The fog rolled in thick and unnatural, swallowing the edges of the forest like a living shadow. It moved against the wind, as if breathing on its own, choking the usual chorus of morning birds. Beneath the haze, the earth was scorched, the grass burned to ash in strange patterns—sigils that pulsed faintly with lingering magic.
A lone figure knelt in the clearing, tracing fingers over the blackened ground. The hunter's breath came steady and controlled, eyes sharp behind the weathered hood. Charcoal leather wrapped tight over a lean frame, scars visible on the hands from years of battle. A twisted bow hung on his back, strung with dark sinew, while a single white fang dangled from the leather strap—a mark of the relic hunters, those who chased forgotten powers.
"Found you," he muttered, voice low as the wind shifted.
This was no official mission. No summons from elders or Academy masters. The hunter was here by instinct, pulled by the faint tremor of fractured glyph energy—one that rippled with chaos, unlike any normal awakening.
Inside the Academy's stone walls, silence hung heavy. The usual sounds of clashing blades, shouted commands, and laughter had been swallowed by a tense stillness.
In a small chamber near the northern wing, Karl lay on his bed, chest exposed to the cool air. Veins of glowing glyphs snaked across his skin—bright lines shifting and fracturing, pulsing with unstable energy. His breath was uneven, face pale, lips moving in whispered prayers or curses, caught between pain and awakening.
Raiven paced nearby, low growls vibrating deep in his throat. The emissary stood motionless, hood pulled low, eyes fixed on the spreading glyphs.
"This isn't awakening anymore," the emissary said quietly. "It's unraveling."
Raiven's ears flicked, his golden eyes sharp. "The glyphs are no longer waiting their turn. They're breaking the cycle."
Karl's fingers twitched, and sweat beaded across his forehead. Somewhere deep within, his spirit fought to stay whole, but invisible claws scraped at his soul.
Outside the southern gate, guards halted a traveler. His cloak was streaked with dust and ash, boots scuffed from miles of travel. One eye glinted gold with unnatural sharpness; the other was covered by a cracked black lens. He carried no weapon openly, but the bow slung across his back told a different story.
"State your business," a guard demanded, hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
"I'm hunting," the man answered without hesitation. "A fracture in the glyphs. The boy with the Veil mark—Karl."
The name sent a ripple of unease through the guards. Whispers spread quickly—this was no ordinary traveler. The hunter's presence was a sign of trouble deeper than the Academy wanted to admit.
Back in Karl's chamber, his mind slipped between fragmented dreams and waking pain.
A battlefield scorched by blood and fire.
A dragon roaring beneath a red sky.
A woman's voice calling in a forgotten language.
Sudden sharp pain cut through his ribs, and his eyes snapped open. The sixth glyph shimmered beneath his skin, a fractured web of light spreading like ink through veins.
Raiven leapt forward, teeth bared. "He's fighting it—but the fracture's growing."
The emissary knelt beside him, murmuring chants from an ancient tongue, eyes scanning the spreading glyphs.
"If the sixth glyph breaks free, it could tear his soul apart," the emissary warned.
In the chapel's dim light, Aeris clenched her hands. Colored sunlight fractured by stained glass scattered across the cold stone floor. Her aunt's words echoed sharply in her mind:
"Your Soulbind has touched the Veil. You are no longer safe."
The faint, twisted glyph on her palm pulsed with unfamiliar power. She didn't recognize it, but it felt like it had been carved into her very flesh.
"Why is this happening to us?" she whispered to the empty chamber.
Her heart pounded as she saw Karl's face in her mind—not just the boy she knew, but the man he was becoming, the echoes of lifetimes past.
On a rooftop near the Academy's walls, the hunter watched the tallest spire, eyes narrowed against the rising mist curling in like a serpent.
"The sixth glyph," he muttered, fingers brushing an arrow carved from silver and etched with runes. "A fracture born of pain and greed. I've seen this before, when the Veil shattered worlds."
He notched the arrow, voice low as he spoke an ancient binding spell.
"If the boy loses control… the worlds will bleed again."
With a whisper of wind, the arrow vanished into the smoke.
Karl's eyes fluttered open in the dim light of his chamber, golden and fierce beneath heavy lids. The reflection in a basin of water rippled, revealing a face—older, harder, broken.
"This time, don't let them bind you," it hissed.
Karl's hand trembled as he gripped the edge of his bed. "I won't."
Raiven circled protectively, growling low as the emissary whispered another chant, the glyphs glowing brighter, fighting to seal the fracture—but Karl's soul pulled toward darkness.
Outside, the fog thickened, swallowing the boundary between the Academy and the wild.
The hunter vanished into the smoke, mission clear:
Find the source of the fracture.
Save the boy.
Or watch the Veil unravel again.