At the center of the slick cobblestones lay a fragment of a monument—a broken slab of dark stone, carved with a single, unmistakable symbol: a downward spike piercing three concentric rings. The mark of the Earth Piercer .
From weight .
“I’m going down,” he said.
The rain over the Etris Docks never fell straight. It whipped sideways, stinging like salt-flung needles, and beneath the creaking hulls of galleons, a crowd had gathered. Not for fish. Not for a hanging. For a grave. deepwoken earth piercer
And then the vision swallowed him. He was standing on a cliff that no longer existed, in a time when the Song of the world was still untarnished. Before the depths rose. Before the greys. He wore not his own body, but that of a giant—a Deepwoken of impossible attunement, his flesh woven with stone and root. His name was Harran the Sunderer . At the center of the slick cobblestones lay
Harran was not a hero. He was a warden. A warden of the deep fault lines that ran beneath the Lumen Jungle, where the Kyrsgarde first clawed their way from the silence between worlds. The Church of the Unbroken had hired him to seal a breach—a crack in reality leaking Dreadstar corruption. “I’m going down,” he said