Chapter One

Neon Quinn leaned against the cluttered worktable, staring at the relic she had pulled just days ago from the ruins of Navrisc, a collapsed fortress east of Verdand.

A black cube sat in the dim candlelight. No seams. No markings or signs of how it was built. Just cold, perfect geometry.

She ran a finger along its surface, expecting to feel the usual ridges of timeworn metal or the fine engravings of ancient craftsmanship. Instead, it was… unnervingly smooth.

Neon exhaled and leaned back, letting her gaze drift toward the narrow window above her workbench.

Outside, the night sky stretched dark and wide, the stars half-muted by low-hanging haze. But there, just above the line of the mountains, a faint scar arched across the sky, tilting east to west.

It wasn’t a moon, nor any constellation she knew. It mostly resembled a rainbow—only that it was silver, unblinking, and etched far too perfectly across the stars to be natural. The locals called it the Watcher’s Bow—watching over the world for centuries. Neon had always thought it looked like a blade.

She stared at it for a long moment. It never left the sky—not entirely. Some nights it vanished behind storm cover, or dulled itself to a single thread lost in starlight. By daylight, it was easy to pretend it wasn’t there. Easy to mistake it for a trick of reflection, or a crease in the clouds. But if one would look just long enough, in the right slant of morning sun, one could see it: a faint band etched across the sky.

Then the door creaked.

Stella—her mentor and fellow-relic hunter—stepped inside, shaking off the chill of the night. Mist clung to the shoulders of her worn leather coat, the scent of rain and iron following her in. Her dark hair, bound in a strict bun as always, was damp and fraying at the edges with some stray strands escaping.

She let a heavy backpack drop to the floor with a metallic clatter, and straightened with a quiet grunt, rolling one stiff shoulder. Her eyes swept the room, keen and tired, and for a moment, they landed on Neon.

“Ready to go?” she asked.

“Absolutely,” replied Neon, dropping the cube into her pocket.

“Three days,” Stella muttered as she fixed an oil lantern to the end of her velvet crystalline staff. “Either it’s hiding better than most, or it’s not there at all.”

“We’ve searched every inch,” Neon sighed as she pushed herself away from the worktable.

“Or maybe we’ve been searching the wrong places,” Stella gave her a pointed look. “That chamber in the lower levels—the one with the markings. Did you manage to get it open?”

Neon’s hand instinctively went to the cube in her pocket. She hadn’t told her about it yet. Something about the relic felt… private. Personal, even.

She glanced at Stella, lantern light flickering over her face. Stella had her secrets—deeper ones than any relic could hold. Neon had known for years Stella was no ordinary hunter. Once, she had been something rarer, something feared: a Mirage of the capital.

People whispered about them in hushed tones, the chosen followers of Synestra, the goddess of wisdom. Entire keeps had fallen to a single Mirage, doors unlatched, defenses turned traitor, machines bent to their will without so much as a hand raised.

Whenever Neon had dared to ask what happened, Stella’s reply was always the same—flat, final: “I committed an act worthy of exile from the capital. That is all you need to know.” And then she would look away, her lips drawn tight, as though she’d already said too much.

It was a wall Neon had learned not to climb. Still, the thought of it sat between them now, as heavy as the cube weighing down her pocket.

She turned her gaze to the window, voice steady. “It wasn’t sealed when I found it. Just dust and cobwebs inside.”

Stella sighed, her breath fogging in the chill air. “Well, we can’t just give up. We’re offered a fortune for this artifact.”

“And a long break from relic hunting,” muttered Neon.

Stella chuckled and tossed Neon her sleek wooden bow that was resting beside the door. “Still dreaming of that vacation in Luthiem, I see.”

Neon caught it with a grunt. “I’ve always wanted to stand on a beach and not leave until the sun burns my nose.”

She glanced down at her pocket. Something about the cube suddenly unsettled her, like a whisper of warning at the edge of her consciousness. But the promise of a hefty payday was too tempting to ignore.

“Let’s find the hammer this time,” she said at last, slinging the bow over her shoulder.

