Chapter 6

Chapter 6: The Price of Power

The wasteland stretched endlessly before Arlen, a canvas of ash and ruin under a suffocating sky. The air was thick with the tang of rust and decay, clinging to her lungs like a weight she couldn’t shake. She pressed on, every step a reminder of the fight she’d left behind—the blood on her hands, the faces of the scavengers as their lives were snuffed out by her blade.

Her shard-infused arm pulsed with a dim, sickly glow, the faint light a mockery of the warmth she used to know. Each beat sent a dull ache coursing through her body, a reminder that she had traded part of herself for this strength.

“*You’re alive because of me,” the shard whispered, its voice cold and unyielding. “They’d have killed you. You had no *choice.”

But she wasn’t sure that was true.

Arlen stumbled over a loose rock, catching herself just before she hit the ground. Her knees were weak, her body trembling from hunger and exhaustion. The adrenaline of battle had long since faded, leaving her hollow and raw. She hadn’t eaten in days, and the stale crackers she’d found in a rusted truck hours ago had done little to ease the gnawing hunger in her gut. She kept walking.

By the time the next settlement came into view, the sun was little more than a dying ember on the horizon. Arlen’s breath caught in her throat as she took in the sight—a small cluster of shacks huddled together behind a makeshift barricade of scrap metal and broken machinery. The settlement looked as beaten as she felt, a fragile oasis in a sea of despair.

As she approached, she saw faces emerge from the shadows—men, women, and children, their expressions wary and hardened by survival.

“Who’s there?” a gruff voice called out.

A man stepped forward, his figure framed by the flickering light of a nearby fire. He was broad-shouldered, his face weathered and scarred. His hand rested on a crude spear at his side.

“Just a traveler,” Arlen said, raising her hands to show she meant no harm. Her voice was hoarse, cracked from disuse.

The man’s eyes narrowed as they flicked to her glowing arm. “What’s that?”

“It’s… nothing,” she said quickly, pulling her arm behind her.

He didn’t look convinced, his eyes kept stealing glances at the glowing arm. “We don’t take kindly to strangers. Especially ones with whatever that is.”

“I don’t want trouble,” Arlen said, forcing herself to meet his gaze. “I just need food. Water. Please.”

The word tasted bitter on her tongue.

The man hesitated, glancing back at the others. The villagers whispered among themselves, their eyes full of suspicion and fear. Finally, he turned back to her, his expression hard.

“Fine,” he said. “But one wrong move, and you’re out. Understand?”

Arlen nodded, her legs barely holding her upright as she stepped inside the barricade.

The settlement was worse up close. The shacks were patched together with scavenged materials, and the people were gaunt and hollow-eyed. A woman shoved a piece of bread into her child’s hands, her fingers trembling as she tore off a piece for herself. The firelight cast flickering shadows, dancing over faces that bore the weight of too many nights spent hungry and afraid.

Arlen sat alone in a corner of one of the shacks, gnawing on a piece of stale bread the villagers had grudgingly given her. She could feel their eyes on her, their whispers crawling under her skin.

“She’s dangerous,” a man murmured from outside.

“We should get rid of her,” another replied.

Her shard glowed faintly, as if responding to their fear. Arlen clenched her fists, willing it to dim. The last thing she needed was to draw more attention to herself.

“They don’t trust you,” the shard whispered, its voice dripping with disdain. “They never will. You’re wasting time here.”

“Shut up,” she muttered under her breath.

But the shard wasn’t wrong. Even as she tried to keep her head down, the weight of the villagers’ judgment pressed on her like a vice. It was the same as before—no matter where she went, she would always be an outsider.

The thought made her stomach churn. She had come here hoping for something different, but all she’d found was more of the same.

That night, as she lay on the cold, hard floor of the shack, the whispers grew louder.

“She shouldn’t be here,” someone said.

“She’s trouble,” another voice hissed.

Arlen shut her eyes tightly, but the words cut deep. Her arm throbbed, the shard’s energy feeding on her frustration and despair.

“They’ll turn on you,” the shard warned. “You know they will. Strike first. Protect yourself.”

“No,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“Then they’ll hurt you.”

Her breath hitched. She didn’t want to believe it, but hadn’t it always been true? Back at her home settlement, in the wasteland, with the scavengers—everyone saw her as weak or dangerous. There was no in-between.

The shard pulsed, its glow spreading through her body like wildfire. Her fingers twitched, the strength in her shard-infused arm almost begging to be unleashed.

“You don’t control me,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Don’t I?”

She sat up, her chest heaving. The villagers’ whispers had stopped, replaced by an eerie silence. Arlen’s heart pounded as she glanced at the door, half-expecting to see them storming in with torches and makeshift weapons. But there was no one.

She let out a shaky breath, her body trembling. The shard dimmed slightly, its voice fading into the background. But its presence was always there, lurking, waiting.

Arlen stared at her hands, one glowing faintly with unnatural power, the other trembling with fear.

“I’m not like you,” she whispered to the shard, though she wasn’t sure if she believed it anymore. But the shard didn’t answer.

And in the oppressive silence of the night, Arlen was left alone with the truth she couldn’t escape: she wasn’t who she used to be. And she wasn’t sure if she ever could be again.

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