Ren staggered through the scorched haze, smoke curling around him like the breath of the dead.
Each step sent a shock of pain through his still-healing limbs. The wind carried the stench of ash and charred flesh, thick and cloying.
Rainhold was gone, and what remained was a smoldering skeleton, a graveyard of twisted beams and scorched stone.
But Ren wasn't focused on the destruction.
Instead, his thoughts were on the sources of power he could still feel connected to him. His soul bound objects. They were here, scattered among the rubble. He could feel them tugging at his very soul like old friends calling from the dark.
He stumbled forward, eyes scanning the rubble through the swirling smoke. His foot caught on a half-melted lantern, but he kept moving. Then, finally, he felt it.
The pull grew stronger.
He dropped to one knee and swept aside a pile of cracked stone and debris.
There! His bracers.
