"Some truths are meant to be whispered… in darkness, behind doors that never open."
Prince—still inhabiting Nasir's body—walked carefully through Irsia's streets.The city had changed since morning.Fog lingered unnaturally in the alleyways, curling around corners as though it had memory.
A faint hum threaded through the air, subtle but persistent.Not a sound, not a vibration—but a pulse of awareness.It seemed to emanate from the city itself, or perhaps something beneath it.
Prince felt it in his chest.A rhythm older than the cobblestones.Older than the buildings.Older than the city's whispered name.
A Hidden Invitation
As he walked, a narrow alley opened before him.Lanterns dimmed as if obeying an invisible hand.A symbol was etched onto the wall—so faint it might have been a scratch:
An eye within a crescent, dripping black ink.
A chill ran down Prince's spine.He stepped closer.The fog twisted around the symbol, forming letters he did not know but understood instinctively:
"Those who see what should not be seen… follow."
The alley extended farther than the city map should allow.Buildings leaned inward like silent sentinels.Shadows moved independently.And a whisper, almost imperceptible, filled his mind:
"The city waits.The debt calls.The observers are patient."
The First Members
Prince turned a corner and found a courtyard bathed in unnatural blue light.
Figures stood in a circle, their faces obscured by masks shaped like twisted mirrors.They chanted in a language he could not hear—but each word resonated in his mind, conveying meaning, intent, and dread.
The chant described:
The arrival of an anomaly
The breaking of ordinary threads of fate
A debt owed to the Veil itself
Prince's skin crawled.He recognized the pressure immediately:the same subtle force that had swept through Nasir's room, the same aura that had marked him as not-belonging.
The cultists stopped chanting abruptly.All of them turned to him.
Prince realized with a cold certainty:they had been watching him from the moment he arrived.
The Ritual of Observation
A tall figure stepped forward, mask glinting with the same cold silver as the symbols on the walls.
It raised a hand, and the fog in the courtyard thickened, forming shapes that defied geometry:
Spirals that looped back into themselves
Eyes that floated independently in space
Shadows that bent toward the center
The figure spoke, though no sound left its mouth.Prince understood anyway:
"The anomaly has arrived.It is time to see what it carries."
The fog twisted, revealing visions of possible futures:
Prince, wielding impossible power
Shadows following him like living threads
Thrones in infinite grey fog
The collapse of ordinary cities
Cultists kneeling, writing prophecies on human flesh
Prince staggered.These were not predictions.They were warnings.And he could feel the Veil itself stirring, curious.
A Test of Identity
The tall figure extended a hand.From its palm, a mirror emerged—black as a void, yet reflective.Prince saw himself—not Nasir, not the boy in front of him—but fragments of all he could become:
Faces of his future Avatars
Shadows stretching infinitely
Thrones shrouded in grey mist
Veils lifting, revealing impossible geometries
A whisper curled inside his mind:
"Touch. Understand. Accept. Or break."
Prince hesitated.The city seemed to hold its breath.Even the cultists remained motionless, like statues carved from fog and light.
Slowly, he reached out.
The Horrors Behind the Veil
The moment his fingers brushed the mirror, visions exploded inside his consciousness:
Nasir disappearing, merging into his mind
Shadows multiplying behind his eyes
Reality bending around every heartbeat
Unseen observers marking every action
Futures where humanity ceased, cities collapsed, and the Veil claimed dominion
Prince gasped.He staggered back.
The mirror cracked—but no sound was made.From the cracks, tiny fragments of grey fog escaped, each containing miniature visions of other worlds.
The tall figure spoke again:
"You are… an anomaly beyond sequence.Even the Veil has paused to observe.Survive this night, and the debt grows heavier.Fail, and the Veil will erase your existence."
Prince understood clearly:He was not just being tested.He was being measured.
And the city, alive with shadow and fog,was the first instrument of the Veil's judgment.
The Choice
The cultists stepped back.The tall figure faded into the fog.The whispers receded.
Prince was left alone in the courtyard.The mirror lay shattered on the cobblestones, black fog seeping into the cracks between stones.
A voice—his own, yet not his own—echoed in his mind:
"One identity. Many faces. Many fates.Choose carefully, or the shadows will choose for you."
Prince's hand brushed the fog leaking from the mirror.Something stirred in him—something primal, ancient, and hungry.
He whispered, trembling:
"…I will survive.And I will learn."
The shadows around him shifted, bending closer.The city exhaled, patient, waiting for the next step.
And Prince understood:this night was only the beginning.The Cult of Shadows had opened the first door.Beyond it lay mysteries darker than any throne, any Veil, any reflection.
End of Chapter 6