The floorboards creaked beneath their boots as they stepped out into the dimly lit hallway of the Twilight Inn. Neon paused, her gaze drawn to the closed door of the room adjacent to theirs. A relic hunter’s habit—always know who’s around you when the work is dangerous.

“Stella,” Neon called out, her voice hushed in the stillness of the inn. “Do you know who’s been renting that one?”

Stella glanced over her shoulder, her brow furrowed. “Not exactly. I only know it’s booked until harvest season.”

Before Neon could press further, a burst of laughter rose from the common room below. Voices carried up through the stairwell with the sour tang of ale.

“… blue flickers again last night. Over the trees,” one man muttered.

“You sure it wasn’t the drink?” came the scoffing reply.

“You calling me a liar?”

“Navrisc’s cursed, that’s all I’m saying. Ever since the innkeeper’s wife wandered back red-eyed and babbling nonsense—”

A sudden hush cut him off, the scrape of chairs and a muffled protest following as his companions tried to silence him.

Neon and Stella exchanged a glance. Even as they turned down the hall toward the exit, Neon could still hear the man grumbling beneath the crackle of the hearth.

The streets of Verdand were empty now, save for a few stray cats that darted between the shadows. The lanterns that lined the cobblestone paths flickered in the wind.

Neon pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders, shivering in the chill air. The town felt different at night—darker, more sinister.

Stella walked slightly ahead, the soft glow of her lantern staff illuminating the path before them and casting long, distorting shadows that danced and writhed on the walls.

“You’re quiet,” said Stella. “Is something amiss?”

“I’m fine,” muttered Neon, quickening her pace to keep up with her. “Just getting a weird feeling, that’s all.”

The lane narrowed, pressing them between walls of damp stone. Lanterns flickered weakly overhead, their glass fogged with soot, and somewhere in the shadows a cat yowled before vanishing under a cart.

Then a shout cut through the stillness. “Halt! Who goes there?”

Neon and Stella spun around to see two town guards emerging from the gloom, their polished breastplates glinting in the moonlight. One held a flickering torch aloft, while the other kept a wary hand on the pommel of his sword.

“State your business,” the torch-bearing guard demanded, his eyes narrowing. “What are you doing out at this hour?”

Stella stepped forward, her expression calm and composed. “We are but travelers, seeking our mounts from the stables so that we may be on our way.”

“Awful heavily armed for mere travelers,” he grunted as his gaze flicked to Neon, lingering on the olive bow slung across her back.

Neon met his stare evenly. “One can never be too careful on the open road. Bandits and Cogmaws lurk in the shadows.”

One of the guards snorted, but the other’s face shifted in the torchlight. “Aye… strange business with them lately,” he said before catching himself. “Not just the border roads anymore. Two nights past, a trader swore a Cogmaw came right out of the pines—couldn’t say whether it was a Feireverine or a Bristleback, but it smashed his cart to splinters—” He stopped short as the torchbearer shot him a sharp look.

The man cleared his throat, straightened his shoulders, and said nothing more.

Neon kept her expression steady, but the word brought a flicker of memory—iron jaws clamping shut, the air split by that awful grinding shriek. Cogmaws hunted for the noise, the ruin, the scatter of metal and bone in their wake.

“The stables are closed for the night,” said the torchbearer, snapping Neon’s mind back to the present. “No one is permitted to retrieve their animals until dawn.”

Stella inclined her head slightly, voice steady and unhurried. “I apologize, but why the sudden curfew?”

“Something happened—” the other guard paused, briefly glancing at the torchbearer before focusing again on Stella and Neon. “Don’t ask us what. The bailiff’s tight-lipped.”

“Surely, you could make an exception?” Stella asked.

The guards exchanged a glance, seeming to come to a wordless agreement. The torchbearer shook his head firmly. “The rules are in place for a reason. Return to your lodgings and set out in the morning like everyone else.”

“Very well,” Stella said smoothly, inclining her head in acquiescence. “We shall trouble you no further.” She turned around and urged Neon to follow.

