Gareth's unconscious body pitched forward, landing hard across Jaless's back as he trudged through the shadowed forest.
Jaless stumbled, freezing for a moment, eyes widening. "By the Veil… Gareth, what the hell—?"
He shifted under the weight, blinking down at the boy, then muttered in surprise, "How… how did you even get this far?"
Jaless steadied himself, stepping carefully over roots, voice dropping to a worried whisper, "If Toravon sees you like this… gods help us, there's no coming back."
His pace quickened, the forest thickening around him, as he muttered under his breath, "I don't know if you're ready… but there's no turning away now."
Jaless took a few more steps through the undergrowth before stopping cold. "Gareth… are you hearing me?"
He turned, expecting the boy to be on his feet by now—only to see Gareth lying motionless in the leaves.
A chill cut through him. "Gareth!" Jaless shouted, rushing back to the unconscious form.
He dropped to his knees beside him, hands shaking as he lifted Gareth's wrist.
Relief washed over his face the moment he felt the faint, steady pulse. "You're alive… thank the Veil, you're still alive."
Voices drifted faintly through the trees—deep, rough, and far too close. The muscular hunter's growl rolled across the forest: "Find the boy. Bring me his body."
Jaless stiffened instantly, fear striking through his spine like ice. He rose halfway, instinct screaming at him to run.
He took one step back—then stopped, staring down at Gareth's still form. "I won't… I won't do that again," he whispered, guilt clawing up his throat.
He clenched his jaw, turned back, and forced himself to crouch beside the boy.
A moment later, Jaless hoisted Gareth's unconscious body onto his back once more, shoulders trembling as he carried him toward the deeper shadows of the forest.
Jaless pushed deeper into the trees, breath tight, each step carrying him farther from the danger but never fast enough.
Behind him, the guards' voices cut through the branches like steel scraping stone.
"Spread out! The boy couldn't have gone far," one growled, boots crunching through underbrush.
Another spat, "Captain said the Eclipse-marked brat's worth more alive than dead—Toravon wants him found first."
A third voice, colder, replied, "Doesn't matter. If he's breathing, we drag him. If he's not… we carry what's left."
The forest held its breath around their words, and Jaless forced himself not to look back, gripping Gareth tighter as he moved.
Gareth stirred weakly against Jaless's back, a faint groan slipping from his lips as consciousness clawed its way back to him.
His fingers twitched, grasping at nothing, breath suddenly quickening as memory hit him like a blade—the creature, the void, the eyes he never saw but felt.
A shiver ran through his whole body. "No… no, not there… I don't want to go back…" he whispered, voice barely a thread.
Jaless froze mid-step, feeling the tremor against his spine. "Gareth? Easy—easy, you're safe. You're with me."
But Gareth's fear only deepened, his breath turning sharp and frantic, as if he feared the forest itself would pull him back into that nightmare.
Gareth's breathing slowed, the panic ebbing just enough for him to lift his head slightly over Jaless's shoulder. A faint, tired smile touched his lips. "...Thanks."
Jaless's eyes softened, a small, relieved smile flickering back at him. "Don't mention it. Just don't scare me like that again."
Gareth raised a trembling hand, the air around his palm darkening—folding inward like a collapsing shadow. A black portal spiraled open, its edges flickering red, as his sword floated within the void.
Jaless stared wide-eyed. "Veil take me… Gareth, is that—can I…?"
Gareth nodded weakly. "Go on. Put your hand in."
Jaless hesitated once, then reached into the swirling darkness—his fingers brushing cold air—and pulled out not a sword… but a mask.
A black, sharp-edged, crescent-shaped mask.
The Mask relic.
Gareth shivered violently on Jaless's back, every muscle tense, trembling as if the forest itself were shaking him.
He swallowed hard, eyes darting ahead toward the path that led back to Toravon's territory.
"I… I can't go back there," he muttered, voice ragged, shaking with raw fear.
"I'm… I'm leaving. I can't face him—not now , not ever," he said, pressing his hands over his face, trying to steady his racing thoughts.
Jaless shifted slightly beneath him, feeling the weight of both Gareth's body and his terror, but didn't speak—letting the boy make the choice for himself.
Gareth's hands still shook, but he forced his voice out, quiet and hesitant. "Jaless… how… how do people awaken to Stage Two in the Veil?"
Jaless glanced down at him, voice low and cautious. "Stage Two… it's not something you force, Gareth. It's earned—or broken into."
