The road that led out of the burnt camp wound through a valley of mist and silence. Not even the wind dared to move through the skeletal trees. The only sound came from the boots of the survivors trudging across the frost-hardened soil — weary, broken, and afraid to look back.
Kael walked at the front, his cloak torn, the edge still blackened from the night before. His eyes were hollow, and behind them lay something deeper than exhaustion — a shadow that hadn't been there before. Mira followed close behind, silent as the fog that clung to the world. The others trailed further back, their glances darting toward him like knives they were too afraid to draw.
Every step forward seemed to carry a weight — not of the earth, but of unseen eyes watching from beyond.
"Keep moving," Garrick's gruff voice finally broke the silence. "We'll reach the western ridge before dusk."
His tone was steady, but his gaze flicked toward Kael. There was mistrust there — not hidden, not subtle. It clung to every word like smoke.
Kael said nothing. The souls inside him whispered faintly, a restless murmur beneath his skin. Sometimes he caught fragments — a laugh, a cry, a gasp that wasn't his. He clenched his fists, trying to drown them out, but it was like trying to silence the sea.
Mira's voice, soft but sharp with worry, cut through the stillness. "You're hearing them again, aren't you?"
He didn't answer immediately. His breath came out white and slow.
"They don't stop," he murmured finally. "Even when I close my eyes… they're still there."
"Then don't close them," Garrick muttered under his breath, loud enough for the others to hear. "Last time you did, you nearly burned half of us with whatever curse lives in your veins."
Mira turned sharply, anger flashing in her eyes. "He saved you, Garrick. All of us."
"Aye," Garrick replied, his expression grim. "And who will save us from him next time?"
The words hung heavy. No one spoke after that.
By noon, the fog thickened into a white shroud, swallowing the path ahead. They stopped only once to drink from a frozen stream. Mira tried to hand Kael a flask, but he waved it away. He hadn't felt thirst or hunger since the night of the raid — another small piece of humanity slipping through his fingers.
The silence pressed closer with every step. Even the air felt thinner. Kael began to notice things — faint distortions in the mist, shapes that flickered at the corner of his vision. A figure standing where there was none, the echo of a scream that faded as soon as he turned his head.
And always, the same voice.
"Beyond the ridge, Kael. The stones remember me."
It was Vael — calm, deliberate, like a god whispering through a veil of dust.
Kael stopped walking. His chest tightened. "The stones?" he whispered under his breath.
Mira looked up. "What?"
He blinked, shaking his head. "Nothing. Just… thought I heard something."
She didn't press. But the worry in her eyes deepened.
Behind them, Garrick's hand rested on the hilt of his blade. He had been watching the boy's every movement since morning — the distant stares, the muttered words, the faint, unnatural shimmer that sometimes danced across Kael's skin when the mist touched him.
"This path feels cursed," one of the younger survivors muttered. "There's no sound… no life."
"It's not cursed," Garrick said, but his tone betrayed his own uncertainty. "It's emptied."
Kael glanced toward him. "Emptied?"
"Aye." Garrick nodded toward the dead forest. "Used to be a trade route before the Veil War. They say when the rift opened, it bled the land dry — took more than lives with it. Took sound, took warmth. Even the wind stopped crossing here."
Mira shivered. "Then why are we crossing it?"
"Because," Garrick said, "the only thing worse than crossing cursed ground is staying behind to die."
Kael didn't reply. He simply walked forward, eyes fixed on the grey horizon. The fog thickened again — until the path was gone and the earth beneath their feet began to change. The soil turned pale, almost bone-white. The trees leaned inward, twisted as if frozen mid-scream.
And then Kael felt it — a pulse beneath the ground. Faint. Rhythmic. Like a heartbeat buried under centuries of stone.
Vael's voice slithered through his thoughts again.
"You feel it too. My prison. My promise."
Kael's knees nearly buckled. He pressed a hand to his temple, his vision fracturing into flashes — a city of black spires, rivers of light, and a sky split in half.
Mira caught his arm. "Kael! What's happening?"
He steadied himself, shaking, the pulse beneath the ground fading just as quickly as it came. "Something's… calling."
"Calling?" Garrick's voice turned sharp. "From where?"
Kael lifted his eyes. The fog parted just enough for them to see it — far ahead, a faint silhouette of stone rising from the earth. Not a mountain, but something older. A ruin crowned with pillars and broken arches, half-swallowed by the mist.
The others murmured in awe and fear, but Kael stood still, eyes locked on the distant monument. His chest felt hollow, and his blood hummed like a thousand echoes inside him.
"Welcome home," Vael whispered.
