The footsteps multiplied in the corridor — heavy boots, scraping steel, the clink of armor.
Kaelis's eyes flickered toward the single narrow entrance.
"They've found us," she murmured, rolling her shoulders.
"Black Fang enforcers. Six, maybe more."
Arin's pulse thudded in his throat. "You sound almost happy about it."
"I am," she said simply, drawing twin daggers from somewhere beneath her cloak. "You'll never learn just talking about your power."
Before he could ask what she meant, the first shadow filled the archway.
A brute in chainmail charged, a weighted axe raised high. Arin stepped back on instinct — but Kaelis moved in low, sidestepping the swing and slicing clean across the man's knee before finishing him with a slash to the throat. Her movements were swift, surgical, hard to follow in the dim blue glow of her rune-etched blades.
The moment she passed close to him, it happened —
click — heat and rhythm in his chest, like a locked door opening. Her stance, her speed, her knife angles surged into his arms and legs without thought.
A second enforcer barreled in. This time Arin stepped into the attack, twisting aside exactly the way she would have, his borrowed blade flashing up into the man's shoulder gap. The enemy staggered back, howling.
Two more pushed past the bodies, one with a hooked spear, the other with short curved swords. The spear jabbed low, the swordsman high. Arin froze — until the spear's wielder came within arm's length.
Another click.
A heavier, grounded stance filled his mind, alien in weight but steady. His body lowered, knees braced like the axeman's from the plaza fight. His arm batted the spear away with force he didn't own a heartbeat before.
The rush was intoxicating — and terrifying. Two different sets of instincts tangled in his head now, pulling against each other. His breathing quickened. Which one was his? Were any of them his?
"Focus, Veilborn!" Kaelis's voice snapped him back. "Chain your copies — don't drown in them."
Easier said than done.
The twin-blades fighter lunged. Without thinking, Arin shifted again — copying the man's dual grip, meeting his strikes with mirrored precision. One slash opened the man's arm. Another slash, too fast to be his own, caught his neck.
By the time the last enforcer fled bleeding into the tunnel, Arin's heart was hammering like he'd been running for miles. The heat in his veins dimmed. Stolen stances, grips, weights — all gone in seconds.
He staggered into the wall. "Gods… it's like falling out of my own skin."
Kaelis wiped her blades clean on a corpse's cloak. "That's the price. You think Veilborn ability is just mimicry? Every time you chain too many too fast, pieces of them stick inside you. Their habits. Their fears."
She stepped close, eyes cold but curious. "Do that long enough… and you won't know who you are when you wake up."
Arin swallowed. "So… what now?"
"Now," she said, sliding her daggers away, "we find someone who can train you before the Council decides to carve you up for parts."
Her tone darkened. "And I know a woman who might… if she doesn't kill you first."
Arin almost smirked, half from exhaustion. "Sounds promising."
"You'll like her," Kaelis said, already moving toward the shadows. "She's one of the Red Fang Blades… and she hates the Black Fang more than anyone."
The journey from the Underspine to the Red Fang compound was slower, more cautious. Arin's mind raced, still tangled in the conflicting instincts he'd felt during the kill. Each borrowed skill had left its mark on his thoughts—whispers of fear, fleeting doubts, even fragments of memories that weren't his.
Kaelis remained silent for most of the walk, occasionally glancing over her shoulder as if expecting pursuit. The deeper they went, the heavier the air seemed: thick with the scent of smoke, iron, and old magic.
The Red Fang compound was marked by a tall iron door painted with a crimson fang dripping blood. Kaelis knocked three times in a strange rhythm. The door creaked open, revealing a tall woman with fiery red hair braided in three thick strands and piercing silver eyes.
"Kaelis," she said sharply. "You brought him."
Kaelis inclined her head. "He's raw, but the Veilborn blood runs strong."
The woman's eyes shifted to Arin, running over his tired form like a blade. "I'm Lyara. Red Fang Bladekeeper."
Arin swallowed. The name carried weight—he'd heard whispers of the Red Fang—fighters as fierce as they were loyal, enemies to the Black Fang.
Lyara's gaze held his, sharp and commanding. "You're here because you owe us a favor," she said. "But whether you live to pay the debt depends on what you can learn. Veilborn powers don't tolerate weakness."
Arin nodded slowly. "I want to control it. Not lose myself."
Lyara offered a brief, approving nod. "Good. Then we begin."
In the training hall, lit by flickering torches and the pale glow of soul marks etched into the walls, Lyara guided Arin through his first real test.
She explained, "Your power isn't just mimicry. It's a bond between your soul and theirs. You don't steal their strength—you veil it, borrow it—and if you're not careful, you'll drown in voices that aren't yours."
Their first exercise was simple: mimic her stance and parry her practice strikes—not with his own reflexes, but with the echoes of her muscle memory.
Arin stepped forward, his heartbeat syncing with hers. His hands rose, moving as hers would—each step, each angle, each feint.
Lyara watched closely, her silver eyes narrowing. "Stop," she said after several tense moments. "Tell me what's yours—not hers."
Arin's breath caught. Memories and instincts crowded his mind—her rhythm, her footwork, and behind them, a flicker of his own resolve. "I… think this is mine. But it's hard."
"Good," Lyara said. "That's where you start. Know yourself before you borrow too much."
They pushed harder. Lyara's strikes came faster, more unpredictable, and Arin mirrored with stolen skill—each time testing the boundaries between borrowed and self.
After the session, Arin collapsed onto the floor, sweat and rain mixing on his skin.
Kaelis approached, a faint smirk playing on her lips. "Not bad. For a first day."
Lyara nodded once. "He learns fast, but the price is steep. Veilborn souls break when pushed too hard."
Arin looked between them, exhaustion and hope battling inside him.
"This isn't just about fighting," Lyara said quietly. "It's about survival. And control."
That night, as Arin rested on a pallet in the compound's quiet chamber, his mind churned through the day's lessons.
Visions flickered—his own memories, Kaelis's shadowy grace, Lyara's disciplined strength.
The power was intoxicating, but the cost weighed heavily.
Outside, the city breathed with shadows and secrets.
Inside, Arin knew the trials were only beginning.
He was Veilborn and the path ahead would test every piece of his soul.