Obsidian Shards Novels & Stories

Many clients swiftly gravitated to Kamman's system, developing a profound sense of trust in a world that was as treacherous as theirs. With the Bronze Orchid strictly restricting its supply to only its authorized channels, product quality soared, attracting high-profile clients, including nations. Those who had eagerly waited for him to fail were ultimately silenced. They shamefully bowed their heads and retreated into their shells. Arman Khaleed, the sole individual who had shared Kamman's vision from the beginning, was beyond satisfied, his admiration and loyalty deepening immeasurably.

The pack watches as she pulls the shard free, its obsidian surface pulsing with faint light. “One down,” Ryland says, his voice tight. “How many more?” “Two,” Selene replies. “But they’re not close.” --- **The Second Shard** The second shard lies in the Shadow pack’s territory, hidden in the ruins of Zane’s fortress. The air reeks of decay, the walls crumbling under the weight of time. Jarek steps forward, his gaze sharp. “This place is cursed.” “We don’t have a choice,” I say, my voice firm.

The air shimmered, distorted by heat and magic. She dismounted, her boots sinking into scorched soil still warm beneath her feet. Ahead, the crater steamed , wide, deep, and glowing from within. Sienna stepped forward, drawn by something she couldn’t resist. At the crater’s center lay the shard , a massive fragment of translucent crystal, humming with the same pulse as her wrist. It was beautiful, terrible, alive. Her fingers twitched. She should have feared it. Every instinct screamed to stay back. Yet the closer she drew, the more the world seemed to fade , sound dulling, color draining, until only the shard remained, a beacon in the void.

The object gleamed briefly in the dim light, cutting through the air with a whisper. A sharp hiss followed. The Rogue King’s laughter stopped abruptly. His brows furrowed in confusion as he looked down at his chest. There, lodged right between his ribs, was a jagged, black shard. He staggered back, staring at it in disbelief. “What… what have you done?” I took a step forward, eyes blazing. “Obsidian,*” I said, keeping my voice steady and calm, as excitement blazed behind my eyes. “The weakness of the undead.”

The ground beneath the sled turned into a liquid-grey grid, and the sky flickered from bruised purple to a sterile, blinding white. ​While the Vanguard engaged the Inquisitors in a frantic, high-velocity dance of shadow and light, Aris scrambled toward the Shard. It sat at the center of a mile-wide crater, a jagged monolith of "Raw-Silver" that hummed with a sound like a choir of a million dying stars. The air around the Shard was so dense with energy that Aris’s hair began to glow with a soft, violet bioluminescence.

One unread message waits on the screen, from Leon. 'Come to the den, food’s ready.'

"First, I have to find the shards and then I will take care of that Luna." ----

The Eclipse lay on a stone altar, her form flickering between solid and shadow. Solara chanted in the old tongue. Luna Rose sang the lullaby. I held the Eclipse's paw. "It will be over soon," I said. "I am afraid." "That means you are alive." She almost smiled. --- The shard emerged slowly. It was not ice—it was absence made solid. A shard of pure void, pulsing with cold light. As it left the Eclipse's chest, she screamed. Not in pain—in release. The shard fell to the ground. It cracked, then dissolved into nothing.

Boulder rumbled, his tawny form tackling a wraith, claws raking, the red glow fading, the vale’s wind howling, the frozen earth trembling, Jasper’s warmth a shield, the shard’s call a challenge, the pack’s legacy a song. Lila’s voice was urgent, her charcoal stick scratching against the parchment, hazel eyes darting between the shard and her scroll, her fingers smudged with ash, the cold making her hands shake, but her resolve firm, the shard’s hum a rhythm she’d break, the icy ground slick, the vale’s wind howling, the red glow of the runes pulsing faster, the frozen river’s cracks reflecting the light, the standing stones’ shadows lengthening, her courage a quiet flame, the shard’s call a

“The shards are driving them mad.” Zara dropped to her knees, palms pressed into the soil where the dust had fallen. Magic sparked like a thousand stings. The shard’s energy writhed, unclaimed, unchained. It wanted to crawl inside her veins, to feed. “It’s chaos,” she said hoarsely. “Every shard is a wound, bleeding wrong power into the land.” Above, another streak tore down. She could feel its destination before it landed. South, near the river. Witches would already be on their way—hunters, scavengers, anyone desperate enough to take hold of such power.