The Shards of Kestrius

By M.E. Wyatt

The call of fire beckons Arden Ashwen towards an inevitable oblivion, one he wishes with his whole heart would soon come to end him. Despite his trepidations, he is tasked with a mission to calm the rising tension of the Kin, a species said to be descended from Dragons.

Sailing to the South to fulfill his mission, can Arden survive against the rising of the tide which threatens to sweep him away? Or, in the end, will he be just another casualty to the flame?

 

A good fit for fans of Brandon Sanderson and Robert Jordan.

• Language: English
• Publisher: M.E. Wyatt
• Release date: Mar 27, 2024
• ISBN: 9798985518108

Book preview

The Shards of Kestrius

M.E. Wyatt

Author Website:

Https://marcwyattauthor.com

This book is being offered completely for free to all readers, permanently. This may be a controversial way to go about it, but times are tough and when I was young, good books got me through the hardest times of my life. Free books that I found in my school library. Below is a link, feel free to drop a donation if you are willing and able as it goes towards more writing and paying for the costs that come with it, but feel free to enjoy it either way.

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Enjoy!

Copyright © [2022] by [M.E. WYATT]

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Contents

Also By

Afterword

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

CHAPTER 34

CHAPTER 35

CHAPTER 36

CHAPTER 37

CHAPTER 38

CHAPTER 39

CHAPTER 40

CHAPTER 41

CHAPTER 42

CHAPTER 43

CHAPTER 44

CHAPTER 45

CHAPTER 46

CHAPTER 47

CHAPTER 48

CHAPTER 49

CHAPTER 50

EPILOGUE

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Other titles in the Dragonrend Realms

Realm of the Soulwell:

Book 1: Reflection, 2022

Book 1.5: Heretic, 2022

Book 2: Resurrection, 2024

Book 3: Redemption, TBA

To Roger Nelon (1943 – 2023)

I write this on the day of your funeral, so that it is fresh. I've listened to the words of your daughter, of your son and of your granddaughter about how much you've touched their lives. About the memories you've shared. About wisdom you've passed. I was moved. And heartbroken. But there was something that I wished to say to you as well.

As I sat here, thinking of how to eloquently put how much our friendship meant to me, I am at a loss. A good author knows that sometimes, it is best to say things that are important upfront. Without the fluff. So here it is:

I miss you.

I miss our long talks about storytelling. I miss our debates on how close a shows representation is to a book. I miss the way you'd smoke me whenever we'd race to see who can read a book faster. And, overall, simply:

I miss you.

Wherever you are, I hope you end up with a first edition copy of The Name of the Wind and A Game of Thrones. And I hope you know how the series' ended. You waited long to know, and we've shared hours of theory-crafting.

Thank you for the support and encouragement over the years.

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Afterword

Thank you so much for reading my story. If you want more, check out the 'Also By' at the front and please consider leaving a review.

If you wish to donate, links are here as well:

Donation Links:

Paypal | https://www.paypal.com/donate/?hosted_button_id=SRQRRNVGUKX56

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Thank you.

CHAPTER 1

Auretta could smell the familiar varnish of hand-crafted wood as she entered the matriarch’s audience chamber. A woman she didn’t recognize, likely the representative from House Arenwood, sat facing Matriarch Ashwen. Her mother loomed above the representative from her throned position, not unlike a queen from an old story. They both turned simultaneously to look at her, irritability plain in their refined features.

Had she gotten the time wrong?

Ah, my daughter arrives, her mother scoffed. Meet the Arenwood representative, Ioa. She and I were just discussing the future of our respective houses, if you cared to join.

Ioa was a short, stocky woman in her later teen years. She had a fair complexion, and her black hair was up in an elaborate ponytail of sorts. The woman seemed to have used powders as to mask her young age. But, in the end, it just made her look childish. Like a girl who dipped into her mother’s supplies and would be subsequently chastised for it.

Auretta deferred, bowing her head in deference to her mother before turning her focus towards the diplomat. Apologies, representative Ioa. I seem to have mistaken the time. She let her tone of her voice imply that the apology was not genuine. Now, feel free to catch me up on what has been conferred so far—and do not skip any details! That last part, to her dismay, came out as more of a demand than a request.

