Smoke from scorched parchment still lingered, swirling like threads of a forgotten prayer. The air shimmered in waves, where magic once sang and now screamed in silence. Valora—bloodied, weary, cracked open with purpose—stood motionless, her eyes wide as the scroll dissolved to ash in her hands. Two mages had stood beside her not moments ago, their spells prepared, their hearts calm in resignation. Now they were gone.
Gone—swallowed whole by something not meant to exist.
A shadow—no, a wound—had opened and consumed them.
And from that wound, he came.
A ripple in the fabric of light. A stutter in reality. Then a form—bent, hunched, unclean in shape but clean in hunger—rose from the gaping scar of air.
Veil.