Gareth swallowed, teeth clenching. "Earned… or broken into? What does that even mean?"
Jaless's eyes flicked toward the forest, scanning the shadows as he spoke. "Most Veilbinders never see past Stage One. It's a threshold… you either grow strong enough inside, or you push yourself too far and fracture."
Gareth's pulse raced. "And if you fracture…?"
Jaless's jaw tightened, and he let out a quiet sigh. "Then you survive, or you don't. Stage Two isn't just power—it's a risk the world doesn't forgive lightly."
Gareth shifted slightly on Jaless's back, voice strained but firm. "Put me down… I can walk."
His legs quivered violently for a moment, but slowly they regained enough strength to hold him upright.
He took a tentative step, testing his balance, breath still uneven but determination flickering in his eyes.
Jaless nodded silently, easing him to the ground, watching closely as Gareth steadied himself.
Gareth's gaze fell on the mask Jaless had pulled from the portal; he crouched, picked it up, and turned it over in his hands, examining every edge, curve, and shadowed groove with a mix of awe and apprehension.
Gareth's fingers traced the mask's edges, and a memory flickered—an old man, cloaked and mysterious, handing it to him long ago with a knowing look.
He looked up at Jaless, curiosity mixed with caution. "Does it… have any interesting power?"
Jaless shook his head slowly, voice quiet. "I know nothing about it, Gareth. Never saw its kind before."
Gareth studied it a moment longer, lips curling in a faint, wary smile. "Me neither."
He turned the mask over again, feeling the weight of it in his hands, as if it were quietly waiting for him to discover what it really was.
Gareth's nose wrinkled as he glanced around the forest, voice low and tense. "This place… it's crawling with monsters, and it smells of rot."
He took a cautious step forward, eyes scanning the shadows, every muscle tensed as if expecting something to leap from the darkness.
Jaless's gaze followed him warily, voice calm but firm. "Keep your guard up… this forest doesn't forgive mistakes."
Gareth shivered slightly, the stench of decay clinging to his senses, making the hairs on his arms stand on end.
He hugged the mask closer, almost as if it were a shield against the unseen dangers lingering all around them.
Gareth kept scanning the trees, tension tightening his voice. "Jaless… what's the percentage of someone surviving to age sixty in a place like this?"
Jaless let out a long, weary sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Zero percent chance."
Gareth blinked, taken aback by the bluntness.
Jaless shrugged with a grim half-smile. "If the monsters don't get you, the rot will. If the rot doesn't… something worse always will."
The forest creaked around them, as if agreeing.
Gareth lifted the mask slowly, brushing his thumb along its cold surface before raising it toward his face.
Jaless opened his mouth to warn him—too late.
The moment the mask settled over Gareth's features, his body jolted as if struck by lightning.
His knees buckled, arms going limp, the world spinning out of him in a single breath.
Gareth collapsed to the ground with a hollow thud, completely unconscious, the mask fused to his face like it had been waiting for him all along.
Jaless stared at Gareth's fallen body, lips tightening in frustration. "Idiot… you never wear Veil weapons. They each have consequences."
He knelt beside him, checking his breathing, then carefully slid his arms under Gareth's limp form.
With a strained exhale, Jaless lifted him onto his back again, adjusting the weight.
"I hope you're okay," he muttered, voice softer than before.
He started walking, steps steady and determined. "I'll get us home… just hang on."
Jaless carried Gareth through the winding forest until the trees thinned, revealing the outskirts of Town Magma, one of the West Tribe's oldest settlements.
The sky above shimmered in faint streaks of red and blue—an eerie, permanent glow that made the air feel hotter, heavier, almost alive.
The outer skirts, where every warrior lived, were rough and raw: cracked stone paths, smoke rising from open forges, and wooden houses reinforced with metal plates scarred by past battles.
It was a dangerous place to live, but no one complained—they were warriors, and danger was part of breathing.
People minded their own business with rigid focus. Some practiced with spears in narrow alleys, others sharpened blades on doorsteps. A pair of bruised fighters limped past without a word, as if pain was cheaper than water here.
From the taverns came loud, heated banter—mugs slamming, voices roaring, warriors arguing over fights, debts, and who almost died fighting what.
Laughter mixed with threats, and threats mixed with jokes, all blending into the rough music of Magma's life.
Jaless adjusted Gareth on his back, weaving through the noise, the heat, and the watching eyes—trying to get the unconscious boy somewhere safe before anyone asked the wrong questions.