The Arenwood representative paused for a moment, and Auretta could sense a hunger in the woman. Ioa’s eyes were light-blue and piercing. A combination of beauty and deadly. They appeared to be searching for something… a weakness, perhaps? Seeking to gain an advantage in the battle of words to come. Such was the way of the women of Houses. It was unclear, but she returned Ioa her best smile, keeping her eyes fixated on her.

But of course, Lady Ashwen, Ioa responded, her eyes lowering to the floor. Auretta forced herself to hold back a smile at the minor victory.

She took a moment to puzzle over at how her opponent would react in the game. Clearly, Ioa understood the dynamic—she was a representative from one of the four Houses, but not from the great House of Hallowdrem. Matriarch Arenwood had made some key political errors recently, and they were still seeking to solidify their place among the rest. Thus, they came from a position of weakness, and their official ambassador dare not even come in person. Which only could mean that they were trying to keep this meeting a secret.

Ioa spoke up, letting her dignified voice be her weapon and interrupting her thoughts. I have a proposal that comes from the lips of Matriarch Arenwood, speaker and leader of House Arenwood—

Matriarch Ashwen interjected before Ioa could continue, scowling visibly, Yes, yes, we know who she is. Please, enough with the pleasantries. What does she want?

Ioa appeared indignant, but when the woman saw the unsympathetic faces of her mother and she, Ioa relented. Matriarch Arenwood would like you to join the southern and western provinces into one. A new great province! With you, Matriarch Ashwen, at its head.

An echo reverberated throughout the room that felt to last a lifetime. The slight sway of the chandeliers overhead was the only sign that time itself had not ceased. She tried not to look nervous as she glanced around to check for any patrolling guards. Thankfully, there were none. Turning her gaze back to Ioa, it surprised her to see the woman relaxing so perfectly still. Unnerved, as though she had suggested afternoon tea. Did this fool not know what her House was asking of them?

Matriarch Ashwen, betraying nothing, kept her typical cold, smooth face. Leaning towards Ioa and speaking in a hushed voice, she said, What you are proposing is treason! The founders of our great country wrote explicitly about keeping the four provinces separate; to ensure a balance remains. Her mother paused to emphasize the point, and she clung to every word, waiting breathlessly. Matriarch Ashwen looked back and forth between Ioa and herself before adding, It’s also suicide.

Auretta struggled to maintain the cool demeanor that her mother appeared to have had no problem capturing. If she wanted to live up to her mother’s reputation—her family’s prestige—she had to get used to tense moments such as these.

Matriarch Ashwen glared at Ioa throughout the silence, a gaze that Auretta had seen send even the strongest of men tearing from the room. In a strange way, it impressed her that Ioa, young of age that she was, could match her mother’s stare. There was something to be said about a woman with some grit. Ioa now appeared much more than the typical lesser noble.

Auretta coughed, breaking the tension that had built in the room as both women’s gazes snapped towards her lightning quick. She ignored them as she said, I believe what Matriarch Ashwen meant to say was that we have some questions…about this supposed plan.

Wasting no time, Ioa replied, That is not something I am able to discuss. Her words were said with a bit of a bite, and she knew the words had the intended effect. To instill fear and a sense of urgency.

The light of the afternoon sun sent rays through the open windows, which sent out a glare as it bounced off the finery of glass plates and cups. It set out a dim red hue across the chamber. Their meeting had gone on longer than any of them had expected.

Matriarch Ashwen frowned at the window. We have no more to discuss…for now. Even though it was not directly said, the intention was obvious: a dismissal.

Ioa stood, gave a bow and moved toward the exit of the chamber, turning near the door to address them one last time. I will contact you again soon. Have a pleasant day. With that, the woman turned and exited, the ornate door thudding shut behind her, causing the silverware on the table to rattle.

Auretta breathed a sigh of relief. It felt like the first breath after being submerged in an overcoming tide. Sweat beaded on her face, and she dabbed it away with the back of her hand. Her mother appeared to take the news as well as she, and as her visage broke, in its place she saw a strange mix of fear and, strangely enough, excitement.

