Vessel of the Fractured Void

Surazal stands with the grey artifact in hand as the square tightens around him. The Guard Captain edges forward, one palm near his pommel, eyes fixed on the thing like it might bite. Vaelin lies on the cobbles, shivering, whispering for the artifact to be surrendered before it wakes again.

A cold pulse stirs through Surazal’s fingers, not bright, but deep and patient. The market silence feels brittle, one sharp word from turning into steel.

The Guard Captain shifts his stance, ready to block the square. Vaelin scrambles up on one elbow, fear warping into pleading as he watches Surazal and the relic both.

Every eye in the thinning crowd stays on Surazal, and the next move will decide whether he keeps the artifact, hands it over, or turns the captain’s suspicion into open conflict.

Surazal closes his grip around the artifact and lets the dim pulse sink into his palm. The grey bone goes warm, then colder, as if something inside it exhales into him.

A faint violet thread leaks from the relic into his hand, then into his arm. The pressure in the square shifts, and the artifact loses its last hard throb.

The Guard Captain’s eyes widen as the glow crawls under Surazal’s skin and vanishes. Vaelin flinches hard, shocked by the empty stillness left behind.

A sting runs through Surazal’s fingers, sharp and cold, and a whisper of grave-dirt lingers on his breath. The relic remains in his hand, but the square has gone very still.