The dream began again.
Ash rained down from a silver sky.
Ruins stretched to the horizon, carved with symbols that pulsed like dying embers. A figure stood at the center—tall, cloaked in black flame, with the wings of a dragon and the eyes of a wolf.
Karl reached for him.
But the figure turned.
And it had Karl's face.
He woke in a cold sweat.
Raiven was already by the window, tail flicking in slow circles.
"Again?"
Karl nodded, pushing the blanket aside.
"The same dream. Only this time, I heard a name."
"Another one?"
Karl looked out across the quiet Academy rooftops, where the dawn was just brushing the towers with gold.
"'Veynrith.' That's what it said."
Raiven's eyes narrowed.
"The Veil's language. It means: 'He who was bound by truth.'"
"Truth of what?"
"That's what we have to find out."
Later that morning, Karl stood before Instructor Rennith again—this time in a private study ring deep below the archive vaults.
The relic blade lay unsheathed on a crystal plinth between them, glowing faintly.
"Two glyphs have activated," Rennith murmured, circling the blade. "The first was a memory marker. The second—your stance—appears to be an awakening sequence."
Karl frowned.
"What do you mean?"
Rennith turned to face him.
"This weapon is a Veilbound artifact. It doesn't just hold memory, Karl. It holds… expectations. It's trying to rebuild what you once were."
Karl's jaw tightened.
"And what was that?"
Rennith's voice dropped.
"Something the world buried. And feared."
That evening, as light faded beyond the western cliffs, a summons reached Karl's dorm.
But this one wasn't from an instructor.
It was from Headmaster Elaris Caelestis herself.
The upper tower was silent as Karl ascended the steps. The walls shimmered with lunar runes—wards of silence and truth. No one entered the Headmaster's sanctum unless called.
The door opened without a knock.
Inside stood a tall woman with silver-gray hair tied into a regal braid, eyes like violet steel, and a cloak embroidered with sigils from at least four nations.
Elaris Caelestis.
Half-elf. Half-human. All presence.
She turned from the window as Karl stepped in.
"Valen."
"Headmaster Caelestis."
She studied him for a long moment.
"You've awakened the second Veilblade stance. The instructors are whispering again."
Karl stood firm. "Let them."
"You're not worried?"
"Should I be?"
She stepped forward slowly.
"There are relic hunters from the outer clans already circling the highlands. Glyph hunters. Veil cultists. Some think you're the second coming of a failed age."
"And you?"
Elaris gave a small, tired smile.
"I think you're a storm in the shape of a boy. And the world's old enough to know what storms leave behind."
She waved her hand.
A glyph-encoded scroll floated into Karl's hands.
"This is your assignment. A reconnaissance team found another ruin. One that pre-dates the others. You and three others will be sent to scout it. Quietly."
Karl opened the scroll.
He paused.
"This isn't in Veyhelm."
"No," Elaris said. "It's in the Southern Deadlands."
Two days later.
Karl stood on the edge of a canyon cracked open by time and war.
The Southern Deadlands stretched before him—dust-covered peaks, blackened forests, and buried echoes of battles long erased from history.
Aeris stood beside him, cloak whipping in the wind. Her stag Soulbind shimmered behind her in spectral form.
Kael adjusted his bracers behind them, muttering.
"Feels like the ruins here are just waiting to eat us."
Nyra twirled a dagger between her fingers.
"Then we make sure they choke."
Karl smirked slightly.
"These three again," Raiven murmured. "Loyal or foolish?"
"Both."
The ruin entrance was half-buried beneath stone. Glyphs barely visible.
But Karl's chest began to burn the moment they stepped closer.
The Veilmark pulsed.
Aeris noticed immediately.
"It's calling you again."
Karl didn't respond.
He stepped forward.
And the ground shifted.
The fall wasn't far.
But what they found beneath was deep.
A long corridor of arched stone, carved in flowing glyph-script. As they passed, the glyphs lit in patterns—responding only to Karl's presence.
Nyra whispered, "This place is alive."
Kael gripped his spear. "Then let's not wake it up."
But they already had.
At the chamber's heart was a dais.
And a sealed relic stone, surrounded by twelve broken swords.
Aeris knelt beside one, brushing dust from the hilt.
"Each of these belonged to a Soulbinder."
"Not just any," Karl said. "Veilbound."
Raiven circled the dais slowly.
"This is a grave. A warning. And a map."
"To what?" Kael asked.
Karl knelt in front of the relic stone.
"To who I used to be."
He reached out.
The moment his fingers touched the glyph, the air changed.
The relic stone cracked open.
And the chamber plunged into darkness.
A vision.
A battlefield of light and storm.
Dozens of Soulbinds—dragons, wolves, phoenixes—raging across the sky.
And at the center, a boy.
Wielding the same blade Karl now carried.
But his eyes were different.
Older. Wiser.
Broken.
The boy screamed a name into the wind.
"Veynrith!"
Karl snapped awake.
The chamber was still.
The others stared at him.
Aeris reached for his shoulder.
"What did you see?"
He stood slowly.
"A war we lost. And a name I think… was mine."
Raiven lowered his head.
"You were him. Or part of him. The dragon… was only one of your binds. You had more."
Karl touched the relic blade at his side.
"Then we find them again."
Outside, the wind had shifted.
And from far across the horizon, three masked figures stood watching the ruin from a rocky ridge.
Their robes bore the mark of the Whispered Coil—a cult of glyph hunters who believed the Veil should never be opened again.
The leader turned to her scouts.
"The Vessel is moving again."
"Do we strike?"
She shook her head.
"No. We let him open more doors… before we close them on him."