The silence in the ruin had teeth.
After Karl's vision, the team lingered in the depths of the buried chamber, where the twelve broken swords lay in a ring around the sealed relic stone—now cracked, drained of light, and eerily quiet.
Aeris stood beside one of the fallen blades, running a finger over a faded symbol.
"These belonged to the original Veilbound."
Karl remained quiet, his grip still firm around his own blade.
The visions hadn't stopped.
Not entirely.
Every heartbeat now echoed with glimpses—fragments from the battlefield he'd never stood on.
Raiven was still.
"We're not alone anymore."
Karl tensed.
"You feel it too?"
"Yes. A watcher. No—three."
Outside the ruin, dust twisted unnaturally.
Kael stepped toward the entrance with Nyra close behind.
"Something's wrong."
That's when the first whisper came—carried on the wind, but not in words.
A shrill note laced with Veil-energy. Old. Forbidden.
And hungry.
"Incoming!"
A projectile—razor-thin, glyph-charged—struck the arch above Karl's head, blasting stone into sparks.
Figures moved in the shadows.
Three of them.
Cloaked in black with crimson masks bearing the coiled mark of the Whispered Coil.
Veil cultists.
Glyph-hunters.
Killers.
The middle one stepped forward, her cloak whipping back to reveal black gauntlets laced with etched sigils.
"Vessel of Flame," she said through her mask. "You should not be awake."
Karl stepped between her and the relic.
"Then you should've struck harder."
The battle exploded.
Kael leapt toward the nearest cultist, staff spinning, while Nyra vanished into a burst of illusion dust—reappearing behind another with blades drawn.
Aeris stood at Karl's side, hand raised, casting lances of starlight mana that seared across the air.
The masked leader pointed at Karl.
"I will drag your soul back into the Seal myself."
Raiven materialized beside him, eyes glowing.
"Now, boy. Use the second stance. Show them what the blade remembers."
Karl exhaled.
And moved.
His blade became a whisper in motion—every swing a memory returned.
He stepped into the Second Stance of the Veilblade.
Windbound Flow.
A dance of redirection and deflection, of movement not meant to overpower—but to outlast.
The cultist's chains lashed toward him—barbed and etched with curse glyphs.
Karl ducked beneath them, pivoted, and used the weight of the incoming strike to spin behind her.
His blade touched her back with just enough pressure to slice fabric—not flesh.
The message was clear:
I could've ended this.
She snarled and leapt away.
Kael and Nyra fought with practiced synergy—fire bursts, illusion traps, and glyph-enhanced counters. Aeris, meanwhile, summoned Thalorien's echo to shield their flank, her radiant lances now striking with precision and fury.
But Karl had locked eyes with the leader.
And the fight was far from over.
"You don't know what you are," she hissed.
"You don't deserve the blade."
Karl didn't answer.
Instead, he did something strange.
He turned his blade and held it defensively—as if inviting her in.
The cultist took the bait.
She rushed forward, faster than before—strikes wrapped in crackling blacklight.
And that's when Karl moved.
One rotation.
One sidestep.
One clean disarm.
Her blade shattered in midair as his swept it aside.
But that wasn't all.
The Veilblade ignited.
Not with flame.
Not with lightning.
But with runed resonance.
A third glyph flared open.
Not on the blade—
On Karl.
Across his back, between his shoulder blades, a glowing circle formed. Winged. Interlocked with the mark on his chest.
Raiven's voice rumbled through his soul.
"The Gate of Memory is unlocking."
"You are reawakening the path."
The cultist stared at him, trembling now.
"You… You've spoken with the Gate."
Karl stepped forward.
"And I'm not done listening."
She vanished in a blink—teleport glyph flaring—leaving behind only crackling air and a line of glyphdust.
Silence returned.
Nyra wiped her blades.
Kael dropped to one knee, panting.
Aeris turned to Karl.
"You used a third glyph."
Karl nodded slowly.
"I didn't know it was there until it opened."
"What did it feel like?"
Karl stared at the fading light across his back.
"Like something ancient just remembered my name."
That night, the four sat in the camp ruins, healing and watching the stars.
Karl remained quiet, blade across his lap.
Aeris finally broke the silence.
"There's something I didn't tell you."
Karl turned.
"What is it?"
She hesitated.
Then reached into her coat and pulled out a small crest—old, gold, and marked with the same winged sigil from the Veilbound ruins.
"My family served the Soulbinders. During the last era. We were record-keepers. Seal-watchers."
Karl blinked.
"You knew about them?"
"Only fragments. My bloodline was sworn to protect what remained… and to destroy anything that threatened to awaken the Gate again."
Her voice trembled slightly.
"You were that threat. But I never reported you."
Karl studied her.
"Why?"
She didn't look away.
"Because the more I see… the more I believe you weren't the mistake."
"Then what was I?"
"Maybe the correction."
Raiven stirred from behind him.
"She speaks truth. And now, she shares your burden."
Karl looked up at the stars—one hand resting on the hilt of the blade.
Three glyphs awakened.
More to come.
And somewhere far beyond the Southern Deadlands, a voice whispered through the Veil:
"The Echo walks again."