Gareth moved through the quiet town, the sun hanging low like a dying halo, casting long, skeletal shadows over stone huts and crooked wooden beams bleached by time.
The buildings leaned inward as if listening, their carved sun-patterns cracked and fading, wild-zone symbols etched beside them like warnings left by trembling hands.
Dust drifted across the empty path, carrying the scent of old earth and forgotten fires, while distant wind chimes made from bone clicked softly in the hollow air.
Every step Gareth took echoed against the ruined walls, and the whole town felt like it waited—silent, watching, remembering something it wished it could forget.
Gareth reached the outskirts, where an old stone hall leaned against the hillside, its roof collapsed in patches and ivy crawling like veins over cracked walls.
The air smelled of damp wood and smoke long extinguished, and broken windows stared like empty eyes at the approaching figure.
Inside, shadows pooled in corners, and the faint scratch of rats in the walls echoed through the hollow, abandoned space.
A single candle flickered on a low table, and there, hunched and silent, Jaless waited, eyes sharp beneath the hood, welcoming Gareth without a word.
Gareth leaned against the cracked doorway, eyes scanning the darkened hall. "Jaless… why do you live all the way out here? Isn't it… dangerous?"
Jaless didn't look up, tracing a line in the dust. "Danger? Nah… I just don't have any money for a fancy place in town."
Gareth snorted, shaking his head. "Right… because hiding in ruins with rats and wind-chimes made of bones screams 'luxury living.'"
Jaless finally grinned, sharp and playful. "Hey, you try paying rent with stories and shadows, I dare you."
Jaless stepped out beside Gareth, brushing dust from his cloak as they started down the worn path. "So," he muttered, "what are we eating for lunch? And don't say dried roots again—I'd rather starve."
Gareth shrugged. "Then pick something that isn't crawling or cursed. That narrows it down to… nothing."
As they walked past a group of weary warriors, the men spoke in hushed, shaken voices. "The corruption keeps spreading… we still can't find the source," one whispered, gripping his spear.
Another stared hollowly at the ground. "At this rate… we'll all die before the Sun's Eyes open again."
Gareth tilted his head, eyes narrowing. "What about the Outer March?"
Jaless stopped in his tracks, raising an eyebrow. "Huh… you actually know about that? Impressive."
He gestured ahead, voice low. "It's a group of the strongest Veilbinders in the West. Five March in total, each guarding their own territory."
Gareth's gaze sharpened. "And what about the one with a man named Toravon… what's their deal?"
One of the warriors glanced back, frowning. "Wait… what name did you just say?"
Gareth caught the wary look in their eyes and quickly said, "I said… Tarvan of the East."
The warriors chuckled, shaking their heads, and continued on their way, laughter fading down the path.
Jaless looked down at his boots, letting out a quiet, forced laugh, masking the unease that tickled the edges of his mind.
Jaless fell into step beside Gareth, voice low. "Using that name… it's forbidden. Never speak it aloud."
Gareth frowned. "Why? Who is he really?"
Jaless shook his head slowly. "Toravon… he's from the Inner March."
"The Inner March controls everything inside the West—food, water, movement… resources that are rare and precious," he continued, eyes scanning the path ahead.
"They've got eyes everywhere," Jaless said, voice dropping. "Nothing moves without them noticing, nothing changes without their approval."
"The Inner March has ten groups," he added, "all so complex that even the strongest in the West can't fully understand their structure."
"And Toravon," Jaless's tone sharpened, "he's the strongest of them all. Don't underestimate him."
He leaned closer, voice almost a whisper.
"He has enough power… enough to rival the Elders themselves. Remember that, Gareth. Don't make a mistake by thinking he's just another Veilbinder."
Gareth glanced back, eyes taking in the malnourished city, its broken streets and hollowed buildings. "Is he… a bad guy?"
Jaless's gaze followed his, voice steady but heavy. "Unfortunately… yes."
He sighed, running a hand over his face. "But even though he's bad, he's helped everyone more than you'd think."
"The world doesn't care about morality," Jaless continued, "only about consequences. And power… power always comes with a price."
Gareth's eyes narrowed, sensing the weight beneath the surface. "There's… something deeper than this, isn't there?"
Jaless nodded slowly. "Yes. Much deeper than most realize."
Gareth clenched his fists. "Then… can we just go and defeat him?"
Jaless shook his head, voice grave. "Unfortunately… that's near impossible."
"He has five of the strongest Veilbinders," Jaless continued, "all at the peak of the Awakening Stage."
"Even more," he added, "the majority of the population sides with him, willingly or not."
Jaless's gaze hardened. "Every move you make will be watched, every decision weighed against you."
"Going in blind," he concluded, "would be suicide. We have to be smarter than that… or we die before even reaching him."
Gareth's eyes locked on Jaless, voice firm. "Then take me to Toravon's place."
