Rain in Ashveil had two moods—loud enough to scare away the hawkers, or sneaky enough to trick you into walking home soaked. Tonight it was loud: fat drops hammering the cobblestones and rattling the tin awnings of shuttered shops.
Arin's breath misted in short bursts as he darted through a narrow lane smelling of smoke and wet cloth. Twenty minutes since he'd jumped off the execution stage, and he still felt the phantom weight of Draev's glaive in his hands.
His legs ached, not from running but from the strange back-and-forth between normal Arin and glaive-using Draev-Arin. At least the crowd had scattered fast enough to make his escape easier.
Every few steps he caught his reflection in stray puddles—dripping hair plastered to his forehead, eyes wide and alert. "Well," he muttered, "so much for keeping a low profile."
A splash echoed behind him. He froze… then realized it was only a stray goat that had somehow escaped someone's pen, wandering through the market lane like it owned the place. Typical Ashveil.
Into the Underspine ,the normal streets of Ashveil, even at night, had lights from tea stalls, the smell of frying snacks, and voices of those who never slept early. But where Arin was headed, those comforts didn't follow.
The Underspine, It wasn't an official name—city maps refused to honor the place—but everyone knew it. A sprawling web of alleys, collapsed sewers, and forgotten tunnels that sat beneath the older districts like a second, shadow-shaped city. If you wanted black market steel, illegal magic, or the kind of gossip that could end wars, you came here.
Or if, like Arin, you had nowhere else left to run.
A cracked archway marked the border, painted in streaks of red and black—a warning as much as a welcome mat. Inside, torchlight flickered against wet walls. The voices here didn't sound curious—they sounded like they were measuring what a stranger's organs might sell for.
Two men outside a shutter eyed him but didn't move. One scratched his beard. "Fresh meat," he said in a voice like gravel.
Arin didn't reply, keeping his pace brisk. He pulled his hood lower and hoped the rain covered the sound of nervous breathing.
The Woman in the Arch
The lane curved, then opened to a small square… if you could call four dying lanterns and a broken fountain a "square." That's where he saw her.
She leaned against an ancient archway, partly in shadow, partly in rain. Her cloak was black but trimmed with violet thread, and her posture was casual in a way only dangerous people could manage. Her head tilted slightly as if she'd been expecting him for hours.
"Arin Veylor," she said. Not a question. The sound was smooth yet sharp, like a blade drawn slowly across silk.
Moving slower now, Arin eyed her. "If you're here to turn me in, you're probably three minutes late. The Magister wanted me 'tested'… whatever that means."
Her lips twitched. "If I wanted you dead, you'd already be bleeding."
"That's… comforting."
She stepped forward just enough for the lamplight to catch her face: pale skin, hair black as ink that had soaked in the night sky, and eyes that reflected every flicker of light. Up close, her beauty was the hard kind—the kind street rumors called "trouble you still run toward."
"Name's Kaelis," she said. "And you've just given the Guilds a puzzle they can't solve. Lucky for you, I like puzzles."
Arin crossed his arms. "Also lucky that I'm bad at saying no to mysterious strangers, apparently."
Kaelis smirked. "Follow me, or stay here until someone less friendly arrives. Your choice."
First Test
The decision wasn't hard—running with her was better than running alone. She led him through twisting lanes, into a half-collapsed chamber whose faded tiles still glimmered faintly with old magic.
It might've stayed quiet… if the sound of boots on stone hadn't broken the air.
Kaelis's head tilted. "Black Fang scouts. Three of them. I'll take the one with the bow."
Arin frowned. "I'm not exactly combat-ready—"
"You don't need to be. Just… stay close."
The first scout burst into the chamber, short sword drawn. Kaelis moved like water—low, fast, impossible to follow—her dagger punching into the man's side before his breath even caught.
That's when Arin felt it.
The click.
Heat bloomed in his chest, his heartbeat syncing to hers. Suddenly, the placement of her feet, the angle of her blade—they were in him. Not just seen, but known.
The second scout charged him. Before his mind had time to panic, Arin's body shifted exactly as hers would: sidestep, guard high, slash low. His borrowed swing sliced the man's thigh. Surprise almost made him drop the blade.
The third man backed away, spitting curses, then turned to flee.
Kaelis didn't chase him. "Good," she said. "You caught the echo."
Arin wiped rain and sweat from his face. "The… echo? That's what this is?"
"Veilborn instincts," she replied. "You pull the skill from whoever you're near. But careful—touch too many in quick succession, and you won't know who you are."
Her tone was light, but her eyes weren't.
The Bargain
They settled for a moment in the chamber, the rain whispering somewhere above. Kaelis leaned against a cracked column, watching him like a teacher sizing up a stubborn student.
"The Magisters will come after you themselves," Kaelis said. "So will the other Guilds. Some will want to use you. Some will just want to see if killing you makes them stronger."
Arin tried to laugh. "And you? Which kind are you?"
She studied him for a long moment. "I'm the kind who believes you owe me now."
"For… helping me not die?"
"For helping you not die twice. That one in the plaza counts."
"That was all me," Arin protested—though even as he said it, part of him suspected otherwise.
Kaelis pushed off the column. "There's someone I want you to meet. She can train you before you burn yourself out. But she's… not exactly sweet tea and biscuits."
"I've been spending a lot of time around people who fit that description lately."
Her smile was faint but genuine. "Then you might survive this after all."
Deeper Shadows
They left the chamber and headed further into the Underspine. Every turn seemed to take them deeper into air thicker with smoke and whispers. At one point, they passed a card game under a leaking roof; one player eyed Arin's boots like he was calculating their resale value.
Kaelis ignored everyone, her stride confident and unhurried—as if she knew the shadows would shift aside rather than touch her.
Finally, she stopped before a steel-reinforced door painted with a sigil of a crimson fang dripping blood.
She glanced over her shoulder at Arin. "Red Fang territory. Try not to say anything stupid."
"Define stupid."
"Anything you've said in the last hour."
Before Arin could answer, the door swung open. A tall woman with crimson hair braided in threes stood there, silver eyes scanning him in one motion.
"Kaelis," she said. "You brought me a problem."
Kaelis shrugged. "You like problems."
The woman—Lyara—looked Arin over like a jeweler studying a flawed gem. "We'll see if you're worth the trouble."
End of Chapter 2