"The city does not forgive mistakes. And the Veil remembers."
The night in Irsia had thickened into a fog so dense it swallowed lantern light.Prince—still outwardly Nasir—moved cautiously through twisting streets that seemed to observe him.
Every corner, every alley, every shadow seemed alive.Buildings bent slightly when he wasn't looking; cobblestones shifted underfoot.The city was no longer just a place.It was a living test.
"The Cult watches," he reminded himself."And the Veil… watches even closer."
The First Anomaly
A street ahead shimmered faintly, like heat haze.Prince stepped forward—and reality bent.
Lanterns flickered and floated midair
Shadows stretched far beyond their owners
A man walking ahead cast two shadows, one of which moved toward Prince like a predator
The man's face twisted—not human, not entirely real.He whispered Prince's name, but the words carried multiple layers of meaning, overlapping in Prince's mind like chords that should not exist.
Prince felt the pull of the Veil.This anomaly was a judgment, a test: to see how he would react when the city itself challenged him.
Prophetic Horror in the Fog
The fog thickened.Shapes appeared inside it:
A version of Nasir dissolving into black mist
Towers collapsing into infinite streets
Cultists kneeling before thrones of grey fog
Eyes floating in space, blinking irregularly, watching every step
A whisper curled around Prince's consciousness:
"You are anomaly. You disrupt threads. You are being measured. Survive… or be erased."
Prince's heartbeat accelerated.He felt every future possibility branching before him—every path a different judgment.
The Cult's First Direct Test
From the fog, the Cult of Shadows appeared.
They were no longer distant observers.Their masks reflected impossible geometries.Their eyes—hidden, but somehow visible—tracked Prince with inhuman precision.
The tall figure from before stepped forward, staff glowing faintly with Veil-infused energy.It spoke inside Prince's mind, layered in whispers:
"The anomaly walks in our city.Let us measure its weight.Let the threads of fate speak."
The fog twisted.Shadows elongated into tendrils, attempting to pin Prince in place.The ground warped, lifting stones as if the city itself was holding him accountable.
A Battle of Will
Prince raised his hands instinctively.The air around him rippled.Shadows recoiled slightly.The fog responded to him, bending instead of attacking—a subtle acknowledgment of his emerging power.
The Cult's figure whispered again:
"Interesting… You can manipulate threads unseen.But will you survive the judgment?"
Prince stepped forward, calm, expressionless.The shadows of the city twisted to meet him.Lanterns flickered with visions of his potential deaths.A street split into multiple impossible paths, each path leading to despair, collapse, or oblivion.
He chose the one that seemed most dangerous.
The Veil pulsed.The city groaned.And he walked forward unshaken.
Veil-Acknowledgment
As he passed, the fog lifted slightly.The shadows bent backward, forming a pathway.
Inside his mind, a whisper:
"You walk beyond ordinary rules.The city acknowledges your anomaly…But the debt grows heavier."
Prince felt the pulse of Veil 12 in the back of his consciousness.He glimpsed its grey throne in the distance, fog rolling across impossible halls.And he understood: he had survived the first judgment, but it was only the beginning.
A Final Prophetic Glimpse
From the distance, he saw the Cult vanish into fog, leaving a single scroll floating above the street.He picked it up.
It read:
"One identity. Many faces. Many fates.Survive, and the city will bend.Fail, and the Veil will consume everything you are."
Prince's lips curved slightly.Calm, unreadable.Eyes reflecting a faint shimmer of grey mist:
"…Then let the city remember me."
The fog thickened once more, curling around his feet.The streets twisted and reformed.The city had judged him—and he had passed.
But only for now.
End of Chapter 9