Jaless hesitated, gaze dropping. "I'll show you… but I won't go in. I have a past with him, and that door is mine alone to never cross again."
Gareth nodded, a faint smile touching his lips. "Understood… thanks."
They arrived at a huge house, laughter spilling from open windows, the smell of food in the air, and families moving freely—alive and unafraid.
Outside, hundreds of warriors and guards lined the perimeter, standing tall, vigilant, and perfectly synchronized.
Gareth stretched his arms slowly, shoulders rolling as he let his mind wander, scanning the disciplined formations.
His thoughts drifted back—last time he had run with the Veil, approaching the speed of sound, his energy tore through the trees.
Branches shattered, splinters flew, and a deafening sonic boom followed, shaking the earth beneath him.
The memory made him wince, fingers flexing reflexively as if he could feel the lingering burn of that energy.
"That's why…" he muttered quietly, gaze lowering, "I never like running with the Veil around others."
Jaless noticed the tension, but said nothing, letting Gareth wrestle with the memory alone as they moved closer to the massive house.
Gareth channeled the Veil into his legs and sharpened his vision, every fiber of his body humming with raw energy.
In an instant, he shot forward faster than the speed of sound, leaping over Toravon's friends, the ground cracking beneath the force of his takeoff.
He landed with controlled medium force on the roof of the massive house, dust and shingles scattering around him.
Jaless's eyes widened, jaw tight. "Unbelievable… he's… I wish I could follow him like that… but I can't."
The guards spotted Gareth immediately, shouting orders as they sprinted after him, some wielding the Veil themselves to keep pace.
They chased him around the house in a chaotic blur, doors slamming, rooftops trembling, their numbers relentless.
Gareth ran down the stairs, calculating each step, weaving his Veil to redirect and dampen the guards' speed, keeping the advantage.
With a combination of raw power and precise control, he stayed just ahead, making it clear he wasn't just fast—he was intelligent with the Veil, a predator in motion.
Gareth burst into the garden, spotting Toravon laughing, surrounded by some of his children—thirty-nine of them running and playing among the flowers.
He lunged forward to grab Toravon, but a massive, muscular man slammed into him, pinning him mid-step.
Before he could react, a woman raised her sword to strike, aiming to kill him while he was restrained.
With a surge of Veil energy, Gareth lifted both himself and the muscular man into the air, twisting to dodge the woman's swinging blade.
He landed, muscles straining, and glared forward, breaking free from the man's grasp with a sharp, controlled burst of speed.
Charging toward Toravon again, another towering man appeared out of nowhere and grabbed him, forcing Gareth to grit his teeth in frustration.
Annoyed but unfazed, Gareth melted into the Shadow World, slipping unseen past their grasps.
In a blur of white light, he seized Toravon's shadow, lifting him into the sky with precise, unstoppable force.
Gareth froze midair, staring at the back of his shadow—and what he saw made every muscle in his body seize with raw, indescribable terror, a creature so grotesque and unimaginable that the mind itself recoiled.
He let his shadow fall back to the ground, heart hammering, and stepped out of the Shadow World, suspended in the sky as Toravon fell silently, calm as though nothing had happened.
The first muscular man leapt up, intercepting him, and they landed with a heavy thud on the garden ground, shaking the earth beneath them.
All eyes in the garden, human and otherwise, were locked on Gareth, wide with fear, jaws slack, unable to comprehend the sight above them.
Gareth's own gaze fixed on Toravon, and his face drained of all color, eyes wide and trembling—expectation shattered into panic, every instinct screaming, every breath catching painfully as the sky seemed to close in, winds howling and shaking his bones, the world around him alive with a sense of impending doom.
Everyone there froze, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, staring at Gareth in the sky, the sheer impossibility of what they were witnessing stealing the air from their lungs.
Gareth's voice trembled, raw and broken, as he whispered, hoarse with panic and awe: "I've seen death wear a thousand faces… I've felt the world bend beneath its weight… but this… this is not death. This is… nothing I can survive. Nothing I can fight. I can't even breathe… the air itself wants to crush me, wants me to vanish."
He swallowed hard, voice ragged, almost a scream: "Everything here… everything I've touched… it will burn. I can feel it crawling in my bones… I'm too small, too weak, too human for what stands before me. It sees me. It knows me. And I…"
He shuddered violently, chest heaving, every breath shallow and desperate. "Everyone… run. Run while you can. There is no mercy here… there is only the end… and it begins with me."
Gareth's breathing grew ragged, harsh, trembling with dread that sank into the marrow of his body, chest rising and falling like a bellows, veins straining, pulse screaming, the world tilting and spinning as the mark on his skin began to burn bright—red and yellow—heating like molten fire.
Then, with a deafening, final bang, he collapsed, the sound shattering the air, and silence fell over everything, broken only by the shocked screams and flight of all who remained.