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“Don’t touch it,” grunted an old Diver named Soryn, her left arm replaced by a shifting mass of crystallized pyre keeper shards. “That thing’s older than the Lighthouses. It fell from the sky during the Second Tide, when the Drowned God turned over in his sleep. They say it was driven into the world’s collarbone.”

Soryn laughed—a hollow, wet sound. “Boy, the Depths are kinder than what you’ll find down there. The Church’s ghosts don’t forgive.” deepwoken earth piercer

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. “Don’t touch it,” grunted an old Diver named

And somewhere, deep beneath the world, the last fragment of Harran the Sunderer began to sing. They say it was driven into the world’s collarbone

“I’m going down,” he said.

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.

Kaelen, a fresh-faced Deepwoken who had only survived three dives into the Depths, stared at it. He’d heard the legends. Every diver had. The Earth Piercer wasn’t just a weapon or a mantra. It was a judgment .