Dawn broke like a quiet promise, soft golden light spilling over the castle's high towers. The courtyard was already alive with motion—horses being saddled, cloaks fastened, armor checked. This wasn't a grand procession. It was a hunting party of five. Swift. Silent. Dangerous.
Eira stood at the edge of the marble steps, her dark travel cloak rippling in the breeze. Beneath it, she wore a fitted leather tunic reinforced with hidden spell-thread. She didn't feel like a princess. She felt like someone preparing for war.
Lucien approached her, regal and silent, his usual black coat replaced by traveling leathers that clung to his frame. His long sword was sheathed at his side, and a smaller curved blade rested on his back. Though no crown sat on his brow, there was no mistaking the authority in his eyes.
"You're quiet," he said as he stopped beside her.
Eira adjusted her gloves. "I'm saving my voice for when we're in danger."
A small smirk tugged at his lips. "Then I look forward to hearing it."
Their group was small: Ravien, still limping from the last battle but refusing to stay behind; a mage-scout named Lyselle with sharp green eyes and a permanent scowl; and Kairen, a half-wolf warrior whose loyalty to Lucien seemed to run deeper than blood.
They rode out just past sunrise.
The path through the Southern Wilds was narrow, and the fog hung thick among the trees like breath from an unseen beast. Eira's horse moved nervously, sensing what they all felt: something wasn't right here.
Hours passed with little conversation. Birds were silent. Even the wind seemed cautious.
It wasn't until midday that they saw the first sign.
The mark.
It stretched across the trunk of a great ironwood tree—long, curling lines of glowing crimson etched like veins across the bark. It pulsed softly, as though the tree itself had a heartbeat.
Lyselle dismounted first, stepping carefully toward it with her hands raised. "It's not carved," she murmured. "It's growing. Like fungus… or a wound."
Lucien came to her side. "It's the same sigil we saw after the Wyrm's fall."
Eira drew closer. The moment she stepped within ten feet of it, the Crest on her chest tingled beneath her shirt, growing warm.
"It's reacting to me," she whispered.
Lucien didn't move. "Touch it. Carefully."
She hesitated, then reached out.
The moment her fingers grazed the bark, a rush of images flooded her mind—too fast to make sense of. A burning city. A screaming sky. A woman's voice—her own?—crying out a name she didn't recognize.
She staggered back, clutching her head.
Lucien caught her instantly. "What did you see?"
"Flashes," she panted. "Death. Fire. And something… no, someone buried in the Veil."
Kairen sniffed the air, his yellow eyes narrowing. "We're being watched."
Weapons were drawn in a heartbeat. The silence shattered as shapes darted between trees—low, crawling creatures with pale skin and mouths full of crooked teeth.
"Veilborn!" Ravien barked, drawing his blade.
Lucien didn't hesitate. His sword lit with dark fire as he stepped forward, the king of shadows in his element.
Eira held her ground, drawing the silver dagger Lucien had gifted her. She wasn't sure what she could do, but she wouldn't run.
The creatures attacked.
Ravien moved with brutal efficiency, cutting down the first two that lunged at him. Lyselle muttered a sharp incantation, flinging a wave of green fire that incinerated a trio of beasts in one burst.
Kairen transformed mid-leap, claws slashing as he tore through the Veilborn with a savage grace.
One creature broke through the chaos and lunged at Eira. She reacted on instinct, lifting her palm. A wave of force burst from her, slamming it backward into a tree with a sickening crack.
Lucien fought like a storm, his movements fluid and exact. Every blow was deliberate. Every strike deadly.
The battle ended as quickly as it had begun.
Seven Veilborn corpses steamed on the forest floor, their bodies evaporating into black mist.
Eira was shaking, her breath ragged. But she was still standing.
"You held your ground," Lucien said, walking over.
"I didn't freeze," she replied, surprised at herself.
"That's more than most do their first time."
She managed a weak smile. "So what were those?"
"Scouts," Kairen said, wiping blood from his claws. "They smell like rot and fear."
Lucien's face darkened. "If the marks are spreading, so are they. Which means something is forcing them through the Veil."
Lyselle spoke up, her voice low. "We should burn the tree."
"No," Eira said sharply.
Everyone turned to her.
"It's… connected to me. I felt something when I touched it. Pain, but also memory. If we burn it, we might lose whatever it's trying to show us."
Lucien's eyes narrowed. "Then we mark it and keep moving. But no one touches another one except Eira."
They traveled another hour before setting up camp near a quiet stream. The forest was still unnatural, but the Veilborn hadn't followed.
As night fell, Eira sat with her knees drawn to her chest, watching the fire crackle.
Lucien sat beside her, handing her a tin cup of hot tea. "You did well today."
She sipped it. "I still feel like I'm guessing."
"You're learning."
She glanced at him. "Lucien… have you ever been through the Veil?"
He hesitated.
"Yes," he said finally. "Once. A very long time ago."
"What did you find there?"
He stared into the fire. "Nothing that should ever be brought into the light."
Eira leaned her head on his shoulder.