The moon hung low above Eldryn that night, swollen and white as bone. Its light slipped through the tall arched windows of the black stone castle, carving silver veins across the walls.
Outside, the forests whispered with the breath of restless spirits. Inside, the Alpha King of Lyria lay surrounded by silence that even the wolves did not dare break.
Magic lingered in the air like the echo of a prayer too often repeated. It shimmered faintly over the bed where the King rested, charged and unsteady, rising and falling with the rhythm of his labored breath.
The scent of incense and iron mixed in the chamber, smoke curling from the bowls of crushed herbs meant to cleanse the sickness threading his veins.
King Adam Leon Kingston had once been the kind of ruler bards wrote about. His reign had stretched across five centuries of night and storm. He had ruled by claw, by wisdom, by the divine favor of the moon.
Yet tonight, that favor had abandoned him. His body trembled with fever, his heart flickered weakly beneath skin traced by black veins that no healer's spell could ease.
He turned his face toward the window, searching the sky as if it might still hold answers. The stars looked blurred, their light dimmed, and the moon no longer felt like a companion.
Beyond the walls of Eldryn, the silver forest was fading. Its leaves, once luminescent, had turned dull. He could hear them rustle as if mourning.
The Veil was thinning. He could feel it deep inside his bones.
When the door opened, he did not have to look up. The familiar sound of boots on stone told him who entered.
"You took your time," he said, his voice rasping.
Nicholas Thorne bowed his head as he crossed the threshold. The man smelled of steel and wind, the scent of the battlefield. His armor bore the faint scratches of recent combat.
"Forgive me, my King. The northern patrols delayed me. There are new rifts forming near the border villages."
"New ones?" The King's voice was quiet, but the words still carried weight. "How many?"
Nicholas hesitated. "Too many to count. The priests at the citadel can't seal them. They say the wards reject their touch."
"Of course they do." The King's hand shook as he reached for the goblet beside his bed but found it empty. "The Veil does not recognize borrowed faith."
Nicholas came forward and filled the cup from the pitcher on the table. "Then what does it recognize?"
"Blood," the King said simply, and drank. The liquid trembled as he lifted it. "It was born from it, and it will end with it."
Nicholas stood silently, watching the old man who had once seemed immortal. He remembered when the King's presence filled the halls of this castle with power that bent the air. Now even his shadow seemed to waver.
"You called me back," he said quietly. "What do you need me to do?"
The King's gaze drifted to the wall where the banners of his house hung. The silver wolf stitched into the black cloth had begun to fade, threads fraying along its spine.
"Bring him home," he said at last.
Nicholas frowned. "Casimir?"
"My son," the King murmured. "The heir to Lyria. The only one left who still carries the bond to the Veil. I can feel it. It calls for him."
Nicholas's jaw tensed. "He swore never to return."
"He will come," the King said, though his tone carried more hope than conviction. "Tell him the Veil bleeds. Tell him his mother's pact is breaking."
The Beta's eyes flickered briefly. "And if he refuses?"
The King smiled faintly. "Then remind him what happened the last time he ran from fate."
Silence settled again. Outside, thunder rolled though the sky was clear. The wind shifted, bringing the scent of rain or something that pretended to be rain.
Nicholas turned to leave, but the King spoke again. "Wait."
The older man's gaze had sharpened. He gestured weakly to the far corner of the room where the torchlight bent strangely, refusing to touch the dark. "Do you see it?"
Nicholas followed his gaze. For a moment he thought he saw movement like smoke twisting into the outline of a man. But when he blinked, the corner was empty.
"There are eyes in the shadows," the King said softly. "He watches even now."
"Who?"
The King's breath trembled. "Elijah."
The name struck the air like a curse. Nicholas's fingers went to the hilt of his blade. "That's impossible. He was sealed."
"So was the night once," the King whispered, "and yet it always returns."
The torches flickered, dimming as if something unseen breathed over them. The shadows grew thicker, crawling along the floor toward the bed. The King closed his eyes, his pulse fluttering under thin skin.
A whisper slid through the chamber not sound, not speech, but something between the two. Nicholas froze. It felt like a presence moving through his bones, the cold press of another mind.
"My King," he said sharply. "Whatever this is, you must resist it."
"I have," the King breathed. "For years. But he grows stronger with every tear in the Veil."
The voice came again, clearer now. It was smooth and low, almost kind.
"You cannot keep me buried forever, old friend."
Nicholas drew his sword. The silver runes etched along the blade flared faintly in warning. The air rippled.
A shape began to form at the edge of the room, a tall figure draped in something darker than shadow, his eyes molten gold.
"Elijah," the King rasped.
The shape smiled faintly. "So you remember me."
"You should not be here."
"Yet you keep calling my name in your sleep," Elijah murmured. "Every king does before the end."
Nicholas stepped between them, blade raised. "You have no form here."
Elijah's golden eyes flicked toward him, amused. "Brave little soldier. Tell me, do you still dream of the forest you burned?"
Nicholas's grip tightened, but the King lifted a hand weakly. "Stop. He is not truly here. Only his echo."
The shadow tilted his head. "An echo strong enough to listen, to touch, to remember."
He turned back to the King. "Your son rides for you. The healer's blood stirs. The Veil shakes between their hearts. You think you can stop what is coming, but you built it, Adam. You bound my heart into the barrier and called it mercy. Did you truly think it would never beat again?"
The King's breathing hitched. "You will not have them."
"I do not need to take them," Elijah said softly. "They will come to me willingly. Light always falls toward shadow."
The candles burst out one by one. Only the glow of the moon remained, pale and trembling through the window. The figure began to fade.
The King forced his voice through the growing haze. "I will not let you rise."
Elijah smiled, almost tender. "You already have."
Then he was gone. The darkness thinned, leaving the faint scent of ash and salt behind.
The king's breathing grew harder, he coughed blood that reflected in the moonlight
Nicholas rushed to the King's side. "My King, stay with me."
The old man's head lolled back against the pillow. His cough subsided. He breathed shallow but steady. A faint light pulsed beneath his skin, tracing the black veins like molten silver.
"He lives," Nicholas whispered in disbelief.
The King's eyes fluttered open briefly. "Not for long, not without her."
"Her?"
"The witch line. The blood that once guarded the Veil. She lives still."
Nicholas leaned closer. "Where?"
The King's voice dropped to a breath. "By the sea. She hides in the town the Veil loves most." His eyes rolled back. "Find them both before he does."
Then his strength gave out, not to death but to deep sleep. His body went still, his pulse faint but unbroken. The silver light in his veins continued to flicker like an unsteady heartbeat.
Nicholas straightened slowly. The room felt heavier now, the air thick with the residue of power. Through the window he saw the horizon shimmer, no longer steady silver, but fractured, bleeding faint streaks of red and violet. The Veil was cracking.
He sheathed his blade and looked once more at the sleeping King. "I'll find him," he said quietly. "I'll bring him home."
As he left the chamber, the wolves in the forest below began to howl, a long mournful sound that carried across the valley like a warning. They could feel the anguish of their king. The moon above Eldryn flickered behind the clouds.
Far out beyond the borderlands, beneath the sea and stone, something shifted. The heartbeat of the world stuttered once and then quickened. The darkness spread across the kingdom of Lydia like night.
The Veil remembered its maker. The blood and heart that bound the Veil recognised its owner. And somewhere in the depths, the harbinger of darkness opened his eyes
Elijah Varyn was awake.