"I'm home, Aunty," I called out the moment I stepped through the door.
I slipped off my shoes and placed them neatly on the rack to the left of the entrance. The familiar warmth of the apartment wrapped around me, but what caught my attention immediately was the sound of metal pots clanking in the kitchen. Steam drifted faintly through the air, carrying with it the unmistakable scent of boiling meat.
It smelled rich and savory, almost sweet at the edges, but the smoky undertones told me it had been grilled first before being simmered into something more elaborate. My stomach tightened in response, hunger waking up after hours of studying.
Was there an occasion today? Aunt Jeya rarely cooked this lavishly unless something meaningful had happened. Birthdays, promotions, successful missions, or sudden bouts of nostalgia. Her cooking style always reflected her mood, and tonight it seemed unusually warm and full.
Curiosity tugged at me as I stepped further inside, the soft overhead lights guiding me through the hallway. The scent grew stronger, richer, almost comforting, filling every corner of our small but cozy home.
Something felt… different tonight. Not bad. Just different.
"What are you cooking, Aunt Jeya?" I asked as I made my way toward the kitchen.
She turned her head slightly, and her sun-kissed hair shifted with the motion, glinting under the warm lights. Her eyes softened when she saw me.
"Well, I'm preparing quite a dinner. Grilled steak and boiled bird-nest soup," she said with a smile so bright it immediately told me something had put her in a very good mood.
I raised a brow. "Are we expecting visitors?" Setting my bag down, I placed it gently on the side cabinet in the living room, the one positioned just across from the kitchen so I could still see her clearly from where I stood.
"Yes," she replied, stirring the pot with a graceful flick of her wrist. "The university called me earlier. They said you've been chosen for early guild enrollment."
For a moment, I simply stood there, staring at her. My heartbeat picked up, quick and heavy. Early enrollment? For someone who hadn't even awakened their Ember yet?
That was more than an achievement. It was a milestone most unawakened Riftborn could only dream about. Guild training opened doors. It boosted Ember stability, provided structured combat lessons, corruption management, access to gear, mentors, and most importantly… financial support.
"I finally got it," I breathed out.
Twelve-hour study sessions flashed through my mind. The endless review sheets. The mock exams. The practical tests. The physical trial where I nearly passed out. The guild interviews. The pressure of knowing my lineage was in the lower twenty-five percent and expectations were stacked against me.
All of it suddenly felt worth it.
A warmth settled in my chest, mingling with the savory scent of grilled steak.
Aunt Jeya paused in her cooking and looked at me tenderly, pride written openly on her face.
"You earned this, Seyfe," she said. "And the guild representatives want to meet you tonight."
The spoon in her hand tapped against the pot, the sound echoing faintly in the kitchen.
Tonight. So soon.
My pulse quickened again.
Everything was moving forward… maybe faster than I expected.
The steam curls upward in thin threads, brushing against my face like warm fingertips. I lean a little closer, letting the scent settle into me. It is rich, earthy, and deep. It carries the exhaustion of long hours simmering, the kind of warmth that feels like it has been waiting for me specifically.
I raise the spoon slowly. The broth catches the kitchen light, a muted gold, trembling just enough to show how tired my hands are. When I taste it, the flavor blooms across my tongue. It begins gentle, then grows heavier, like something sinking into me. It is warm in a way that does not only heat the mouth but reaches straight into my chest.
There is salt, but not sharp. More like a reminder. A memory nudging at the edges. A faint bitterness lingers underneath, subtle but present, the way old regrets always stay even when you try not to notice them.
I take a piece of meat next. It yields instantly, softening as if it has been waiting all day to give up. Juices mix with the broth, adding depth and heaviness that I can feel settling inside me too.
I breathe in again, letting the aroma wrap around me. It is comforting, yet there is something heavier beneath it. It feels as if the smell carries stories I have never heard and burdens I have inherited without realizing.
For a moment, everything else fades. No university call. No guild acceptance. No distant expectations hanging above my shoulders. Only the taste, the texture, the warmth bleeding through my fingers where I hold the bowl.
I did not realize how hungry I was until now. Not just for food, but for this feeling. This quiet. This reminder that even simple things can carry weight, and that I have been carrying mine for a long time.
