The first light crept across the ruined landscape, casting long shadows that seemed to reach for the trio like silent fingers.
Kael stood, stretching his limbs but not speaking.
Lyra packed their few supplies, eyes sharp and restless.
Darric checked his bow, loosening the string then tightening it again.
"We can't stay here," Lyra said finally. "Malrik will know soon enough where we are."
Kael nodded. "We need to move. To the next Vault. To the heart of this war."
They set out, stepping over twisted roots and fractured stones.
The Veil's pressure was lighter here, but the air still hummed with tension.
"We're not just racing armies anymore," Kael said, voice low.
"We're racing time. And something deeper."
Lyra glanced at him. "You mean the mark."
Kael flexed his hand—barely visible beneath the glove, a flicker of black glyph light pulsed.
"It's a tether. A beacon."
Darric frowned. "For what?"
Kael's gaze sharpened. "For whatever's coming."
The path ahead was uncertain, but their resolve was clear.
Lyra met Kael's eyes.
"Whatever happens, we face it together."
Kael's lips curled in a brief, tired smile.
"Together."
Isryn paused at the crest of a ridge overlooking a narrow valley—below, the faint glow of a campfire flickered.
Her eyes, sharp and pale, traced the figures gathered there.
"So, the prodigal returns," she whispered, a mix of bitterness and something unreadable.
She touched the pendant at her throat—an heirloom and a key—and murmured a Veil invocation.
The shadows around her thickened, folding like a cloak.
"I will find you.
Before the past consumes us all."
Under the veil of darkness, Isryn slipped through twisted underbrush and shattered stone, moving like a ghost.
Her hands traced sigils in the air—ancient Veil marks that shimmered faintly before fading.
With a whisper, she summoned the Shadowbind Chains — dark, ethereal links that snaked forward, ready to ensnare.
Ahead, the campfire flickered, surrounded by Kael, Lyra, and Darric—guarded, but unaware.
Isryn's voice was cold and sharp.
"Brother."
With a sudden crack, Isryn unleashed Shadowbind Chains, which shot toward the perimeter guards with deadly precision.
The chains coiled, tightened, and pulled with unyielding force.
Darric reacted, firing an arrow tipped with Veil-iron, shattering one link.
Lyra leapt forward, blade flashing in the firelight, meeting Isryn's shadowy form.
"You came for war," Lyra said.
Isryn's eyes glowed pale. "For truth."
The night exploded in motion.
Isryn's Shadowbind Chains writhed like serpents, snapping toward Lyra with venomous speed.
Lyra countered with Crimson Lotus Slash — a swift, arcing blade strike that glowed with red aura, slicing the chains midair into sparks.
Isryn smirked, summoning Veilfire Daggers — twin blades forged from pure Veil energy, flickering with eerie blue flames.
She lunged, spinning into Phantom Vortex, a twisting dance of strikes designed to overwhelm and disorient.
Lyra met her, parrying fiercely, each clang echoing like thunder.
Meanwhile, Darric knelt, nocking an arrow tipped with Shadowpiercer — a rare metal that can sever Veil bonds.
He fired at the second wave of chains rising toward him.
The arrow flew true, shattering the tendrils before they could bind him.
"Keep her busy!" Darric called. "I'm moving in!"
Lyra backed off, eyes sharp.
She called on her inner fire and launched the Blazing Tempest, a whirlwind of flame-wreathed slashes that forced Isryn to leap back, barely dodging.
Isryn hissed, summoning a shield of Veil Mist — a shimmering barrier that absorbed the heat but blurred her form.
"Your flames burn bright, sister," Isryn taunted.
"But darkness holds deeper secrets."
Isryn's hands glowed fiercely as she prepared her next strike — Eclipse Requiem, a concentrated blast of shadow energy meant to shatter bone and spirit.
Lyra's eyes narrowed.
"Not if I end this first."
She lunged, blade ignited with the final breath of her Phoenix Ascendant technique — a searing strike meant to pierce through darkness itself.
The two attacks collided—shadow and fire clashing in a deafening explosion.
Smoke curled in the air, mingling with the acrid scent of burnt Veil energy. Both women staggered back, breaths ragged, eyes locked in fierce determination.
Isryn's Veil Mist shield shattered into fragments of black glass. Her pale eyes burned with frustration—and a grudging respect.
"You've grown," she admitted, voice cold but sincere.
Lyra steadied her blade, the red aura flickering but steady.
"And you've fallen far," Lyra replied. "But there's still a chance to come back."
Isryn smiled—a fleeting, sad curve.
"Redemption isn't for those who've been forgotten."
Darric moved swiftly, covering their flank.
"We can talk later," he growled. "Right now, we need to get moving."
The camp's edge flickered as new shadows approached—Veilspawn drawn by the battle's power.
"Incoming!" Darric shouted.
Lyra sheathed her blade.
"No rest for the weary."
Isryn's eyes narrowed.
"This isn't over."
With a pulse of Veil energy, she vanished into the dark woods, leaving a lingering echo of cold behind.
Lyra glanced after her, then at Kael, who had watched silently from the firelight's edge.
"We've stirred more than we bargained for."
Kael's gaze hardened.
"Good. Let them come."