The morning began the way most mornings in Kresor's life began quiet, cold, and carrying the smell of old wood.
The wooden beams above his head groaned as if tired of surviving another night. Dust drifted through the thin sunlight leaking from the broken window. The house was small, more like a hollow box nailed together by someone who had already given up on life. But to Kresor Veil, this place was all he had. All he remembered. All he feared. He opened his eyes slowly, letting the world come into focus, the same way a wounded animal checks if the trap is still tight around its leg.
It was. A faint ache lingered across his ribs from last night. He did not look at the bruises. He didn't need to. They would be there blue, purple, yellow like a sick painter testing shades on his skin.
Kresor sat up on the thin mattress and pulled his knees close. His breath made a pale cloud in the cold room. Another day. Another weight. He rubbed his eyes and whispered to himself, "It's okay."It wasn't. But the lie helped him move. Downstairs, he heard footsteps slow, heavy, dragging. The kind of footsteps that made his stomach twist.
The carpenter was awake. Kresor's guardian for the past ten years. A man once strong but now cracked by debt, alcohol, and a bitterness that needed somewhere to land. That "somewhere" had always been Kresor. A boy with no options, no direction, no past except one half-burned memory.
His mother's voice.
"…Kresor, my light… even when the world is cruel… remember who you are."
He didn't know what she meant. He didn't know who he was.
But every time he remembered that soft voice, something warm pushed against the cold inside him. Something small and stubborn that refused to die.
He stood up, washed his face with cold water from a cracked bowl, and changed into a faded shirt. He checked himself in the tiny mirror on the wall messy black hair, pale face, sharp jaw, grey eyes that always looked too distant for a boy of seventeen.
"Come," a hoarse voice growled from downstairs.
Kresor flinched before he could stop himself. "Yes… coming." He took a deep breath and walked down the narrow wooden stairs. Each step creaked, echoing through the silent house.
The carpenter was sitting at the table unshaved, heavy eyes, bottle already half-empty. The morning light hit his face, revealing lines carved not by age but by choices. He looked up, and the air in the room thickened. "Get to work," the man muttered. "We need money. You'll go to Old Town tonight. Bring something back this time."
Kresor's hands turned cold.
Old Town. Night. He didn't need more explanation. He hated that place. Hated what he became there. "…I'll try," he whispered. The man slammed the table and stood up so fast the chair fell.
"Try? TRY?" His voice boomed. "You live under my roof. Eat my food. Wear clothes I bought. You think trying is enough? If you can't bring something back, I'll"
Kresor stepped back instinctively. A flicker of fear crossed his face. The carpenter grabbed him by the collar. "We don't survive by trying. We survive by obeying." Kresor said nothing.
Silence stretched for a long moment before the man pushed him away and sat back down. "Get to the shop." Kresor nodded and walked outside with numb steps.
❖
Outside, the world was calm. Early morning mist hung above the street. The smell of damp earth mixed with sawdust from the carpenter's workshop next door.
This part of the city Lower East Quarter was a forgotten corner. The kind of place where dreams came to die and never complained about it. Kresor looked up at the sky. Pale grey clouds drifted slowly, like they were tired too.
Sometimes he wondered if people in other districts felt the same weight in their chest every morning. If their days felt like walking through a long tunnel with no end. He doubted it.
He pushed open the workshop door. Rows of unfinished furniture stood like mute witnesses to countless wasted hours. The only thing that made this place bearable was the scent of fresh wood clean, simple, honest.
He picked up a chisel and began carving. His hands moved with natural skill. The blade swept through the wood in gentle arcs, revealing smooth curves beneath the rough surface.
He always found peace in this. In shaping something with his own hands. In controlling even one small corner of his life. He whispered to himself, "Don't break today. Just get through it." Hours passed. The sun climbed. Then fell behind clouds again.
❖ The Pain Behind the Wall
Around noon, Kresor paused to stretch his sore fingers. As he wiped his forehead, he felt that strange sensation again like a cold ripple inside his chest.
It had been happening for months now. A faint pressure behind his ribs. A quiet vibration in his bones. A hollow whisper at the edge of hearing. As if something was sleeping inside him. Something that did not belong.
He placed a hand over his chest. "…Why are you here?" he murmured. No answer. Just the same strange feeling fading again. He dismissed it and resumed carving.
But this time, as the chisel hit the wood, a spark of silver light flickered across his fingertips so faint he barely noticed. And the wood under his hand cracked. Not from the tool. Not from pressure.
From something else. Something inside him. Kresor froze. His breath caught. He stared at the hairline crack running across the oak plank. "…What was that?"
Before he could think further, the workshop door swung open. The carpenter stood there, breathing harshly, eyes unfocused. "We're leaving," he said.
Kresor blinked. "Now? Where?" The man walked in and grabbed him by the arm. "To pay off something. Don't ask questions. Just move." A cold weight dropped into Kresor's stomach.
Old Town. He knew what this meant. "No, please" he whispered. That was all he managed before the carpenter dragged him outside.
❖ The Road That Changed Everything
They walked through narrow alleys, past broken street lamps and cracked stone walls. The further they went, the darker the city felt.
Old Town lay ahead its neon signs flickering like broken stars, its air thick with perfume, smoke, and danger. Kresor felt the pressure in his chest growing. Something was wrong. More wrong than usual.
He tugged at the man's coat. "Can we wait? Just… just one day? I can work more—" The carpenter didn't even look at him. "We have no time. You belong to me. If you want to live, you'll do what I say." Belong. The word stabbed deeper than any blade.
Kresor lowered his head, silent.
They crossed the main road. A bus honked loudly as it passed. People shouted in the distance. A cold wind cut across Kresor's face. Then A sound. Metal twisting. Glass shattering. A scream.
Kresor looked up in shock.
A truck was speeding toward them, swerving uncontrollably its engine roaring like a beast in pain. "MOVE!" someone shouted. The carpenter froze. Kresor's heart jumped into his throat. The pressure in his chest snapped open like a breaking chain. An explosion of cold air rushed out of him, bending the world. Time slowed. Sound drowned.
Kresor felt something inside him an ancient, sleeping force tear through his veins like lightning. Silver light burst from his skin.The ground cracked. A shockwave rippled outward, heavy and violent. The truck slammed into the force instead of his body crashing, folding, exploding into fire. When the world steadied, Kresor was on his knees, coughing blood, unable to breathe.
And the carpenterThe man who hurt him, controlled him, shaped his pain lay motionless beneath the burning wreck.
Dead. Kresor stared, trembling, breath breaking apart in his chest. "I… I didn't mean to… I didn't…" His voice collapsed into silence.
Then shadows moved. Boots hit the ground. Strangers in long black coats approached symbols of the Order of Grace shining on their shoulders.
Three agents. Eyes sharp. Hands glowing with controlled light. And behind them… A calm man with silver hair. A warm smile. A presence that felt like winter sunlight.
Kael Hightower.
Head of the Order.A living legend. He looked at the ruined street. At the burning truck. At the boy kneeling in the middle of it all. His smile did not fade. But his eyes… Held something close to fear.
"Well," Kael said softly, stepping closer."That was quite an awakening." Kresor looked up at him with tears in his eyes.
"…What am I?" Kael offered him a hand.
"A child in need of protection," he said. "Come with me, Kresor Veil. Your life is about to change."
And like thatOn a cold wood-smell morning that became a nightmare The last survivor of the Veil Bloodline stepped into a world that had been waiting for him since the beginning.