They left the shifting zone behind, stepping out of the mist and into the dying light of evening. The city of Veylor sprawled before them, its towers and rooftops painted gold by the setting sun. For a moment, the world felt almost normal.
But Kael could feel the box's pulse through Rylan's pack—a steady, insistent thrum, like a second heartbeat. He glanced at his friend, who walked in silence, brow furrowed and jaw clenched.
They didn't speak until they reached the edge of the market, where the crowds thinned and the city's noise faded to a distant hum. Rylan stopped, turning to face Kael.
"Why didn't you tell me?" His voice was quiet, but there was hurt beneath the words.
Kael hesitated, searching for an answer that wouldn't sound like another lie. "It wasn't safe. Not for you, not for me."
Rylan shook his head. "I could've helped."
Kael looked away, jaw tight. "Or you could've been killed. Magic like mine—it draws attention. The wrong kind."
Rylan was silent for a moment, then sighed. "You saved my life back there. I won't forget that."
Kael nodded, relief and guilt warring inside him.
They made their way to a quiet inn on the city's outskirts, a place Kael trusted for its discretion. The innkeeper, a stout woman with sharp eyes, nodded them upstairs without a word.
Once inside their small room, Rylan set the box on the table. The runes glimmered faintly in the dim light.
"So," Rylan said, forcing a smile, "do we open it?"
Kael stared at the box, memories flickering at the edge of his mind. He remembered his father's warning: Don't open it until you're ready.
Am I ready? He wasn't sure. But the box called to him, promising answers he'd chased for years.
He reached out, fingers brushing the lid. The runes flared, light spilling across the table. Kael's breath caught—the magic was old, powerful, and somehow familiar.
Careful, Silas whispered in his mind. Some doors can't be closed once opened.
Kael ignored him. He pressed his palm to the lid, feeling the magic shift and settle, recognizing him. The box clicked, and the lid slid open.
Inside, nestled in black velvet, was a shard of silver metal—curved, razor-sharp, etched with runes that matched those on Kael's sword. Next to it lay a folded scrap of parchment, yellowed with age.
Rylan whistled. "Looks valuable. What is it?"
Kael picked up the shard, running his thumb over the runes. A jolt of memory surged—a flash of his father's face, desperate and determined, and the feel of cold steel pressed to his own chest.
He unfolded the parchment. The handwriting was shaky, but unmistakable.
Kael—
If you're reading this, you've survived. The city is gone, but you must remember: the price was paid in shadows. The dagger is the key. Trust no one—not even yourself.
—Father
Kael's hands trembled. The words blurred, but he forced himself to read them again.
Rylan leaned over his shoulder. "What does it mean?"
Kael shook his head. "I don't know. Not yet."
But you will, Silas purred. Sooner than you think.
Kael closed the box, locking the shard and the note away. He met Rylan's gaze, voice steady. "We need to find the rest of the dagger. And we need to be careful. Whatever happened to my city—whatever price was paid—it isn't over."
Rylan nodded, determination hardening his features. "Then we do it together."
Kael managed a small smile. For the first time in years, he didn't feel quite so alone.
But as night fell and the city's shadows deepened, Kael couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched. The price of answers, he knew, was only beginning to be paid.