Chapter 12: Cracks in the Veil
—The Defector—
Kerris pressed the stolen insignia against the temple's sigil-stone. The carved bone flared faintly — just enough to fool the ward.
He stepped into the sanctum.
It smelled of salt, rot, and old blood. Bone pillars spiraled upward, etched with prayers in Takhisis's tongue. Black-robed initiates moved like wraiths between chambers, whispering to things behind curtains that should not have voices.
He kept his head down.
His memories screamed. Every corner of this place held a piece of him. The boy who once begged for power. The priest who gave his hands to death.
But that boy had died with the first gate.
Kerris was something new now — something furious.
In his pocket, he clutched a blood-soaked scroll. A ritual. A reverse bind.
He'd use their magic against them.
> "You're a fool," a voice hissed from the shadows.
"And you're already dead."
He didn't turn.
Didn't need to.
That voice belonged to his former mentor.
And she always did love watching her students bleed.
---
—The Ruin—
The trio stared at the ruins rising before them — jagged black stone, speckled with glowing moss, half-swallowed by a dead forest.
"Looks haunted," Lira offered.
"Because it is," Thalen replied.
Kaela stepped forward, sword drawn.
"Not haunted," she said softly. "Waiting."
They crossed the threshold.
Magic snapped like a spring — the instant Lira's boot hit the cracked tile. Runes lit up in a circle. Stone twisted. The doorway sealed shut behind them with a thunderous boom.
"…I hate ancient architecture," Lira muttered.
They were inside a massive dome, choked with roots and bones. In the center stood a pedestal — and atop it, a mirror.
But not a normal one.
It didn't reflect.
It showed.
Lira saw herself — younger, afraid, clinging to a kender family that no longer breathed. She flinched.
Thalen stepped closer — and saw a version of himself kneeling before the Queen.
Kaela shoved past them, smashing the mirror with her shield. It shattered in silence.
"…That's not the gate," she said. "It's the key to hiding it."
Behind the pedestal, the wall cracked.
The staff, wrapped and carried on Kaela's back, began to hum.
Lira turned toward the sound.
"Uh-oh."
---
—The Dragon Army—
Far to the east, in the shattered temple of Sorlorn, the Dragon Army surrounded a jagged arch buried in obsidian.
It wasn't like the first gate. This one was fractured, leaking violet light through its frame.
The Bone Queen stood at the center, robes rippling with invisible wind. Her new mask was smoother. Less ornate. More cruel.
"Begin the siphon," she ordered.
Chained mages screamed as the ritual began.
Their life — their very memories — poured into the stones.
And slowly, the gate responded.
It did not open like a door.
It screamed.
A rift tore — not wide, but deep. From it, something crawled.
Not a creature.
Not even a spirit.
A thought. Hungry and ancient.
The soldiers fell to their knees. Their shadows twisted away from them.
One of them began whispering names they had never known.
The Queen smiled.
But even she did not see the thin thread of magic arcing out — escaping the chaos — sent like a message, like a beacon.
Across mountains and miles, the staff on Kaela's back flared.
And in the ruin, the wall finally crumbled — revealing a second gate.
Lira stared at it.
"Okay," she said faintly. "This one looks extra cursed."