Neon scowled but obeyed. “We’re still going to Navrisc, right?” she whispered.

“Of course,” Stella gave a subtle nod. “We’ll just have to be more careful sneaking out.” Her eyes gleamed in the lantern light.

They made their way back to the Twilight Inn, the guards’ watchful gazes boring into their backs.

Once inside their room, with the door firmly shut, Stella turned to Neon. “We’ll wait an hour, then slip out the back. Stick to the shadows and make for the old smugglers’ gate on the west wall.”

Neon nodded, running a quick hand over her bowstring. “You think this curfew’s got anything to do with the innkeeper’s wife disappearing?”

“Possible,” Stella said with a frown, rummaging through her pack. Her gaze flicked once toward the door before she bent back to her task. “But not our concern tonight. We find Holdrene’s Hammer before dawn.”

Neon found herself pacing restlessly as the hour crept by. Her mind kept wandering to the strange black cube weighing down her pocket. What was its purpose? Why did it unsettle her so? She itched to examine it further but resisted the urge. There would be time for that after they found the hammer and got paid.

Finally, Stella doused the lantern and peered cautiously out the window. “Alright, let’s move,” she whispered.

They crept down the back stairs, wincing at every creak of the old wood. The kitchen was dark and empty now, pots and pans gleaming dully on their hooks. Stella unbarred the back door, and they slipped out into the night.

A chill mist clung to the ground, swirling around their ankles as they darted through the alleys. They skirted pools of lantern light, sticking to the deepest shadows. Verdand was like a slumbering beast at this hour, still and silent but for their own furtive footsteps.

They reached the west wall without incident. The old smugglers’ gate was half-hidden behind a ramshackle shed, vines twisting through the rusted iron bars. Stella gave the gate a small nudge, and it swung open with only the faintest groan of protest.

Beyond, the road wound through the misty fields, a pale ribbon under the waning moon. Navrisc loomed in the distance, its crumbling spires dark against the silver arc cutting across the night sky.

The air smelled of wet earth and leaves. As they walked, an owl hooted mournfully somewhere in the fog, making Neon start.

“Jumpy tonight, aren’t we?” Stella remarked with a wry smile.

“Can you blame me?” scowled Neon, her fingers twitching toward her bow.

Stella shrugged. “You know, you’ve come a long way from the girl who used to flinch at shadows in Brookshire.”

“I still flinch. I just hide it better now,” Neon smirked, kicking a loose stone ahead of them. “Anyway… you didn’t exactly ask if I wanted this life.”

“And you didn’t exactly say no,” Stella replied.

“I was twelve,” Neon rolled her eyes. “All I heard was ‘Here’s a weapon, don’t touch the red runes.’”

Stella let out a quiet laugh. “And now, ten years on, you’re an expert relic hunter.”

Neon did not reply immediately. Her gaze drifted toward the full moon, pale and sharp-edged against the clouds. “Still feel like I’m playing someone else’s role.”

That was what it had always felt like. She had no stories from before Stella found her, no half-faded memories of parents or friends to anchor her. Just the cold stone steps in Brookshire where she’d begged for scraps, and Stella’s shadow falling across her when she’d offered a hand instead of a coin.

In all the years since, Stella had been her only constant—the only person who seemed to know where she fit, even when Neon didn’t.

Stella slowed just a little, her lantern casting a soft halo about them. “Or maybe you’ve been in the right role all along,” she said quietly. “You just can’t see it yet.”

They pressed through the clinging mist, following the winding road. By the time the spires of Navrisc cut through the fog, the moon had slid deep behind the clouds.

Neon suppressed a shiver as her eyes traced the stone walls that were adorned with tangled vines and shadowy alcoves. Intricate carvings covered the archway above the entrance, while disfigured statues flanked the doorway. One was missing an arm, the jagged stump covered in lichen. The other had a crack running through its torso, as if it had been cleaved in two by a giant blade. 

Stella paused, her brow furrowing as they approached the entrance. “That’s odd…”

“What?” Neon tensed, her hand going to her bow.

