They walked for half a day in silence.
After the Herald vanished, Kael didn't speak. Lira didn't press him. The air between them carried weight—like the ground they'd walked was trying to remember what had just happened. Even the wind felt quieter.
The only sound was boots over broken earth, the distant hum of heat vents underground, and the Void inside Kael, whispering softly with every step.
It hadn't burned since the Herald left.
It listened.
⸻
By dusk, the mountains split into a basin of shattered metal and stone. Greyreach.
The city looked like it had been built atop a battlefield — and never finished healing. Towers of scrap, ancient Soulweaver plating, and mismatched stone stacked into walls that leaned under their own weight. Soul-lamps buzzed with unstable energy across walkways and ledges.
No banners. No patrols.
No law.
Kael squinted from the ridge as Lira scanned with her Vein lens.
"Two dozen Soul-signatures in that quarter alone," she muttered. "Mostly stable. A few corrupted."
"How do you know which is which?"
She passed him the lens. "Corrupted threads pulse wrong. Like frayed rope under water."
Kael looked through. At first, nothing.
Then… threads.
Lines of color, some bright, others dim, danced across his vision. And one—a thick, throbbing red-black spiral in the far west end—made his skin crawl.
"What the hell is that one?"
"Don't look at it too long," Lira said, taking the lens back. "That's not someone you want to meet unless you have something to offer."
Kael nodded slowly. "What do I have?"
Lira looked him dead in the eyes. "A Soulvein the Spiral wants."
⸻
The gate into Greyreach wasn't guarded.
Just a chunk of hull welded into a half-open mouth, like the jaw of a giant left open in its last breath. Inside, the streets wound like veins through broken blocks and smokestack towers. There were no signs, no directions—just instinct and sound.
Kael kept his hood low. Every eye on the street seemed sharper here. Half the people looked like fighters. The other half looked like they used to be.
Soulweavers without brands, mercs with scavenged gear, mutants with twitching skin-veins and makeshift limb rigs. No one looked clean. No one looked weak.
"This place doesn't have rules," Lira said as they walked. "It has debts. You pay or you vanish."
Kael muttered, "Why do I feel like I already owe someone something just by breathing here?"
"Because you do," she said. "Void Veins aren't free."
⸻
They reached a circular plaza built around an old Soulforge—one of the giant devices used long ago to stabilize entire regions during the Collapse. Now, it just sat there, cold and dark. A broken relic surrounded by makeshift markets, back-alley clinics, and fighters sparring for credits.
One in particular caught Kael's eye.
A kid.
No older than twelve.
Fighting a grown man with a spear in a chalk-marked ring. But the kid wasn't losing. He was laughing. His Vein glowed a strange shade of silver-blue—rippling with Time and Wind threads fused together.
Every time the man struck, the kid dodged a split-second before impact. His body flickered like he was skipping frames.
Kael stepped closer.
The man roared and lunged—only to eat a kick to the chest that knocked him out cold.
Cheers erupted.
Coins flew.
The kid raised both arms and bowed. "Next!"
Kael stared. "He's using a Phase Two Vein Trait already?"
Lira nodded. "That's Tempo Pulse. Most people train ten years to reach it."
Kael narrowed his eyes. "What's someone like that doing out here?"
"Same thing we are," she said. "Trying not to die."
⸻
They rented a room at a crumbling hostel run by a blind woman with a gold Soulbrand across her neck. Lira handed her a fire-gem. No words exchanged. Just nods.
The room had two mats, a cracked mirror, and a small basin of clean water — luxury for Greyreach.
Kael sat on the floor, rubbing his temples.
"That Herald," he said finally. "He called me Voidborn. Like it meant something."
Lira didn't sit.
She leaned against the wall, arms crossed.
"It does."
"Then tell me."
"You're not ready."
He stood up, face tight. "I faced one of them and lived. I bled for it. I flared for it. What else do I have to prove?"
Lira sighed. "It's not about proving anything. It's about surviving the truth."
"Then let it kill me."
She stepped forward, voice sharp. "You think you want the truth? Fine."
She unwrapped her sleeve.
Her arm was veined with layered scars. Not from weapons.
From burnout.
"That's what happened when I tried to rewrite a Vein Core," she said. "I thought knowledge was enough. That if I studied hard enough, trained long enough, I could handle anything. But the Vein has its own will. It reshaped me. And I almost didn't come back."
Kael stared.
Lira rolled her sleeve down. "If the Spiral takes you, there is no coming back."
⸻
That night, Kael dreamed again.
This time, he wasn't in a field.
He stood in a library.
Endless.
Books floated in space. Glyphs whispered across the walls. Symbols shifted when he blinked. At the center of it all sat a throne made of cracked crystal.
And on it… himself again.
The shadow-form.
Stronger. Colder. Eyes like hollow stars.
It stood.
"You keep rejecting me," it said.
Kael gritted his teeth. "Because I'm not you."
"No," the shadow said. "But you will be. Every choice leads inward. Every pain folds deeper. You are the echo."
Kael raised a hand. The Void surged.
But before he could strike—
The dream shattered.
⸻
He woke with a gasp.
The mirror in the room was cracked.
Lira was already gone.
A note on the floor read: Forge District. Don't follow unless you're ready to bleed.
Kael got dressed.
And followed.
⸻
The Forge District was alive with noise. Hammers. Screams. Vein surges testing the edge of collapse. Fighters trained in pits while technicians crafted hybrid weapons — metal wrapped in glyph-sewn thread.
Kael found Lira outside a forge labeled "Riven & Sons" — except the sign had been slashed, leaving only "Riven."
She stood talking to someone.
A man with a metal spine.
Literally.
His entire back was rigged with grafted glyphmetal. Tubes pulsed where his veins should be. His eyes glowed red, but not with Vein power — with tech.
Lira waved Kael over.
"Kael, this is Riven. He used to run with the original Soulweaver scouts."
Kael nodded.
Riven sized him up. "Void Vein. I can smell it."
Kael stayed silent.
Riven smiled with cracked teeth. "You'll need a stabilizer. Your core's out of sync. Too much flare, not enough anchor."
"I've got cuffs."
Riven shook his head. "Cuffs won't save you if your core fractures mid-combat. You want to survive the next Spiral encounter?"
Kael nodded once.
Riven tossed him a small capsule. "Swallow that. It's a temp anchor. It'll hurt. But it'll bind your Vein enough to keep you from burning out."
Kael swallowed it without hesitation.
The pain hit instantly.
Like his insides were folding inward.
His knees buckled.
Vein threads glowed from his skin like scars opening.
Then… it passed.
And he could feel balance.
For the first time.
Riven grinned. "Now you're ready."
⸻
They returned to the hostel that night with Kael's Soul Mode more stable — but his questions louder.
He stared at his reflection in the broken mirror. The marks on his face were clearer now. Like the Void wasn't hiding anymore.
"I'm not afraid of what's coming," he whispered.
And in the dark, the Void pulsed once.
As if to answer: Good.