The archive chamber beneath the western wing of Valdros Academy was nothing like the grand halls above.
There were no glowing pillars or floating platforms here. Just stone, dust, and silence thick enough to choke on.
Karl followed Aeris through the narrow corridor, their steps echoing softly between tightly packed bookshelves. A single golden orb floated above them, casting a dim light across worn scrolls and aged manuscripts.
Raiven padded silently in the shadows beside Karl, his shape barely visible beneath the flicker of ancient torches.
"This place remembers things the surface has forgotten," the wolf murmured.
"What are we looking for again?" Karl asked quietly.
Aeris stopped in front of a sealed door marked with a circular emblem.
It was the same winged sigil from the ruin.
"Him," she said.
Inside the private archive chamber, a man sat cross-legged beside a half-unrolled scroll.
He was older, with streaks of silver through his shoulder-length hair and a scholarly robe that looked like it had seen several wars. His right hand glowed faintly with inscription runes, marking him as a transcription mage.
He looked up with sharp eyes—deep green and piercing.
"Ah. The Veil-touched and the heir of Syltharien. Come in."
Karl raised a brow.
"You know about me?"
"I know you stepped into the Arcanum Depth and came back. I know your mark matches the glyphs beneath the old ruins." The man unrolled the scroll further. "That makes you my favorite kind of student—dangerous and inconvenient."
Aeris gave Karl a small glance.
"Told you he'd be cooperative."
The instructor's name was Archivist Rennith.
He wasn't an official member of the Academy's council, but his reach extended far deeper than most professors dared venture. He was an historian of forgotten bloodlines, forbidden glyphs, and the legends buried in the Veil.
He slid a page forward, revealing a sigil drawn in ink faded to crimson-brown.
Karl stiffened.
It was the same winged emblem.
"This is the crest of the Veilbound," Rennith said.
"A title?" Karl asked.
"A brotherhood. Or perhaps a cult, depending on who you ask. Warriors who could carry multiple mythical Soulbinds. Some say they weren't bound by beasts—they bound the beasts themselves."
Aeris leaned forward.
"I thought that was impossible. The limit is one—two in rare cases. Anything beyond that causes collapse."
"Correct," Rennith said. "Which is why the Veilbound Order died. Every record ends in fire."
Karl's gaze darkened.
"What were they trying to do?"
Rennith's voice lowered.
"They believed Soulbinds were not just companions or weapons. They were keys. Each one tied to a truth the Veil hides from the world. And if someone gathered enough of them…" He paused. "…they could unlock the Gate of Echoes."
Raiven growled softly.
"I know that name."
Karl blinked.
"Gate of Echoes?"
Rennith nodded.
"A mythical threshold said to lie between life, memory, and what the Veil chooses to keep buried."
"And what lies beyond it?" Aeris asked.
Rennith smiled bitterly.
"The kind of knowledge that ends empires. Or gods."
He stood, moving to a wall-mounted map.
It wasn't geographical—it was symbolic. Threads of energy connecting glyphs, realms, and planes of existence.
He tapped the sigil at the center.
"You're carrying a beast that was once chained to one of them. A dragon Soulbind, likely fallen from the last known Veilbound."
Karl's voice went quiet.
"What happened to him?"
"No one knows. But he had a name. It was scratched into the record by fire." He handed Karl a sealed parchment. "This is all that remains. Open it only when your dragon tells you the name."
Karl held the parchment with a strange weight in his hand.
Aeris was silent beside him, but her gaze lingered on the mark glowing faintly beneath his collar.
Rennith walked to the far wall and ran his hand across a long shelf.
"One more thing."
He handed Karl a blacksteel case.
Inside was a single relic—a sheath marked with the same glyphs from the ruin.
Rennith's voice grew solemn.
"This belonged to the last Veilbound swordsman. He, too, was said to be a warrior who fought like flame itself—calm, sharp, and deadly."
Karl reached for it.
The glyphs responded.
Flared.
And then settled.
Raiven's voice echoed in his mind.
"The sword remembers you."
Outside the archive, as the wind tugged at their cloaks, Karl and Aeris walked in silence for a while.
Then she spoke.
"Every Veilbound story ends in betrayal."
Karl glanced at her.
"You think that'll happen again?"
"I think the world is already afraid of you."
He smirked faintly.
"Then I'll give them a reason to be afraid of something else instead."
Aeris's eyes narrowed—but not in warning. In curiosity.
And somewhere deep inside Karl's chest, the mark pulsed again.
Like it was remembering too.