Aerich Kaven learned two things that night.
First—fear wasn't loud like movies made it seem. It didn't scream or explode. It crept in quietly, tightening the chest, slowing the breath, making every sound feel too sharp.
Second—once you notice the world blinking at you, pretending nothing happened becomes impossible.
He sat at the edge of his bed long after his mother had left the room, long after the glow on his chest had faded to nothing but a faint warmth under his skin. His room looked wrecked, like something violent had passed through and decided not to clean up after itself. Books lay scattered across the floor. His chair was overturned. The posters he'd stuck up years ago hung in torn strips, fluttering whenever the night breeze slipped through the window.
None of it felt real.
Aerich pressed his palm flat against his chest, right over the birthmark. It didn't glow anymore. It didn't hurt. But something inside him was… awake. Like a deep engine had just been switched on and was now idling, waiting.
His mother hadn't said much after her first words. She'd helped him sit on the bed, checked him for injuries, and told him to stay put. Her hands had been shaking the entire time. That scared him more than the rift ever did.
Parents weren't supposed to look like that.
He glanced at the door. Still closed. Still quiet. The house felt heavier than usual, like the walls themselves were listening.
"What the hell is happening to me…" he muttered.
The hum answered.
It wasn't sound—not exactly. It was pressure. A low, steady pull in his chest, like gravity had shifted slightly and only he could feel it. When he focused on it, the room seemed sharper. The edges of objects stood out more. Shadows felt deeper, thicker, like they had weight.
Aerich frowned. "Okay. Nope. Don't like that."
He stood up, legs shaky, and walked to the mirror above his desk. His reflection stared back at him—same messy hair, same tired eyes, same scar on his eyebrow from falling off his bike years ago.
Normal.
Then the mark pulsed.
Just once.
The spiral flared faintly under his skin, barely visible—but his reflection changed.
For half a second, the boy in the mirror wasn't him.
The eyes were darker. Older. Something ancient flickered behind them, like a storm trapped in human form.
Aerich stumbled back, nearly tripping over his backpack. "Nope. Absolutely not."
The reflection snapped back to normal.
His heart hammered. His breath came fast. He leaned against the desk, hands gripping the edge so hard his knuckles turned white.
"This is a dream," he said out loud. "This is stress. Lack of sleep. Brain glitch. That's all."
The hum disagreed.
A sudden crack echoed through the house.
Aerich flinched. It came from downstairs.
Not loud. Not violent.
Just… wrong.
Like something had snapped into place.
He froze, listening. The silence stretched. Then came a second sound—soft, dragging footsteps. Slow. Careful.
Someone was moving through the house.
"Mom?" he called, hating how small his voice sounded.
No answer.
The footsteps continued.
Aerich swallowed hard. His instincts screamed at him to stay put, but another feeling pushed back—an urge, hot and sharp, burning in his chest.
Go.
He didn't know why. He didn't know how. But every part of him knew one thing:
If he didn't move now, something bad would happen.
He crept to the door and opened it just enough to peer into the hallway. The lights were off, but the darkness didn't feel empty. It felt crowded.
The hum intensified.
Aerich stepped out.
The hallway air was cold, unnaturally so. His breath fogged. The shadows along the walls stretched and shifted slightly, as if reacting to his presence.
"Okay," he whispered. "I'm officially losing it."
He took another step—and froze.
At the far end of the hallway, near the stairs, something stood half-hidden in the dark.
It wasn't tall. Not human-shaped exactly. Its edges blurred, like smoke trying to hold a form. Two dim points of light hovered where eyes should be.
They fixed on him.
Aerich's body locked up. Every survival instinct screamed run, but his legs refused to listen.
The thing tilted its head.
A Veilborn…The voice slid into his mind like a blade wrapped in silk.
Aerich gasped, clutching his chest. "Get out of my head!"
The shadow didn't move closer. It didn't need to.
You are early, it whispered. Unfinished. Weak.
Anger flared suddenly, sharp and unexpected. "I didn't ask for this!"
The hum surged, roaring now, drowning out the fear. The spiral burned hot, and the shadows recoiled slightly, as if the air itself had pushed them back.
The thing hissed.
Marked flesh. Sealed core. Dangerous.
"What do you want?" Aerich demanded, surprised at the strength in his voice.
The shadow's eyes flickered. To see if you would break.
The lights went out.
Not just the hallway lights—the entire world seemed to dim. For a heartbeat, there was nothing. No sound. No sensation.
Then—
Pain.
It slammed into Aerich's chest like a fist from the inside. He screamed as the mark flared bright white, veins of light spreading briefly under his skin. The air around him warped, bending inward.
The shadow creature shrieked, its form tearing apart like smoke caught in a storm.
Aerich fell to his knees, gasping, vision blurring. The hum peaked—then collapsed inward, snapping back into his chest like a returning tide.
The lights flickered back on.
The hallway was empty.
No shadows. No eyes. No footsteps.
Just Aerich, shaking on the floor, tears streaking down his face.
Moments later, his mother ran up the stairs, breathless, fear written all over her face. "Aerich!"
She dropped beside him, gripping his shoulders. "Did it touch you? Did it speak to you?"
He stared at her. "You knew," he said hoarsely. "You knew this could happen."
Her expression broke.
"I hoped I was wrong," she whispered. "I hoped the seal would hold longer."
"Seal?" His laugh came out shaky and almost hysterical. "Something was in our house, Mom. Something talked to me."
She pulled him into a tight hug. "I know."
He stiffened. "You… know?"
She nodded slowly. "Because they've been watching you since the day you were born."
"Who is they?"
Before she could answer, the air shifted again—subtly this time, like a pressure change before a storm. A low chime echoed through the house, deep and resonant.
Not from any device.
From everywhere.
His mother's face went pale. "They're here already."
Aerich pulled back. "Who?!"
She met his eyes, fear and determination warring in her gaze.
"The Watchers of the Veil."
The front door opened downstairs.
Not forced.
Invited.
Footsteps followed—calm, deliberate, unstoppable.
Aerich's chest burned as the hum returned, stronger than ever.
Whatever he was…
Whatever he had become…
There was no going back.
And the world, finally, had noticed him.