"Aunt Jeya, the veil will open again in two weeks. How did you manage to return?" I ask quietly. The question slips out before I can steady myself, but the weight behind it has been pressing on me for days. I know what will happen once the Veil stirs. I know what happens to people like me, the ones with dormant embers flickering quietly in their bodies.
She sets her spoon down with a soft tap against the bowl. Her gaze drifts toward the kitchen window, as if the answer is somewhere beyond the falling dusk. For a moment she looks older, touched by something colder than the evening light.
"I think you need to be gritty enough not to let fear take you first," she finally says. She raises the bowl to her lips and takes a slow sip, almost as if the warmth gives her permission to continue. "When you enter that realm for the very first time, your welcomer will not be a guide or a creature. It will be fear itself. The kind that grows from inside your bones. And that fear is the first killer you will meet."
I swallow without meaning to. The air feels heavier. "I see."
She glances back at me, eyes softer now but carrying something sharp underneath. "You might spawn with others. It happens. People appear near one another during first entry, especially the unawakened. But do not assume anyone there is someone you should trust. Arkael strips people down to what they truly are, and not everyone handles fear in a way that keeps others alive."
Her voice sinks a little, as if she remembers something she wishes she could forget.
"The realm pulls out the best and the worst in people. You will see both, sometimes in the same person. So stay aware, stay grounded, and most of all, do not forget yourself once the darkness opens."
Her words linger long after she falls silent, filling the space between us like a second breath I am forced to take.
And for the first time, the idea of entering Arkael feels real. Not distant. Not theoretical. Real enough to tremble under my skin.
I could feel Aunt Jeya's soft gaze on me, warm but edged with something unspoken. She took a quiet breath before continuing.
"Once you enter, there is one entity that appears to every Riftborn."
"The Wanderer," I murmured. The name left my lips almost instinctively. I had heard it before in passing, in journals, in late night academy discussions, the kind whispered with uncertainty rather than fear.
Aunt Jeya nodded, her expression thoughtful. "Yes. The Wanderer is an entity in Arkael who possesses multiple bodies but shares one soul. He is what you could call a guide for the new ones."
The idea alone pulls at my curiosity. A being with many forms but a single consciousness, drifting through a reality shaped by nightmares and forgotten gods.
"The Wanderer is the only passive entity recorded so far," she continued. "He has never harmed a Riftborn, at least not in any documented case."
I picture the descriptions I have read. A husk-like voice that sounds as if it crawled out of the earth itself. A bent frame that hunches forward as if carrying centuries of weight, yet towering at nearly eight feet. A being wrapped in tattered cloth that glows faintly when he moves. A traveler among horrors.
"He also acts as a merchant," she added. "If you meet him, he may offer items for a price or present a contract if the moment calls for it."
Items. Trade. Contracts. In a realm where everything is either hostile or indifferent, the idea of something approachable feels unreal.
"He has many bodies in Arkael," she said, lifting her bowl again. "But all of them are tied to the same soul. If one body falls, another rises somewhere else. Because of that, no one truly knows how long he has been there. His age is unknown. His existence before the first Veil opening is a mystery."
I let her words sink in. The Wanderer. A guide who is not alive in the human sense, a merchant who has watched countless Riftborn live and die. An ancient presence drifting through a world where even the gods have abandoned their sanity.
A presence I might meet soon.
A presence I am not sure I am ready for.
A knock at the door broke the quiet between us.
"It seems they are here," Aunt Jeya said. She rose from her seat with a calm, practiced grace and motioned for me to finish my meal and take a seat on the couch.
I watched her walk toward the door, then hurried to gulp down the rest of my soup. The warmth slipped down my throat, leaving a faint comfort that lingered even as I stood and moved to the living room.
The couch welcomed me with its soft fabric, sinking gently under my weight. The moment I leaned back, a wave of relief washed over me. My nerves, tense just moments earlier, softened beneath the steady glow of the room's warm lights. For a brief heartbeat, it felt as if the worry of the coming weeks could not reach me here.
But the knock still echoed in my mind. Whoever was on the other side of that door was here for me.