The dawn light was weak, struggling through rain-dark clouds that hugged the compound like a mourning shroud. In the almost-empty courtyard, Kael found Tenebris waiting in the shadows—mute but present—its dark form draped at the edge of his sight like a silent sentinel.
He knelt and laid his palm over the strange coin warm in his pocket. "You came," he whispered, knowing Tenebris never spoke in words—only echoes.
A ripple passed through the shadow, an answering presence. They had crossed a line together last night—in that sparring ring—and something in him had shifted. He'd almost broken someone with his blade. He'd almost let the Veil take charge.
By midday, Kael was at practice in the yard. His black-hilted blade sliced low, fast, precise, propelled by a kind of graceful motion he didn't fully understand. Opponent after opponent fell aside. The other recruits whispered: He fights differently. Like a storm...
When he finished, Whitmer came to him. The old man's tone was unreadable—pride veiled in caution. "Control, not chaos. Remember that."
Kael bowed his head. "Yes, sir."
Later, the rain-bright courtyard glistened under lanterns as Eline trained silently nearby. She was as fluid as water, but Kael noticed she paused mid-form when she sensed him watching. She didn't turn, but her stillness spoke a question only he could hear:
Are you still human?
He didn't answer. Instead, he stepped forward, leaving the edge of shadow.
She finally faced him, expression untouched yet trembling at the eyes. A distance lay between them—an unspoken chasm.
"You—" he began.
She cut him off.
"Last night," her voice low, "you almost—too much."
He pressed his palms together. "I didn't let it."
"That's what terrifies me."
The rain stilled. Eline stepped closer, but her distance stayed.
"What are you becoming?"
Kael swallowed. "More myself than ever."
She stared another moment, then turned away without another word.
That night, sleep did not come.
Instead, he stood in a dark void punctuated by floating lights—each a memory, drifting, waiting.
Tenebris stirred behind him like a coiled serpent.
A sound reached him—soft as breath: Khvaren the First.
A figure approached—a memory of the ancient Veilbound, wearing black wings of night light.
He spoke not in words but in fragments of emotion:
"Fear. Loss. Choice."
"You are both."
"Tethered by blood. Free by will."
Kael felt every word as a wave breaking through his bones.
Then the world shook.
A door slammed open.
Eline.
Tension peaked. She stared at the vision as he did—only, she stepped forward.
Her fingertips brushed his.
"You don't have to stand alone."
Tenebris stirred and pulled away—not to protect, but to feel.
Kael woke to empty dorm and pounding silence.
Kael now understood that the line in his heart had split.
There's Kael before the Veil—the orphan with doubts, empathy, and a dream of belonging.
Then there is Kael after the touch—Veilbound, betrayed, and wrestling a rising power.
The dream showed him it wasn't just about strength. It was about choice.