village.

Akash stumbled forward, disoriented. The air was no longer thick with the humidity of the jungle. It was... wrong.

Around him stood impossibly tall trees, their trunks stretching into a sky he couldn't see. The tops of the trees vanished into darkness, where faint, glowing mushrooms clung to the bark like strange constellations. The ground beneath his feet was soft and gelatinous, covered in moss that seemed to shift and ripple as he moved.

The light here was faint, an eerie blue glow radiating from the mushrooms and patches of luminescent plants scattered across the ground. The air smelled metallic, sharp, with a faint undertone of decay.

Akash turned in place, his breath shallow, his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of his sword. His fingers found it this time, the familiar weight of the scabbard grounding him slightly. He gripped it tightly, as if holding onto something real might keep him sane.

"Where...?" he whispered, his voice echoing unnaturally in the stillness.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He wasn't alone.

Something was watching him. He couldn't see it, but he could feel its presence, predatory and unrelenting. The sensation crawled over his skin, sending a shiver down his spine.

A faint laugh echoed in the distance—childlike, hollow, and wrong. Akash spun toward the sound, but there was nothing there. Only shadows and shifting light.

He took a cautious step forward, his boots sinking slightly into the moss. The substance clung to him, almost pulling him down as he forced himself to move.

The laugh came again, this time from behind him. Akash's hand tightened around the hilt of his sword as his heart pounded in his chest.

"Who's there?" he called out, his voice cracking slightly.

There was no response.

The presence grew stronger, the air around him growing colder. And then, suddenly, a voice—soft and many, overlapping and discordant—spoke:

"You walk upon sacred lands, child of the betrayers."

The words sent a chill through Akash's entire body. He turned again, desperate to find the source of the voice, but the forest remained empty.

"I don't know where I am," Akash shouted into the void.

The voice returned, sharper now. "You were not meant to arrive here. Yet fate bends. Beware, Nomarch."

The shadows around him seemed to shift and move, the faint outline of something massive looming just beyond the trees. Akash's breath caught in his throat as he took a step back.

And then he saw it—a vast lake, glowing with the same luminescent blue light that clung to the mushrooms and moss. Its surface shimmered like liquid glass, and at its center stood a golden podium.

On the podium floated a prism, its edges sharp and crystalline, glowing faintly as it turned in the air. Its surface was etched with intricate patterns that shifted and swirled as though alive. It pulsed with an ancient energy, its light casting strange shadows across the lake.

Akash stepped closer, drawn by an unseen force. But as he neared the lake's edge, his gaze was drawn downward.

The still, glowing surface of the water mirrored his image back at him, but it wasn't his reflection.

In the water, he saw his face twisted into a sneer, his eyes glowing faintly red. His hands—blackened and clawed—gripped the hilt of a sword. The blade was the same crimson weapon buried at the base of the prism. Behind this reflection lay a wasteland of ash, where nothing grew and the sky was torn apart.

Akash recoiled, his breath hitching. "No... That's not me!"

The voice returned, calm and cruel. "It is what you may become. It is the cost of bearing their weight."

The reflection rippled and vanished as Akash turned his attention to the sword. Its blackened hilt jutted out from the earth, the crimson blade glowing faintly in the strange light. It felt... alive.

The voice spoke again, louder now: "The prism binds fate. The sword severs it. You carry them both, and the world will bear the cost."

Akash reached out with trembling fingers, first toward the prism. The moment his hand brushed its surface, a surge of energy slammed into him. Images flashed before his eyes—worlds burning, stars falling, a shattered moon hanging over a desolate land. He heard voices, thousands of them, crying out in pain, in fury, in despair.

Thrown backward, Akash gasped for air, his hand instinctively gripping the hilt of the sword. The weapon burned in his grasp, its crimson glow spreading across the blade as if responding to him. He pulled it free with a shout, the weight of it settling in his hands as though it had always belonged there.

The prism pulsed once, its glow fading slightly, as if acknowledging him.

"You have bound yourself to both," the voice said, quieter now, almost amused. "The prism binds. The sword cuts. You carry them both, and the world will bear the cost."

The light of the lake faded as shadows closed in around him. The last thing Akash saw was the glow of the prism and the crimson edge of the sword before everything went black.

The light from the canopy seeped into Akash's eyes, making him wince and hiss. His head throbbed, his chest tight as if it had been hollowed out and filled with something foreign. Faint voices broke through the fog clouding his mind.

"Akash… What… are… you…"

Someone was calling him, but their words came muffled, like they were speaking from underwater. His tongue felt swollen, his body leaden.

Blinking sluggishly, Akash managed to lift his head. The first thing he saw was the woman with the drooping hat—the same one who had sold him the resin. Her hat was off now, revealing her sharp, calculating gaze as she scanned him.

She reached forward, pressing a cold, damp rag to his forehead. The sensation shocked him back to awareness. "You're waking," she said, her tone brisk but oddly soft. "Drink some water."