Matriarch Ashwen caught herself and masked her emotions again, letting out a long sigh. Do they understand that this will mean a civil war? It was just like her mother to cut straight to the heart of an issue. Breaira, her mother, was a powerful woman—always had been. Her dress of deep red was eloquent and custom fit to form her body. It signified her status as a lady. Adorned on her head was the silver-colored circlet of the storm, a piece made of riverium and created by the finest of artisans. The silver of the circlet contrasted her deeper skin tone and the jewel that adorned the center was no jewel at all, but an untreated elemental shard. It pulsated light and drew all eyes with its majesty.

Matriarch Ashwen walked off her would-be throne and began pacing throughout the room. She had a tendency to get this way at times, when there was nobody else around to witness. Nobody except her. Auretta… A merger of three provinces. The combined power wouldn’t just rival the great House of Hallowdrem in the north—it would dwarf it! The excitement in her voice was now plain as a child’s fib.

After a few more moments of pacing, Matriarch Ashwen came to an abrupt stop, leaning against the wooden table in the middle of the room, as if she had just realized something dire. Flickering flames dancing above her from the chandelier, casting a moving shadow on the wall. She had a troubled look on her face. A pained expression.

Auretta moved to her side and placed a single hand on her shoulder, asking, What aren’t you telling me?

The woman placed a hand on top of her own. It’s nothing, daughter. Please do not concern yourself.

Mother, come now, Auretta insisted. Her mother, ever with a guarded demeanor, when pressed, would usually open up to her… usually.

Matriarch Ashwen peered back at Auretta with sadness in her eyes. As she did, she sighed, adding, I’m just thinking about what your father would do if he were here. The guidance he would instill. And when I think about your father, I think of your brother as well. How I miss them dearly, daughter.

The thought of her brother and father brought on a familiar pain, but she pushed through. They were not what was important right now. Why would we consider this? She asked. What does this House stand to gain from such an alliance? And at what cost?

Peace and stability, her mother replied with absolutely no hesitation. It was as though the answer were so obvious that no other considerations needed to be made. It’s no surprise that the provinces have been less than amenable these days. Skirmishes between ourselves over land disputes. Trade routes and trade alliances are just a few of the issues we face. But, to achieve that peace—true peace—I’m afraid the cost would just be too great.

"So, what are you—we going to do? Auretta ran a hand through her burgundy hair nervously, twirling it while taking full account of the conversation in her mind. If we don’t act with Arenwood and Redvel does, then we risk being left isolated between them. The weakest of all provinces. If they succeeded, we would likely fall to them before long. Pausing, there was still one issue that stood out above the rest. Something that transcended all other questions. She offered you the position of Matriarch. I have known none to so willingly abdicate their power—especially to a rival. That worries me most of all."

Auretta could see the wheels turning in her mother’s head. Her mother was brilliant when it came to politics. Much better than she could ever hope to be. In the end, she would just have to trust the decision that her mother would make. That was her duty as a member of House Ashwen. Her duty as a daughter and heir.

I need some time to consider, Matriarch Ashwen said. There is still so much that we don’t know. We can’t afford to be rash. We cannot get caught up in a greedy power grab. A painful expression lined the woman’s forehead, and crow’s feet sprung from the edges of her eyes. Suddenly, she appeared her own age.

Auretta considered the stories she was told of her mother’s past. Rumor had it that there was a time when her mother had coveted all the power this country offered and more. Daring, ruthless, and brilliant, all respected and feared her. But in her youth, she was greedy and reckless. They say that this caused the deaths of her husband and son. She did not know if there was any truth to it, but she knew that whatever happened, her mother had never forgiven herself for it. It had made her a more cautious woman. A better woman.

Matriarch Ashwen stared off distantly. She had witnessed her mother in these moods before. Her people were sitting on a cliff’s edge, enemies on all sides. To join with the enemy or be driven from the cliff, unknown to what lies on the other side. Her mother needed to jump and risk the rocks below, or head straight into the thick of battle, ready to fight. Either way, neither the province nor the country would come away unscathed.

Auretta moved toward the exit. Exhaustion from the concerns of politics overwhelmed her, and she needed time to gather her thoughts. There was only one place these days that gave her such a clear head. As she moved to the door, she regarded her mother respectfully, bowing her head and adding, I will leave you to your thoughts.

CHAPTER 2

Arden crouched, dodging a sword that came swinging horizontally above his head. It missed taking his scalp by a breath as he threw himself to the ground. Hitting the earth, he rolled, lunging forward with his sword. The enemy commander deflected the attack, but he continued forward.