“The door’s open.” Stella tapped the air with her staff, frowning. “I was certain I sealed it when we left.”

Neon peered closely. The heavy stone door stood just wide enough for a person to slip through. Beyond, yawned impenetrable darkness that seemed to suck at the edges of the light cast by Stella.

She lit a torch from Stella’s lantern, and stepped cautiously inside, the firelight painting the ancient stone walls in flickering orange. Their footsteps echoed too loudly in the cavernous entrance hall.

“I say we head straight for that chamber below,” Stella murmured. “See if we missed something.”

Neon nodded tightly, her free hand never straying away from her bow. They made their way down crumbling staircases and long, dank corridors, deeper into the bowels of Navrisc.

They descended into the lower levels, where the air turned colder and the walls seemed to lean inward, slick with moisture. Drops of water slid down the stone in glistening trails, and the narrow passage forced their shoulders close to the damp, unyielding surface.

“Here,” whispered Stella, coming to a halt before a massive door set into a stone wall. Strange symbols were carved into its surface.

Neon swallowed hard. “That’s the one.”

Stella traced her fingers over the symbols. “These markings…”

“Can you identify it?” Neon asked, stepping closer to cast her torchlight over the carvings. The lines seemed to twist under the flicker of the flame, shapes she almost recognized but couldn’t place—like a word on the tip of her tongue.

“Looks like some kind of warning,” said Stella.

“A warning for what?” asked Neon, the question sharper than she intended. Her voice bounced off the stone and came back at her, thinner, as if the corridor itself didn’t like the sound of it.

“I’m not sure. But this is not the kind of find you want the Empire to hear about…” With that, Stella pressed her palms against the door and pushed.

The door groaned open, stone grating against stone, and they stepped into the chamber beyond.

Stella raised her lantern high, its light revealing more of the circular chamber. The walls were lined with alcoves, each one containing a stone sarcophagus covered in intricate carvings. In the center of the room stood a raised dais, upon which rested a single sarcophagus, larger and more ornate than the others.

“This must be it,” breathed Stella, approaching the central sarcophagus. “Holdrene’s final resting place.”

Neon trailed behind, her gaze sweeping the shadows for movement. The air felt heavier here, as if the chamber remembered her. A shiver ran down her spine when her eyes found the narrow crevice in the sarcophagus—the same place her hand had reached in yesterday, closing around the cube’s unnervingly smooth surface.

She could still feel the cold of it in her palm if she thought about it too long. She blinked hard, forcing her attention back to Stella, who was already examining its lid, her fingers tracing the carved symbols.

“Help me with this,” said Stella, bracing herself to push.

It was immensely heavy, resisting their efforts. They strained against the lid, muscles burning, until with a final heave, it grudgingly shifted aside. A gust of stale air rushed out, carrying with it the scent of ancient dust and something else more fetid.

They leaned over to peer inside. The sarcophagus was empty, save for a folded piece of parchment resting at the bottom. Stella reached in and picked it up gingerly, unfolding it with trembling fingers.

“That wasn’t there yesterday,” said Neon, peering over Stella’s shoulder and trying to make out what was in it.

Stella turned it slowly, her brow furrowing. “Wait… this can’t be…”

Neon leaned closer, the flickering torchlight revealing a series of winding lines and notations—faint, almost rubbed out.

“That mark,” Stella whispered, pointing to a jagged symbol. “That’s the…”

Her words trailed off into a sharp gasp. The parchment fluttered from her suddenly nerveless fingers as she staggered back, her face draining of color.

“Stella?” Neon reached for her in alarm. “What is it?”

Before Stella could respond, a deep rumbling filled the chamber. Dust sifted down from the ceiling as the floor began to shake beneath their feet.

“The exit—quick!” Stella croaked, grabbing Neon’s arm.

They spun toward the door—but too late. With a thunderous boom, the heavy stone slabs slammed shut, sealing them inside.

This is a preview of the forthcoming novel Glitched and Fractured (Book 1 of 7 in the Glitched Saga).