The Flame's Ascent

The morning light crept slowly across the Fenwyk estate, painting the dark stone walls in hues of gold and gray. Lynx stood at his window, staring out at the grounds. The neatly trimmed hedges and gravel paths were a picture of calm, but his thoughts churned with the conversation from the night before.

The rebellion, the queen's searches, and his family's legacy—each thread seemed tangled in ways he couldn't yet see clearly. Vera and Veryl's words had lingered in his mind, a reminder that their world was shifting beneath their feet.

A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. Lynx turned as the door creaked open, revealing Brant, one of the estate's older servants.

"A visitor for you, Master Lynx," Brant said, his tone neutral but his expression tight.

Lynx frowned. "Who is it?"

"A merchant," Brant replied. "He says he has something of interest for you."

Lynx hesitated before nodding. "I'll see him in the library."

Brant bowed and disappeared down the hall. Lynx quickly changed into a fresh tunic and headed to the library, his curiosity tempered by caution. It wasn't unusual for merchants to visit noble estates, but their timing felt too coincidental.

The library was one of the estate's oldest rooms, its towering shelves filled with volumes on crafting, history, and rune lore. The merchant stood near the center of the room, his dark cloak draped over broad shoulders. His face was partially obscured by a wide-brimmed hat, but his stance radiated confidence.

"You've come a long way," Lynx said, closing the door behind him. "What brings you here?"

The merchant turned, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Master Fenwyk, I hear you have an eye for the unusual. I thought you might appreciate a… unique offering."

Lynx crossed his arms. "I'm listening."

The merchant reached into his cloak and produced a small wooden box, its surface worn but adorned with intricate carvings. He set it on the nearest table and stepped back, gesturing for Lynx to inspect it.

Approaching cautiously, Lynx flipped the latch and lifted the lid. Inside lay a metallic shard, no larger than a dagger's hilt. Its surface shimmered faintly, as if it were alive with latent energy. Runes etched along its edges pulsed softly, their patterns unfamiliar but captivating.

"Where did you find this?" Lynx asked, unable to hide his intrigue.

"A distant corner of the kingdom," the merchant replied cryptically. "Let's just say it was… misplaced. I thought it might find a better home with someone who understands its value."

Lynx's eyes narrowed. "And what makes you think I'd be interested?"

The merchant's smile widened. "Your reputation precedes you. The Fenwyks are known for their mastery of artifacts. This piece, I believe, holds secrets even your lineage would find fascinating."

Lynx studied the shard for another moment before closing the box. "How much?"

The merchant's expression didn't falter. "Consider it a gift, Master Fenwyk. A token of goodwill. Perhaps we'll do business again in the future."

Lynx's suspicion deepened, but he nodded slowly. "Thank you. I'll see that it's put to good use."

The merchant tipped his hat and turned to leave, his boots echoing softly against the stone floor. Lynx waited until the door closed behind him before reopening the box. The shard seemed to hum faintly in the quiet room, its runes glowing with an almost hypnotic rhythm.

He couldn't shake the feeling that the shard was more than just an artifact. It felt like a key—to what, he didn't yet know. But one thing was certain: it had found its way to him for a reason.

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That evening, Lynx met with his father in the study, the shard carefully tucked away in his satchel. Ardyn was bent over another project, etching runes into a silver bracer with the precision of a master craftsman.

"Father," Lynx began, drawing Ardyn's attention. "Do you recognize this?"

He placed the box on the workbench and opened it, revealing the shard. Ardyn's eyes widened slightly, and he set the bracer aside, leaning in for a closer look.

"Where did you get this?" Ardyn asked, his voice tight.

"A merchant," Lynx replied. "He didn't give much detail about where it came from, but I thought you might know."

Ardyn reached out but stopped short of touching the shard. "This… this is old. Very old. The runes… they're not like anything I've seen. But the craftsmanship… it's Fenwyk."

Lynx's brow furrowed. "How can it be Fenwyk if you've never seen it?"

"Because," Ardyn said, his voice grave, "whatever this is, it predates even our recorded history. It's from a time when our craft wasn't just about making—it was about taking. Harnessing power that was never meant to be controlled."

Lynx's chest tightened. "Then why would someone bring it to me? What do they want?"

Ardyn met his son's gaze, his expression dark. "Perhaps they want to see what you'll do with it. Or perhaps… they want you to discover something better left forgotten."

The shard's faint hum seemed louder now, as if it were listening. Lynx stared at it, unease coiling in his gut. Whatever this artifact was, it felt like the beginning of something far bigger than he'd bargained for.