He could hear the shouts of men behind him as he pushed against his foe. He ignored them and gave three quick thrusts in succession. The first bounced off the pommel of his enemy’s sword. They sidestepped the next and caught the third between their breastplate and spaulder. The commander countered, striking downward with his own weapon, but he used his off-hand to catch their wrist, stopping the blow a hand’s width from his face.

They struggled, battle-locked in this position. Both unrelenting. Sweat poured down his brow, blinding him. He could taste the salt from it, and felt his dark-burgundy hair slick with the stuff. It stung his eyes as he continued to strain against the strength of his enemy. The commander pressed the back of his forearm against his sword hand, forcing the blade closer and closer to his face.

Arden shifted his weight, pressing his shoulder into the commander’s mid-section, letting go of his sword as he grabbed the man’s armored collar. In one swift motion, he flipped the commander over their shoulder and onto their back. They slammed into hard-packed earth with tremendous force, and he heard the air violently escape the man’s lungs. He kicked the commander’s sword away as it clattered to the ground. As he reached to retrieve his own, a light emitted from their gauntleted right hand. He attempted to dodge, but he knew it was too late. A pain crept through his breastplate and into his ribs. He struggled to breathe, but the air would not come. Gasping, he fell to his knees.

The enemy commander stood and removed their helmet. A sickly, sweet grin touched the man’s face as he roared a laugh, beaming with satisfaction. He was with lightly tanned skin and sandy blond hair. But that mattered little, as what caught his eye was the flicker of light that shone from his right hand. Silver metal encircled a small shard covered in glass with two metal rods lightly touching it. Power emanated as the shard glowed from its glass receptacle. A faint white light bounced elegantly across the surface of the metal that held it attached to the gauntlet. This light made the metal look as though it were made of liquid. A distinctive quality of the metal riverium.

Arden attempted to stand, but the strength had not yet returned to his body. Through gasping breaths, he said, Rael—how do you think it will feel—to fight—in actual battles?

From your position, Ra’el chuckled, reaching out with his hand, I would say pretty unpleasant.

Taking his time, he reached up and pulled the hand of his friend, letting out a grunt as he popped back to his feet. He surveyed the scene; the blue team, marked by a blue cloth wrapped around the right arm, had surrendered their position to a smaller force marked in red.

His force.

A light wind pushed up against his back and brought with it the smell of the grass and trees. The training area had various types of environmental setups used for practice in any landscape. His mind wandered off to various scenes he’d read about in traveler’s books and stories. Stories full of beautiful oceans, lush forests and rolling green hills as far as the eye could see.

Ra’el coughed, bringing him out of his daydream.

He sighed in frustration, not trying to hide his annoyance. I swear, it’s as if you are the one receiving private tactical lessons. Care to share your secret?

Sorry to show you up, your majesty, Ra’el quipped, giving him a mocking bow. He scoffed in return. It had always been a sore point between the two of them. He hated it when others referred to him as royalty, and his friend knew just how to exploit it. "Just fooling with you Arden, I—piss and shit, turn around!"

Arden! screamed a rough, grizzled voice, which boomed with every word. The man who’d yelled was on him with a speed that most men of that size couldn’t muster. What in fiery damnation was that? You got distracted by the enemy commander and let your men be flanked!

Commander Knixen, the Mountain Guard some called him, had a large beard, which was split down the middle. It was tied and braided, making two distinct rows which laid across his chest. On his metal breastplate, on the left side, a small emblem of a broken sword crossed by a banner surrounded by flame lay etched. The symbol of House Ashwen. Knixen’s body barely fit into the armor, and his belt looked about to burst from his girth.

Commander Knixen, sir! Arden shouted, hurrying to attention, with Ra’el following suit. They caught us fortifying our defenses. While we had the superior numbers, the enemy forces had the element of surprise. I thought to turn the advantage by capturing the enemy commander and—

And! Knixen said, showing signs of waning patience.

And… I did not count on the enemy commander having a Land Shard. Ra’el changed the ground on the hill to loose sand, causing my men to lose their balance. It made our numbers obsolete as they slipped into each other. He turned his gaze to look upon the shard attached to Ra’el’s gauntleted right hand. The surrounding air appeared to shimmer, and he could swear that he felt a small tug from it. A silent pull, beckoning him to grasp it.

