The rain hadn't stopped. It softened just enough as Arin and Kaelis slipped out of the Underspine's choking alleys, blood and shadows still thick in his mind from their last fight. The way Kaelis moved—steady, silent, like a shadow that never got tired—was both terrifying and oddly comforting.
Ashveil's trade district lay ahead, the sounds of the night market dimmed to a murmur beneath sheets of dripping awnings and flickering lanterns. The air smelled faintly of frying spices, wet wood, and something metallic—reminders of daily life stubbornly continuing under the city's dangerous surface.
Arin's boots splashed through puddles, his clothes still plastered from the rain and grime. Each step reminded him how strange it was: just days ago, he was a simple caravan guard. Now, he felt like someone else too—someone who held pieces of many souls tangled inside his own.
Kaelis didn't speak much but when she did, her words sliced sharp like her twin daggers.
"You're lucky to be alive," she said without looking back. "And even luckier to have some control over what's started inside you."
Arin glanced at her. "Control? More like barely hanging on."
Her lips quirked. "Welcome to Veilborn life. The only difference between surviving and losing yourself is learning to say no… to yourself."
Arin wasn't sure if that was advice or a curse.
They moved slowly through crowds that parted with wary eyes. Merchants wrapped up, packs carrying away goods before dawn. The city whispered secrets here—most meant to stay buried.
Kaelis stopped before a heavy iron door, its red paint peeling but still threatening with the image of a fang dripping fresh blood.
"This is Red Fang territory," she said, "The one place where the Black Fang don't get to call the shots."
Before Arin could reply, the door opened, and a tall woman stepped out. Bright red hair braided thrice down her back, sharp silver eyes scanning him like a jeweler inspecting a rough stone.
"Kaelis," the woman said flatly, "You brought him. Good."
Kaelis nodded. "He's raw, but the Veilborn blood runs hot."
The woman's gaze shifted to Arin, cold but with a spark of something unspoken. "I'm Lyara, Red Fang Bladekeeper. If you want to survive, you'll answer to me."
Arin swallowed. The air seemed to thicken as her sharp gaze bored into him. He'd heard stories of the Red Fang—fierce warriors unafraid to stand against any threat, especially the Black Fang.
"I want to learn," Arin said, voice steady despite his nerves. "Not lose myself in whatever power this is."
Lyara's lips tightened into the barest of nods. "Good. Because control is the only thing standing between you and oblivion."
Inside the compound, the training hall smelled of sweat, oil, and old magic. Torches flickered on walls carved with glowing soul marks—the glyphs that held the city's deepest secrets.
Lyara moved with purpose, instructing Arin to mimic her stance. "Veilborn power isn't a simple trick," she said. "It's a bond between your soul and the souls you touch. You don't steal strength — you veil it, borrow it. But if you don't know yourself first, you'll drown in voices that aren't yours."
Arin moved his feet, matched her breathing, and raised his hands just so—echoes of her years of training pulsing through his body.
"Stop," Lyara said suddenly, eyes intense. "What part of this is your own? Not mine."
Arin felt overwhelmed—the rush of her muscle memory blending with his own unanswered questions. "The moves… the rhythm… I think it's me. But it isn't easy."
Lyara studied him a moment. "Knowing what's yours is the start. Without it, you'll break."
They pressed on, the air thick with the warmth and weight of testing limits. Each block and parry pulled Arin deeper into the mystery of his gift—and its danger.
When exhaustion finally won, Arin collapsed, his sweat mixing with rainwater still clinging to his skin.
Kaelis grinned. "Not bad for day one."
Lyara's nod was equally approving but heavy with warning. "Veilborn souls break if pushed too hard. You'll learn that soon enough."
Arin looked between them—their strength, their sharpness — and hoped hope was enough.
"This is more than fighting," Lyara said quietly. "It's survival."
That night, Arin lay awake, the day's lessons swirling in his mind. His dreams blurred memory and borrowed instinct—Kaelis's shadowy grace, Lyara's steel resolve, and his own fading self.
Outside, rain drummed a steady rhythm against the compound. The city whispered secrets and dangers.
Inside Arin knew this was only the beginning.
He was Veilborn now,and every choice, every bond, would test the strength of his fractured soul.