Akash let out a soft groan and forced himself into a sitting position, though it took every ounce of strength he had. His head swam, and as she tried to speak again, he held up a trembling hand to cover his ears.

"Too damn loud," he mumbled.

The Sorceress—Winter Blackwood, as he vaguely remembered her introducing herself during the festival—tilted her head, clearly intrigued. "This certainly requires a degree of thought," she mused.

Akash glared at her through half-lidded eyes and grunted, "Not an experience you'd want."

Her lips twitched, not quite a smile. "Tell me of it if you would."

Before he could respond, heavy footsteps thundered toward him. Mirak and Daenys stormed into view, their faces taut with worry. Elys padded close behind them, his thick coat brushing against Akash's arm as the big tiger nudged his side with a low, rumbling growl.

Akash patted Elys absently, drawing a shaky breath before speaking. "I was… in some kind of forest. The trees had no end, and the only light came from these eerie, glowing blue mushrooms clinging to the bark."

Daenys knelt beside him, worry etched into her features. "What are you talking about? What forest?"

Akash's brows furrowed as he sifted through the fragmented memories. He closed his eyes, trying to piece it together. "There was… a lake," he said, his voice strained. "It glowed, like the mushrooms. And there was a voice. Not one voice—many. All speaking together."

Winter's gaze sharpened, and she crouched down to meet his eye level. "What did the voice say?"

Akash faltered, frustration bubbling in his chest as the details slipped through his grasp. "I… I can't remember," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Winter placed a hand on his back, her touch strangely steadying. The resin rings on her fingers pulsed faintly against his skin, as if sensing something. Elys growled low in his throat, his protective instincts flaring, but Winter ignored him.

"Dig deeper," she said, her tone firm. "The memory is there. Find it."

Akash gritted his teeth and forced himself to focus. The fragments shifted and churned, but one word broke through the haze, sharp and biting.

"Nomarch," he said at last. The word felt like ash on his tongue.

Winter's hand froze mid-movement.

"Nomarch?" Mirak echoed, his voice cracking with disbelief. He leaned closer, his curiosity outweighing his usual nervousness. "Few stories mention that word… But what does it mean?"

"I don't know," Akash muttered, rubbing his temples as though he could physically push the memory out. "That's all I remember. Just that word."

Daenys glanced between Akash and Winter, her face pale. "Do you know what it means?"

Winter was silent for a moment, her gaze distant. Finally, she sighed. "I don't. The word stirs something faint, but nothing definitive. Still, combined with the other details…" She trailed off, then spoke more firmly. "What else happened?"

Akash swallowed, his throat dry. "There was… a flute," he murmured, his voice unsteady. "And colors. Bright, swirling colors, but they felt wrong, like they didn't belong. And then—" He broke off, his eyes narrowing as he stared down at his arm.

Black markings coiled across his skin, intricate and sharp, like fire frozen mid-dance. The tattoos stretched from his left shoulder, snaking down to his right hip in a seamless design that pulsed faintly under the light.

Daenys gasped, grabbing his wrist and turning his arm to get a better look. "Akash… Where did this come from?"

Akash stared at it, baffled. "I—I don't know. It wasn't there before."

Winter leaned in, her fingers hovering just above the tattoos. The resin in her rings reacted, sparking faintly as though resonating with the markings.

"This isn't ordinary ink," she said, her voice quiet but intense. "This… this is a result of Atta—raw, unfiltered. Whatever you experienced, whatever touched you, left this behind as a mark. A bond."

Akash's mind spun. He tried to recall more of the vision—the lake, the prism, the reflection. His reflection. Blackened hands, glowing eyes, and a sneer that wasn't his own. He clenched his fists, forcing the memory down.

"It must have been the prism," he muttered.

Winter's head snapped up. "The prism?"

He nodded, his voice steadier now. "It was floating in the lake, glowing. It spoke to me, like the voice—many voices, all at once. When I touched it…" He hesitated, his stomach twisting as he remembered the burning heat, the rush of power that had nearly torn him apart. "When I touched it, this happened." He gestured to the tattoos.

Winter's expression darkened, her sharp features taut with thought. "A prism of that kind is no ordinary artifact. It binds, it marks, and it chooses. And it doesn't choose lightly."

"And the sword?" Daenys asked, her gaze flicking to the crimson blade resting beside Akash.

Winter's eyes shifted to the weapon, her lips pressing into a thin line. "If the prism binds, the sword severs," she said. "To wield both is to hold opposing forces in balance. Few would dare attempt it."

Akash's jaw tightened, a flicker of defiance flashing in his burgundy eyes. "I didn't ask for this," he said, his voice low. "But now it's mine."

Winter's gaze lingered on him for a moment, her expression unreadable. Finally, she stood and brushed off her robes. "Then you must learn what it means to carry them. The prism and the sword have set something in motion. And if you aren't careful, it will destroy you—and everything around you."