Kael did not wake.
He returned.
Awareness seeped back into him slowly, not as sensation but as recognition. The first thing he became aware of was stillness—an unnatural stillness that pressed against him from all sides. There was no pain at first. No hunger. No thirst. Only a deep, oppressive quiet that felt older than the world above.
Then came weight.
Not on his body, but within it.
Kael drew in a breath—and froze.
The air felt thick, cold, and sharp, as though each inhale carried fragments of shadow with it. His lungs burned faintly as he exhaled, yet the sensation was not unpleasant. It was… precise. Controlled.
He opened his eyes.
Darkness greeted him.
Not the formless void of before, but something structured. The abyss now possessed depth, contours, distance. Vast stone pillars rose in the distance, half-formed and jagged, as if the world itself had been frozen mid-creation. Faint lines of shadow traced across the ground beneath him, pulsing slowly like veins.
Kael pushed himself upright.
His body responded instantly.
Too instantly.
There was no hesitation, no tremor, no familiar ache of injury. He moved with a smoothness that startled him, as if his muscles obeyed before his mind had fully issued the command.
Kael looked down at his hands.
They were unchanged—pale skin, long fingers, faint scars from years of training. And yet, something was wrong.
Or rather… something was different.
A thin mist of shadow clung to his fingertips, curling lazily around his knuckles before dissolving into the air. When he flexed his fingers, the mist followed the motion, responding as naturally as blood beneath skin.
Kael's heart skipped.
"What did you do to me?" he asked quietly.
The darkness did not answer immediately.
Then the pressure returned—not crushing, not hostile, but present.
"You survived the binding," the voice said. "That alone places you beyond expectation."
Kael slowly rose to his feet.
There was no dizziness. No weakness. His balance was perfect, as though he had stood in this place his entire life. He took a single step forward, then another, testing his body.
Each movement felt… refined.
"You said I took the first step," Kael said. "What does that mean?"
The shadows beneath his feet shifted subtly.
"You are Veilbound," the voice replied. "Neither fully bound nor fully free."
Kael frowned. "That sounds like a warning."
"It is a state," the voice corrected. "A threshold. Your body has accepted the shadow, but your will has not yet been consumed by it."
Consumed.
The word lingered.
Kael clenched his fist. The shadow mist condensed instantly, wrapping around his knuckles like a glove before fading again.
"And if my will loses?" he asked.
"Then you will cease to be yourself."
Kael absorbed that in silence.
He had expected power to feel intoxicating—overwhelming, even. Instead, it felt restrained, coiled tightly within him. Like a blade still in its sheath.
"How long do I have?" Kael asked.
"That depends," the voice said calmly. "On how often you draw upon the oath."
Kael exhaled slowly.
Power with a cost.
Kael remained still, letting the words sink in.
He had expected threats. Commands. Perhaps even temptation dressed as mercy. Instead, what unsettled him most was the absence of coercion. The abyss did not force him forward. It simply laid out the path and waited to see whether he would walk it.
That choice weighed heavier than chains ever could.
He flexed his fingers again, slower this time, paying close attention. The shadow mist did not surge recklessly now. It hovered, responsive but restrained, as if waiting for confirmation. Kael realized then that the power was not eager—it was patient.
Like a blade that would only cut if he decided where to strike.
A memory surfaced without warning.
The training yard at dawn. Frost on the stone. Kael repeating the same stance again and again while other disciples advanced to more complex forms. The instructors had watched in silence, their disappointment unspoken but unmistakable.
He had endured that silence.
He could endure this too.
"If restraint is possible," Kael said quietly, "then so is excess."
"Yes," the voice replied. "And most fail by choosing the latter."
Kael exhaled through his nose. "I don't plan to."
The shadows around him shifted subtly, as if recalibrating their perception of him. Kael felt something click into place—not power, but alignment. The oath did not resist his intent. It accepted it.
For now.
Kael straightened his back.
"I'll decide when to draw on it," he said. "Not you."
The darkness did not object.
Instead, the pressure eased slightly, granting him space. It was a small concession—but a deliberate one.
"Very well," the voice said. "Remember this moment. It will not come again."
Kael nodded once.
He did not ask why.
Some answers were meant to be earned.
At least it was honest.
He began to walk.
The abyss stretched endlessly in all directions, yet his footsteps echoed faintly, suggesting solid ground beneath him. As he moved, shadows peeled away from the darkness, drifting closer, circling him with quiet curiosity.
They did not attack.
They observed.
Kael stopped.
The shadows halted as well.
"Are these part of you?" he asked.
"They are fragments," the voice replied.
"Remnants of those who fell here before you."
Kael's jaw tightened. "People."
"Yes."
The shadows stirred, their shapes warping faintly—humanoid outlines dissolving before they could fully form. Kael felt a strange pull toward them, not emotional, but instinctive.
Hungry.
He recoiled slightly.
"I don't want that," he said sharply.
The abyss remained silent for a moment.
"Then do not take it," the voice replied. "Restraint is still possible at this stage."
At this stage.
Kael continued forward, forcing his focus elsewhere.
"Why am I still here?" he asked. "If I'm bound, why not send me back?"
"Because your body is incomplete," the voice answered. "And your oath is untested."
Kael slowed. "Tested how?"
The ground beneath him shifted.
Without warning, the shadows surged.
They did not rush him violently. Instead, they pressed inward from all directions, constricting the space around him, thickening the air. Kael felt resistance against his skin, against his breath, against his thoughts.
Instinct flared.
He raised his hand.
The shadow mist responded instantly, surging outward in a sharp wave. The encroaching darkness recoiled, retreating several steps as if struck by an invisible force.
Kael froze.
He had not thought.
He had acted.
The shadows settled again, cautious now.
"Control," the voice observed. "Raw, but present."
Kael stared at his hand.
The shadow mist had not vanished this time. It coiled around his wrist like a living band, pulsing faintly in time with his heartbeat.
"That felt… natural," Kael admitted.
"Yes," the voice replied. "Because the oath does not overwrite your instincts. It sharpens them."
Kael lowered his hand slowly.
A question burned in his mind, one he had avoided since awakening.
"What happens if I return?" he asked. "To the world above."
The abyss seemed to darken.
"You will be hunted," the voice said. "Not immediately. Not openly. But your existence will disturb what they believe to be settled."
Kael let out a quiet laugh. "They already tried to erase me."
"And failed," the voice replied. "Failure breeds fear."
Kael's expression hardened.
"Good."
The word felt heavier than before.
The shadows around him shifted again, but this time they parted, forming a narrow path that stretched into the distance. Faint light shimmered at its far end—not bright, but real.
"Your body will continue to adapt," the voice said. "Pain will refine it. Conflict will accelerate it."
"And guidance?" Kael asked.
A pause.
"I do not guide," the voice replied. "I observe."
Kael nodded once.
That, too, was honest.
He stepped onto the path.
As he moved forward, the shadows beneath his feet clung tighter, forming faint markings along his ankles—dark lines that pulsed once before sinking beneath his skin.
The first mark of the Veil.
Kael did not stop.
Above, far beyond the abyss, the world that had cast him aside continued on in ignorance.
Below, something ancient watched with growing interest.
And Kael Vireon walked forward—not as an heir, not as a victim—
But as something newly bound, and no longer fragile.