The storm rolled in at dusk, not with thunder or rain, but a stillness so complete it pressed against the walls of the compound like held breath. Even the wind had vanished. Kael felt it in the marrow of his bones—a turning point. The kind of quiet that came before blades were drawn.
He'd been followed again. Not clumsily this time. The watcher had shadowtraining. Whoever they were, they knew the blind spots of the corridors, how to move behind the noise of guards shifting posts or bells echoing down the western wing. But they hadn't dared come too close—not yet.
He sat on the balcony of the south watchtower, fingers tight around a folio he wasn't supposed to have. Ink-stained, fragile from age, and marked with the sigil that had begun to haunt his thoughts: the double eclipse. A sign of the Veilheart, buried in doctrine and taboo.
He opened the first page again, breath shallow. A line, scrawled in a hand that felt more like memory than language now:
We served the light, then the Veil. But the Veil bled like us.
A warning. A confession. Maybe both.
He'd found it in the restricted archives behind the scry-vault. He shouldn't have had access—except the glyph lock had responded to him like a living thing.
Now he understood why.
He was halfway through the fourth folio when the door creaked.
He didn't move.
Whoever approached had no heartbeat in the sound.
A shadow moved past the wall, not lightless—but dimmed, like a cloak pulled tightly around its source. Whisperer shadowwork.
Kael closed the folio.
He whispered, "If you're going to kill me, you should do it before I stand."
Silence.
Then a voice—not the one he expected.
"Do you always greet friends like that?"
Kael turned sharply.
Tovrin stood in the doorway, arms folded, eyes narrowed. But something about him had changed. His usual sarcasm was gone, replaced by tightly leashed urgency.
"You're not supposed to be up here," Kael said.
Tovrin gave a wry smile. "Neither are you."
They stared at each other a long moment.
Then Tovrin reached into his tunic and produced a scrap of parchment.
"Found this in Mirell's bunk. Hidden in the spine of a training manual. Thought it was notes for exams. It's not."
Kael took it.
The ink was faint, encoded with Whisperer cypher. But he could still parse the shape of the words:
"Subject: Kael. Veil affinity confirmed. Manipulate into containment trial. Handler: Whitmer. Watcher assigned: Liris."
He stared, throat tight.
"It's not just suspicion anymore," Tovrin said. "They've already made their move."
Kael looked up. "And you bring this to me?"
"Because I don't want to be on the wrong side when you stop holding back."
The rest of the night bled away as Kael wrestled with the revelation.
Liris—one of the trio from the sparring trial. A handler's favorite. Always watching.
And Whitmer. He'd suspected something, yes—but to find him named in the plot, preparing Kael for containment?
A cold fury stirred inside him.
Not fire.
Something deeper.
He didn't know if he should feel betrayed or vindicated.
But he knew this: they were afraid of what he might become.
That night, Kael took the shard from beneath his bed and went deeper into the vaults. Past the reliquary levels. Past the forgotten stonework where the Veil symbols had worn away.
Into the underwarrens.
He crouched near an ancient junction. The air here pulsed with old magic—raw and unrefined. Tenebris stirred within him.
And then…
A whisper.
Not from inside. Not dream. Not memory.
But from the walls.
"Kael…"
The voice—no more than a breath—rippled along stone.
He turned.
A shimmer rippled across one wall. A fragment of veilglass embedded in the rock blinked like an eye.
Kael reached for it. Not touching—feeling.
And it whispered again.
"We remember your name."
Tenebris's presence flared.
"It knows me," Kael murmured.
The veilglass pulsed once.
"It remembers what I was before I was this."
He brought the shard to the veilglass and pressed them together.
A pattern sparked. The wall shimmered—and then opened.
Not with stone, but shadow.
A figure stepped forth.
It wore no face.
It wasn't Gloamkin.
It wasn't human.
But it bowed.
And said, "Veilblood."
Kael couldn't breathe.
"I am… not," he managed. "I don't know what that means."
The faceless figure tilted its head. "Then why do you carry Tenebris?"
Kael didn't answer.
The figure stepped back into the shimmer, voice low.
"Know this: the traitor among you serves a deeper silence. Not all who bear the Whisperer mark serve the Veil. And not all who speak truth will be believed."
Kael tried to follow.
The shimmer faded.
Gone.
By morning, Kael had not slept.
He returned to the surface to find Liris already waiting at the eastern balcony, as if expecting him. She gave him a smile too perfect to be real.
"I hear you've been having strange dreams," she said.
Kael stared. "You've been listening to them?"
She tilted her head. "Some dreams echo louder than others. Especially those of… anomalies."
Kael stepped closer.
"If I'm an anomaly, what are you?"
Liris smiled wider.
"Exactly where I need to be."
Kael returned to his chambers.
The sigil on his mirror—once dormant—had begun to glow again. Not with heat. Not even light.
But resonance.
The watchers were closing in.
And somewhere beneath the stone, the Veil itself had begun to stir.