Cold. Not the biting chill of winter, but the cold of absence.
Kaelen's eyes snapped open to a sky without stars, a void stretching endlessly above. The ground beneath him was black glass, cracked with veins of faint, pulsing crimson.
Every sound here was wrong. His own breathing echoed as though he stood inside a vast cavern, yet there were no walls—only the shifting silhouettes of impossible shapes in the distance.
"You've stepped into my threshold," a voice said, deep and resonant, vibrating through his bones.
The Veilmaster emerged from the darkness, his form tall and slender, robed in shadows that writhed like living smoke. His face was hidden beneath a smooth, mask-like helm with no eyes… yet Kaelen felt the gaze upon him.
"I didn't come here by choice," Kaelen growled, forcing himself to stand.
A slow, deliberate chuckle. "Choice? You wield the Abyss and think you still have it?"
The crimson cracks in the ground widened, and from them rose twisted figures—warriors made of shadow and broken steel, their eyeless heads tilting toward him.
"You could be more than prey, Keeper," the Veilmaster continued, stepping closer. "Join me, and you will shape worlds instead of defending them."
The Abyss within Kaelen surged at the offer, whispering promises of strength, vengeance, freedom.
Kaelen's jaw clenched. "I'd rather burn than kneel."
The Veilmaster tilted his head slightly, as if amused.
"So be it."
The shadow warriors lunged.
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