The sky above Darswich split like old parchment. Smoke spiraled through fractured rooftops, and the observatory—once a place of stars and study—now stood like the ribcage of some dead god, jutting against the bleeding sky. Inside, the circle still glowed, the symbols contorting, hungry, alive.
Grimpel knelt at the edge of the circle. His hands trembled, stained with chalk and regret. Sweat clung to his brow, and every breath came with the weight of the dead. He stared into the runes as if they might still offer forgiveness.
"You shouldn't have come," he whispered.
But the boy—no, the young man—stepped forward, his fists clenched. Nylessa's brother. Eyes like stormglass, voice like splintered stone.
"And you shouldn't be crying," he spat. "You don't get to cry. Not now. Not after what you did."
Grimpel flinched. "I tried to—"
"You tried?" His voice rose like a blade being drawn. "You tried? You let them twist you like an old charm, Grimpel. You let them wrap their lies around your guilt and turn it into a weapon. You let them use you. You cracked the Veil. My people are dying. My mother is dead. Nylessa is out there alone, bleeding and fighting to fix your mistake. And you stand here crying like a child?"
Grimpel rose slowly, shakily. His voice broke on the next word. "I wanted to save the city. I wanted to bring peace. I thought... I thought I could hold it all together. I thought if I paid the price, no one else would have to."
The boy took another step forward. His eyes blazed with fire Grimpel recognized too well.
"Then you were a coward. And your cowardice got everyone I love killed."
The runes pulsed between them, feeding on the sorrow. The portal flickered like a wounded star. Something screamed on the other side, low and distant.
Silence settled for a moment, thick and ragged. Then:
"Can we stop it?" Grimpel asked, his voice raw. "The Veil... the creatures are multiplying. They're going to spread. They'll leave Darswich behind."
Nylessa's brother said nothing. He turned his face toward the crack in the air, toward the twisted edge of the circle where light bent wrong.
"How do we close it?" he finally asked.
Grimpel swallowed. "I've been trying to solve that since the runes started shifting. The portal feeds on supernatural essence—the shard amplifies it. And it opens to feed."
He hesitated. Something darker stirred behind his words.
"Something... connected to the Veil might stabilize it. Something bound to it. Not an object. A soul."
The boy's brow furrowed. His voice was low. "What are you saying?"
"A Shade Walker," Grimpel said, barely above a breath.
The boy reeled like he'd been punched. "No. Absolutely not."
"They were the first guardians. Their blood sings with the Veil's voice. They were born in its breath. If one willingly steps in, it might—it might close the breach."
"And kill them," he hissed. "You want to throw my sister into the maw you opened?"
Grimpel shook his head. "I don't want any of this. But the longer that crack stays open, the more these creatures feed, the more real they become. This isn't just Darswich. They will fly beyond these walls. They will hunt the world."
The boy backed away, his hands shaking. "I won't ask her. Not after all this."
Grimpel turned away, shame rippling across his face. He didn't say it aloud, but he knew it too: there was no other way.
Elsewhere, beneath the ash-blown sky
Thorne moved through the smoke like a returning wraith, boots crunching on broken glass and charred wings. His blade gleamed, slick with old blood. His cloak hung torn, but his stride was calm.
Behind his mask, he grinned.
He had seen the chaos from the cathedral tower. He had heard the cries. And now he would return to the place where it all began.
The observatory.
He would see Grimpel's final moments. And he would witness the death of the old world.
Somewhere else—the cracked streets of Darswich
Nylessa's boots splashed through blood and mud. Her blade dripped black ichor. Her arms burned, but her grip didn't falter.
Another creature lunged.
It moved like shattered glass and sinew, eyes blinking along its spine. Its mouth opened sideways, lined with twitching fingers.
Nylessa didn't scream. She moved.
Steel met bone. She ducked a lash of claws, rolled beneath its twisting limbs, and drove her dagger into its neck—if it had one.
It shrieked. The sound was wrong. Like every cry she'd ever heard, played backward.
It clawed for her face, catching her jaw. Blood spilled.
She snarled and pushed forward, stabbing again. Once. Twice. A third time.
The creature fell.
She didn't pause.
She kept running.
The observatory tower rose ahead, shrouded in flame and smoke, its old bones trembling.
Her thoughts screamed: My brother. I have to reach him.
But another shadow dropped in front of her. Larger. Taller. Its form rippled, its spine lined with hooks. It grinned with a face that split open in eight directions.
Nylessa threw a knife.
It bounced off.
It lunged.
She sidestepped, barely dodging a bone-hook swipe. Her hands moved on instinct. A spell sparked from her fingertips—a flash of violet light.
The beast roared.
She leapt onto a broken cart, launched herself from the edge, and slammed both feet into its chest. It stumbled. She rolled behind it, drew a second blade, and slashed its heel.
It shrieked, staggered.
She drove both blades up into its back.
The thing spasmed. Twitching. Then collapsed like wet ash.
Panting, bleeding, she pressed a hand to her ribs.
"I'm coming," she whispered. "Don't you die before I get there."
And then she ran again, through fire, through grief, toward the observatory—toward the only family she had left.
Inside the Observatory
Grimpel sat beside the circle. The boy's footsteps echoed behind him.
"Even if we ask her," the boy said, his voice quieter now, "even if she says yes... she won't survive."
Grimpel didn't look up. "No. But the rest of us might."
The boy pressed his palm against the window frame. Below them, creatures howled. Darswich bled.
"She'll hate you for this," he said. "And maybe me too."
Grimpel nodded slowly. "She has every right."
Then they heard it—the creak of the observatory stairs.
Footsteps.
Thorne.
And not far from the observatory, just beyond the ash-veiled gate, Nylessa was on her way.