CHAPTER 98 — THE VEIL OF DREAD
The storm over the skyline thickened into a churning mass of black and crimson, a living cloud that moved with a mind of its own. The city below felt unnaturally quiet, as if the world had slipped into a breathless pause—waiting, watching, fearing. Silva stood at the rooftop's edge, the Iron Fist glowing faintly under the dying light. The Mark on his arm pulsed like a second heartbeat, restless and uneasy.
Lyra stood behind him, arms wrapped around herself. "Silva… this doesn't feel like a normal shift. The Convergence isn't just spreading—it's anchoring itself."
Silva nodded slowly. "The creature we fought… it wasn't the real threat. It was a sentinel. A scout. They're testing the barrier between their world and ours."
"And the boundary fold?" Lyra asked. "It was unstable even before we stepped out. What if it opens again?"
"It will," Silva answered. "And next time, more will come through."
He felt a chill ripple through him—not from the cold, but from the Mark itself. Its glow dimmed and brightened in response to the approaching storm. The sky crackled, threads of crimson lightning branching through dark clouds like veins on diseased skin.
Lyra stepped closer. "What's it saying now?"
Silva closed his eyes, trying to focus on the Mark's resonance—not just the energy, but the whispers within it. He could feel an ancient hum, a pressure in his skull, like a voice trying to break through but not fully formed.
"It's… warning me," Silva muttered. "There's something hidden in this storm. Something trying to cloak itself. The Mark feels it, but I can't see it yet."
Lyra placed a hand on his shoulder. "Then we need allies. Varoth will know what to—"
Silva tensed suddenly.
"Someone's here."
Lyra stepped back instinctively as a faint ripple formed behind them. Out of the shadows at the rooftop door, a man stepped forward—cloaked in a long, ash-colored coat, hood drawn low. His presence felt heavy, like the weight of a sealed vault.
Silva raised his gauntlet cautiously. "Reveal yourself."
The hooded figure lifted his head. His eyes were pale silver, glowing faintly under the storm-lit sky.
Lyra gasped. "You— you're one of the Boundary Order."
He nodded. "Eroth. Sentinel-class Keeper." His voice was calm and cold, as if detached from emotion. "I've come because the Convergence has begun sooner than anticipated."
Silva lowered the gauntlet slightly. "Then tell me what I'm facing. The thing in the fold—what was it?"
Eroth exhaled fog into the cold air. "A Rift Shade. A byproduct of the Black Domain. Weak… compared to what will follow."
Lyra shook her head. "Weak? That thing nearly tore the entire dimension apart!"
Eroth's eyes lingered on Silva. "The Mark has awakened… and the forces tied to it sense you. The Iron Fist cannot fully protect you until the Mark is stabilized."
Silva frowned. "How do I stabilize it?"
Eroth didn't answer immediately. He stepped closer to the rooftop edge, raising his hand toward the sky as if reading the storm. "Something is interfering with the Mark's balance. Something ancient. Hidden beneath the city."
Silva and Lyra exchanged looks.
"What exactly is under the city?" Silva asked.
Eroth's pale eyes fixed on him. "A sealed fragment of the Black Domain. A pocket of corrupted energy that predates the earliest boundary tears. The Order buried it deep, believing it would never awaken."
Lyra shivered. "But now it has."
"Yes," Eroth replied. "Because of you."
Silva's jaw tightened. "Because of the Mark."
"Correct."
The storm rumbled above them, echoing the weight of Eroth's words.
"Then take me there," Silva said. "If this fragment is influencing the Mark, I need to see it."
Eroth hesitated. For the first time, Silva saw something shift in his expression—concern, maybe even fear.
"Very well," Eroth finally said. "But be warned, Silva. What lies beneath is not simply a relic. It breathes. It remembers. And it hungers."
Lyra stepped forward quickly. "If Silva is going, I'm going too."
Eroth's voice tightened. "The corruption there can overwhelm unprotected minds."
"Then shield me," Lyra snapped.
Eroth stared at her for a long moment, then nodded reluctantly.
"Stay close," he said. "And do not touch anything."
With a subtle gesture, he opened a shimmering rift—different from the boundary fold Silva had entered earlier. This portal was stable, but dark on the inside, as if leading into a cavern of shadows.
Silva stepped through first.
—
The air changed instantly. Cold. Heavy. Damp. They found themselves in an underground space—ancient stone walls covered in markings, some glowing faint crimson. The air pulsed with low vibrations, like distant drums beating in the dark.
Lyra shivered beside him. "This place… it feels wrong. Like it's alive."
"It is," Eroth murmured.
Silva focused on the pulsing energy. The Mark on his arm responded, glowing faintly in rhythm with the vibrations.
He took a step forward—and felt the ground tremble.
At the center of the chamber stood an orb of blackened crystal, cracked through the middle, leaking faint streams of dark smoke. It hovered above an altar covered in ancient runes.
Silva felt the Mark burn.
Lyra grabbed his arm. "Silva—are you alright?"
"It's calling me," Silva whispered. "Like the shadow in the fold."
Eroth stepped ahead, blocking his path. "Do not approach it yet. The fragment is unstable. Any sudden disturbance could rip open the Black Domain."
The orb pulsed suddenly, a low hum echoing through the chamber. Shadows in the room shifted, crawling along the stone walls like living things. Lyra clung to Silva's wrist.
Then a voice—deep, distorted—filled the chamber.
"Bearer… of the Mark…"
Silva's breath caught. The voice vibrated through his bones, into his skull.
"We see you…"
Lyra covered her ears, wincing. Eroth stood firm, eyes analyzing the sphere.
"We remember you…"
Silva stepped back. "What do you want?"
The orb pulsed again, stronger. The shadows on the walls sharpened, almost forming shapes—faces, eyes, claws reaching toward him.
Eroth raised his hand, creating a protective barrier around them. "The fragment is reacting to the Mark. It recognizes its lineage."
Silva swallowed hard. "Lineage? What are you talking about?"
Eroth kept his gaze on the orb. "The Mark has existed for centuries. Passed down to chosen bearers—some willing, some not. But you… you are the first in generations whose Iron Fist resonates perfectly with it."
Lyra blinked. "So Silva was chosen?"
"No," Eroth said quietly. "He was… activated."
The chamber shook violently.
The orb cracked fully open—releasing a burst of shadowy wind that howled like a thousand whispering voices. The protective barrier flickered under the force.
Silva raised his gauntlet. "What's happening?!"
Eroth braced himself. "It's awakening! The fragment—something inside it is breaking free!"
The shadows surged, swirling like a cyclone around the chamber. Lyra held onto Silva, panic in her voice. "We have to get out!"
Silva shook his head. "If we leave now, whatever's in there escapes into the city."
The shadows spun faster, condensing into a massive, shifting shape—nearly humanoid but undefined, as if sculpted from smoke.
Silva stepped forward, Iron Fist glowing bright gold. "You wanted me? I'm right here."
The shadow figure's head turned toward him. Crimson eyes formed out of the darkness.
And it spoke:
"The Convergence begins with you…"
The chamber cracked, stone splitting. Energy rippled through the ground.
Lyra screamed, "Silva, we need to go—NOW!"
But Silva didn't move.
He stared into the eyes of the rising darkness, feeling the Mark burn like a fire in his veins.
Whatever this entity was…
Whatever it remembered…
Whatever it wanted…
It knew Silva.
And Silva knew—
This was only the first awakening.