The sky over Cael'thalas shifted again—bruised purples bleeding into burning gold. It was always in flux here, and Auren could never tell if that was because of the unstable magic in the region or simply because the realm itself was alive, watching, and responsive. Every breeze felt like a breath; every shimmer in the clouds seemed like blinking eyes.
Auren kept his pace steady along the crumbling trail, the moss-covered stones crunching beneath his boots. Beside him, Lira walked in contemplative silence, her arms folded tightly over her chest, as though the chill wasn't just in the air but in her very bones.
"Do you hear it?" she finally asked.
He turned slightly. "Hear what?"
"The veil. It's thinner here." Her voice was low, almost reverent. "It's… speaking."
Auren stopped walking.
Lira glanced at him, her silver eyes catching the light of the fractured sun above. "You don't hear it yet, do you?"
"No." He scanned the trees—great silver-trunked sentinels that reached high into the heavens. "But I believe you."
That was enough for her. She stepped off the trail without hesitation, descending down a bank of flowering roots and mist-drenched grass. He followed, careful with each step, until they reached the edge of a clearing. At its center stood a strange obelisk—smooth obsidian with runes etched in a language Auren didn't recognize, though some looked vaguely like the arcane symbols carved into the mirror that had brought him here in the first place.
The Veilstone.
Lira reached out, her fingers stopping just short of touching it. "This is where I crossed over," she said quietly. "Years ago. Before I knew what I was."
Auren's breath caught. "You mean… this is your origin point? Your nexus?"
She nodded. "Every realmwalker has one. A place where their essence was marked by the Veil itself. For me, it was here."
Auren stepped closer. "Then if we study it… maybe we can find out where my nexus is. Or how to control the crossings."
"Maybe," she said. "But there's a risk."
"There always is."
She finally let her fingers touch the stone.
Immediately, the air vibrated.
A high, keening sound filled the clearing, and the trees bent inward, as though listening. The sky above convulsed into black, then red, then something Auren could only describe as beyond color—a pulsing, visual hum that made his vision blur and heart pound.
Lira gasped and stumbled back. Auren caught her before she fell, but her eyes were distant, unfocused.
"Lira! Talk to me!"
She blinked several times before whispering, "I saw… something."
"What?"
"I saw you. In another world. But you were not yourself. You wore armor of shadow and bore a sword made of memory." She shuddered. "You were not human anymore."
Auren felt something cold settle in his stomach. "Could it be… a possible future?"
"Or a reflection," she said. "A possibility. That's what the Veil shows—it doesn't lie, but it doesn't clarify either."
He turned to the Veilstone. "Then let it show me too."
Lira grabbed his arm. "No. You're not ready. I barely held onto myself."
"I have to risk it," he said, voice firm. "If I want to protect those I love—if I want to control this power—I can't be afraid."
Their eyes met. Eventually, she let go.
Auren stepped forward and placed both palms on the stone.
For a heartbeat, there was nothing.
Then—everything.
His mind expanded, ripped open and threaded through a thousand reflections of himself. He saw himself as a tyrant, a hero, a ghost, a god. In one version, he sat on a throne of bones. In another, he wandered an empty world, lost and weeping. There were glimpses of people he'd never met—an elven queen with golden wings, a child with his eyes but Lira's smile, a beast with his voice but no soul.
And then—
He saw a door.
It was cracked open, ancient and wrapped in chains of starlight. Beyond it, he felt warmth. Familiarity. Love. And danger.
He reached for it.
The vision snapped.
Auren collapsed to his knees, gasping, drenched in sweat.
Lira was already at his side. "Auren! Are you with me?"
"I saw it," he whispered. "The origin. My nexus. It's behind a chained door."
She frowned. "That's rare. Most origin points are places, not… sealed realities."
"Then mine is different. Maybe I'm different."
She helped him stand. "We need to tell the Elders."
Auren shook his head. "No. Not yet. The moment they learn I might be the Keywalker, they'll try to control me. Or worse, use me."
Lira nodded reluctantly. "Then we go rogue."
He laughed despite himself. "You say that like it's easy."
"It's not. But it's necessary."
They stood in silence, the wind carrying whispers that sounded like their own voices, distorted and ancient.
"Do you think," Auren began, "that version of me—the one in the armor—do you think that's who I'll become?"
"I think it's who you could become," she said. "If you lose yourself to the power."
"Then I won't."
Lira looked at him, unreadable. "We all say that. The challenge is proving it."
Just then, the wind shifted again—and with it came a new sound. Not whispering. Not echoes.
Drums.
War drums.
Auren and Lira turned toward the sound. In the distance, flickering through the mist, were figures—dozens of them. Clad in crimson and steel, with banners that bore the mark of the Seraphim Order.
"They found us," Lira whispered.
"No," Auren said. "They found me."