The whispers stop.
The air shudders.The wind recoils—pulling away from it.
Then—cold.
Not just temperature. Something deeper. Something primal.
Lysander's breath hitched. His lungs felt like they weren't expanding enough. Like the space around him had shrunk.
Then he saw it.
And his mind rejected it.
The entity moved wrong. Its form twisted—not by bending, but by existing incorrectly. Its limbs did not stretch, they arrived. Its face did not shift, it reset.
And when it smiled—
It smiled beyond its own body.
Lysander's heart slammed against his ribs.
"Lysander—whatever you do, don't move."
He barely registered the voice.
"Why? What is that—"
"It's looking for something. If it notices you, you're dead."
Arthur moved first.
His blade flashed. Steel sang through the air.
It hit. It passed through.
And nothing changed.
No wound. No break. No resistance.
Arthur's breath faltered.
"This…" He gritted his teeth. "This cannot be—"
The entity's smile grew.
It spoke.
"There is something around him." Its voice did not echo in the air. It pressed directly into their skulls.
"I can sense it, old man."
Arthur's grip tightened.
"Shut up."
Lysander's mark ignited.
Not with heat—but with presence.
A force inside him uncoiled.
"Ow—! Ah—!"
His vision blurred. The world flickered.
A fracture of light—then darkness.
His body was not his.
He stepped forward.
The entity's smile split wider.
Arthur's head snapped toward him.
"Lysander—STOP!"
"I… I didn't move—!"
Arthur's voice sharpened.
"The Veil is using you. FIGHT IT!"
Then the entity lunged.
Arthur moved to intercept. His blade collided with the creature's twisting form—
But Lysander's body moved first.
His legs bent. He launched himself forward.
His arm swung—but he was not the one swinging.
A blade bled out of his mark. Not steel. Not light. Something in between.
The cut landed.
And for the first time—the entity recoiled.
It stumbled back, its form flickering.
Arthur turned—and his blood ran cold.
Lysander's eyes were empty.
He had lost himself.
Then—reality cracked.
Not just around them. Inside him.
For a split second, Lysander was—
Somewhere else.
An empty throne. A hand reaching for him.
A voice—his own?
A promise—made, then forgotten.
Then—he was back.
The entity stopped moving.
It did not attack.
It watched.
Then—
It vanished.
Lysander collapsed.
Arthur caught him before he hit the ground.
His body was intact. But something inside him had changed.
Arthur's grip tightened.
"You just made things worse."
Lysander's breath was unsteady.
"I… I didn't do anything."
Arthur's jaw clenched.
"Exactly." His voice was cold. "And that's the problem."
Lysander forced himself to sit up. His hands were still shaking.
Arthur exhaled. Then he spoke.
"That thing… wasn't just from the Veil." His voice was low, weighted. "It was from the Veil's Depths."
"Even gods don't go there."
Lysander swallowed.
"So why did it come here?"
Arthur's expression darkened.
"Because it was waiting for you."
A pause.
"Lysander… you are marked."
"You're a beacon now."
"Other things will come."
Lysander exhaled.
His arms still felt heavy. His mark still pulsed.
"What the hell am I supposed to do?"
Arthur stood.
"You don't have a choice anymore, kid."
Lysander looked up at him.
"Then where the hell are we going?"
Arthur's expression was unreadable.
"To the only place that might know what the Veil has done to you."