"Pathetic! Knixen growled, breaking his focus on the shard. When I trained your brother, he did not come up with such excuses. By the hell’s, he never needed to. He was twice the squad leader at half the age."

Knixen proceeded to give a very similar speech. One that he had heard many times before. Knixen spoke of duty to his House and the lands his House was burdened with protecting. To the lives of the men he would someday command. To the honor of his father and brother that he had to defend.

Eventually, Knixen shook his head and stormed off toward the rest of the soldiers. For the first time, Arden looked at his men who had suffered a defeat by a smaller force which now celebrated amongst themselves. He saw sadness in their eyes. But deeper, if he really concentrated, he saw loathing. These men did not respect him. And, when he really thought about it, he concluded they were right not to. He was a pathetic excuse for a leader.

That was uncalled for, Ra’el said, breaking his descent into depression. But… it would get him off your back if you would just study more on tactics, sir.

Don’t start with the sir talk, Arden replied. "You know I never asked for this… honor. He didn’t mask the bitterness in his voice. The very mention of honor brought a familiar and an unpleasant taste to his mouth. You would do a better job leading. Let me speak to them. It should be you in succession of command, I…" He trailed off as he noticed Ra’el’s face turn to anger and back to unreadable in an instant. A recognizable silence lingered between them. Why was he so stubborn? Why couldn’t he just accept the help? He decided that perhaps another fight on this topic was not warranted… for now.

A boy, no older than twelve years of age, appeared near Knixen. He could faintly hear the child’s voice, but, before he could make anything out, Knixen turned, pointing in their direction. The kid jogged towards them, a small white envelope fluttering in the wind with his every step.

Are you Ra’el, sir? the boy asked, eyes staring towards him. He pointed over at Ra’el, who folded his arms.

I am, Ra’el said.

I have a letter for you from Matriarch Ashwen. She said it’s important. Or something like that. Urgent, she said. The little messenger handed the letter to Ra’el, but his hand did not retreat. Clearly, he was expecting something more.

Fine, fine, here you are. Ra’el sighed, fishing out a few coins, placing them into the boy’s outstretched hand. The coins were made of Riverium. Each pressed with a small picture of Pentallum; the grand city that stood at the center of the country. The seat of power that held the Houses and their provinces together.

The small messenger beamed at the coins before turning to scamper off. He did not glance back as he disappeared back into the city.

Arden could see the House seal, his seal, on the outside of the message. Ra’el tore the side of the envelope and ripped the paper out. As his friend read, his face grew more and more dim. Ra’el’s eyes nervously shot towards him more than a few times until he could not help but to ask, Going to keep me waiting is suspense?

Ra’el chewed on his upper lip for a moment. "I…can’t say anything. The letter forbids it… specifically. He paused, all playful banter wiped from his expression as he added, I need to leave. Meet at the usual spot later?"

Wait— He reached out a hand, but Ra’el turned, hurrying away before he could object further. What a strange reaction. What in all the world could have gotten him so worked up? Arden never understood the games that the women of Houses liked to play. Why such secrecy? While he never had enjoyed the military life, at least it was an honest way to live.

He silently hoped that they weren’t getting Ra’el involved in any of their schemes.

CHAPTER 3

Arden leafed through the latest gatherings of acquired books at the royal library—cherry picking through the stack to find travelers journals or the latest fables. The curator, Margo, tiptoed from behind a bookshelf with a dirty rag, wiping the wooden shelves and alphabetizing books as she went, humming lightly to herself.

What am I going to do with you, Arden? she said. Always stuck in those books. I swear you’ve read every single one in the entire library. She deliberately bumped into him while moving to clean the opposing wall. Her long gray hair, which she kept loose, whipped him in the face as she passed.

Margo was an elderly woman whom he had known for a long time. Since he was a small boy. And, at times, she was completely insufferable. Turning to acknowledge the Curator, he gave her his most sarcastic smile. Why yes, I have read every book. Why do you think I keep donating coin for more? You’re very welcome, by the way.

Quite right, Lord, Margo teased, offering him a mocking bow, as Ra’el had done earlier in the day. Quite the pair the two of them were.