The ruins waited like a mouth carved into the land — vast, jagged, half-buried beneath ages of dust and silence.
The survivors slowed as they neared it. The air felt thicker, heavy with the scent of rain and something faintly metallic… like old blood.
Pillars rose in uneven rows, worn to near-skeletons of their former shape. Broken archways stood like the remains of giants who once held up the sky. Faint inscriptions glimmered across the stone, flickering like embers when Kael passed near — as though the ruins themselves recognized him.
Mira shivered. "This place… it feels alive."
Kael said nothing. The pulse he'd felt earlier now throbbed faintly in the soles of his feet. Every beat matched the rhythm of his heart, then outpaced it, faster, stronger. He pressed his palm to the stone wall beside him, and the world shifted.
For a moment, he saw — not with his eyes, but through something deeper. Shadows of figures walking through these halls, long before they became ruins. People draped in light, their eyes glowing with the same white fire that now flickered at the edge of his vision. And above them all, a throne of obsidian — empty.
Then, a voice.
"You stand where gods once fell."
Kael stumbled back, gasping. Mira caught his arm before he fell. "Kael! What is it?"
He looked at her, pupils dilated, breath ragged. "I saw them. The ones who built this. They're still here… in the stone."
Garrick stepped forward, sword half-drawn. "Enough of this madness! Every mile you lead us brings us closer to something that should have stayed buried!"
"Garrick—" Mira began, but he cut her off.
"No! Look at him! His eyes—look at his eyes!"
Kael turned sharply; the faint white glow flickered behind his irises. Garrick recoiled. "You see? He's not one of us anymore."
The accusation cracked through the group like lightning. Murmurs spread, low and fearful.
Kael's pulse quickened — not in fear, but in something darker.
Vael's voice whispered, almost amused.
"They fear what they cannot name. Give them a name to fear."
Kael's breath trembled. His skin burned, light bleeding faintly through his veins like molten gold beneath the flesh. Mira grabbed his hand, trying to ground him, but the energy rippled outward — a sudden burst that knocked Garrick back, scattering dust and shards of ancient stone.
Kael staggered, horrified. "I didn't mean—"
Garrick rose, fury twisting his scarred face. "You did!" he spat. "You've been playing god since the night you burned those men!"
The others backed away. The silence that followed was filled only by Kael's ragged breathing — and the faint chorus of voices now rising from the ruins themselves.
Whispers. Thousands of them. The air shimmered, the mist coiling like living things. The dead were speaking, their tones merging into a single rhythm that pulsed through the air.
Kael… Kael… Kael…
He fell to his knees, clutching his head. The voices grew louder, deafening. In his mind, the ruins unfolded — a temple collapsing in reverse, the stones rearranging themselves into the memory of what once was. He stood in its heart, surrounded by glowing sigils, and before him rose a figure woven from light and ash.
Vael.
No longer a whisper — but a form. Tall, cloaked in the shimmer of divine ruin, eyes like twin eclipses.
"You have walked far, little vessel," Vael said. His voice was both calm and infinite, echoing through every corner of Kael's mind. "Do you see now why I chose you?"
Kael struggled to speak. "You're… using me."
"I am restoring you," Vael corrected. "You were born from what was lost — the last fragment of a god who refused to die. Consume their fear, Kael. Take what they cannot hold. You were never meant to crawl among them."
Kael's heart pounded. The light around him flared, but then—
"Kael!" Mira's voice cut through the illusion like a blade.
He gasped, blinking back into the ruin. The vision shattered. The whispers silenced. Only Mira knelt beside him now, her hand gripping his shoulder, her eyes wet with fear.
He looked around. Garrick and the others were gone — fled into the mist. The ruins trembled faintly, as if something deep beneath had stirred and gone still again.
Kael's chest ached. He stared down at his hands — faint trails of light still flickered beneath the skin. "He's trying to take me," he whispered.
Mira shook her head. "No. You're still you. Don't let him."
But even as she said it, Kael could feel the boundary weakening. The souls he'd consumed were no longer quiet; they pulsed with something vast, ancient, ready to awaken.
He rose slowly, eyes fixed on the dark horizon where the fog met the world's edge.
"Something's breaking," he said quietly.
"What do you mean?" Mira asked.
Kael's gaze hardened. "The Veil. It's cracking."
And as if to answer, a low rumble rolled through the earth — deep and hollow, like the breath of a god beneath the ground.
Far across the valley, the mist parted for only a heartbeat, revealing a distant light tearing through the sky — a rift, thin and shimmering, bleeding darkness into the clouds.
The Veil had begun to open.