He allowed a flash of annoyance to cross his face. Lord now? Bad enough with Ra’el calling me sir, but I will not have you calling me lord. Now please, leave me at peace with my books.

Margo clicked her tongue in that way she always did when she figured something out. Like solving a puzzle or remembering something she had previously forgotten. Asked young Ra’el again, have you? You always get in these moods when you boys have a spat. When will you learn that Ra’el doesn’t desire status or rank, but recognition? It’s not something that can be bought with coin or given by a sulky young noble. One can only earn it by the strength of one’s own back. By the grit of their teeth.

You think I don’t know that? He fumed, trying his best to stay calm. But why can’t he see that I’m just trying to make him and his family’s lives easier? His father is still down in the mines. He could move them into the upper part of the city. Perhaps start a business? They could live a safer, more fulfilling life.

"And whose life are you really trying to make easier, hmm? Margo spoke as though speaking to a child, adding, And why do you think it so dreadful to work the mines? It is because you, who have been given everything, cannot see the beauty in a simple life."

Arden grimaced. The woman’s words cut him deeper than he cared to admit. And as much as he wanted to reject them, he couldn’t. Born into a life of luxury, he was. No doubt about that. But that luxury was a double-edged sword. One that commoners rarely saw. Each day, he could feel more and more of his freedoms slipping away. They, his family, had never given him a choice on who or what he wanted to be. Instead, they forced upon him a command that he did not deserve over the lives of soldiers who did not want him. It would have been comical if it had not been so pathetic. His thoughts trailed off for a moment as his mind focused on Margo’s last words: ‘A simple life.’ How grand it would be to escape House politics and just see the world. But reality quickly closed back in on him and he let those thoughts drift out into the open. A simple life of beauty… Wouldn’t that be great?

Margo’s face became softer. Grandmotherly even. A simple life does not come without its hurdles, Arden. Nobody has an easy life. Just a different one.

He became aware that Margo stared at him with a certain look in her eyes. If he didn’t know any better, he would say it was sympathy. The woman had a tendency to do this. To pry at his deepest regrets and fears. And when the facade broke, she showed him sympathy. Or was it mercy, perhaps?

Margo, he said. I just want to be free of this—this burden. The pent up words spilled out of his mouth like an unyielding flood. "I want to live a life of traveling. To see things few have. I have no great aspirations like my brother once had. Or Auretta. So why do I feel so horrible? Like I’m betraying their memories. Betraying my family… Like I’m running away? He was so worked up that he had not realized until that very moment that his voice had grown into a shout. Averting his eyes from her, he added, I’m sorry."

Concern creased the old woman’s face. She waited for a time before speaking, appearing to be searching for the right words to say. As if any existed. Finally, she replied, Freedom, young Arden, is never free. Curiously, she reached out and took the book from Arden’s hands, glancing over a few pages. There is always a cost. The question is: What would you be willing to pay? The curator closed the book, handing it back to him. Pity, sorrow and concern swirled together in her expressions. Never mind my ramblings, dear. Just hearing such youthful turmoil reminds me of the old days with my husband. Please don’t be upset, Arden. We are all afforded smaller freedoms for our larger sacrifices. With that, she continued her cleaning, taking extra caution to give him plenty of room. She resumed her mumbled humming, as if nothing had passed between them.

He sat perplexed, contemplating her words. The cost of freedom. Could he really be free of this burden? The question repeated itself endlessly in his head.

CHAPTER 4

Auretta urged her body to move faster and faster. Strands of her dark-burgundy hair brushed against her face with sweat pouring down as she moved. Two Sky Shards blazed in their socketed positions on her uniquely crafted boots. The prick of two small rods into her flesh made her grimace. They were made of Riverium. A metal unlike any other. One that, when carefully constructed, allowed a user to safely channel the power of an elemental shard. The pain of the rods was intense, but it was a pain that she had gotten used to over the years. The discomfort was worth the power she received from drawing upon the shards.

She longed for more. The shard beckoned her to grasp it. To draw upon its full potential. The power the Shards brought was as if she had been given an extra sense. One that was as strong and familiar to her as sight, sound, or taste. When connected via the rods of Riverium touching her skin, she could control the airflow near and around her to deliver