The day passed slowly after training, every moment stretched thin like parchment over flame. Kael sat by the window slit in his quarters, the last of the sun's light casting long shadows on the stone floor. He stared into the pale orange beyond, but his thoughts clung to what lay within—Eline's name still echoing in the whispers that haunted his dreams.
The memory of her face, soft-edged and etched with distance, refused to fade. He had tried—tried to smother it with harsh drills, whispered mantras, the sting of discipline—but it lingered. Why her? Why now? She had never shown more than measured tolerance, a blade held by its hilt, not yet drawn. But still, Kael found himself noticing her absence with more weight than he did others' presence.
He rubbed the edge of the strange coin he had received after the last night's dreams. It was still warm to the touch, though it had rested undisturbed in his pocket since morning. Its surface bore no sigil, no identifying mark, yet Tenebris flinched every time Kael pressed thumb to its edge.
He hadn't meant to fall asleep.
The veil of the world thinned, and Kael drifted inward.
In the dream, he stood in the corridor outside Eline's quarters. His hand reached out of its own accord and hovered above her door.
She opened it before he could knock.
She wore a whispermask, faceless, yet her voice threaded through like silver.
"You keep asking why," she said.
Kael's throat burned. "I don't—"
"You do." Her figure blurred, then sharpened. Her eyes glinted through the mask's slit, no longer concealed. "You want to know why you care, why I'm there even when I'm not."
He stepped forward. "Tell me."
"Because your shadow chose before you did."
The floor gave way. The corridors vanished. He tumbled backward into the Duskveil. Shadows spiraled around him—clawing, flickering with old memories not his own. He saw an older version of himself, cloaked in deeper shadow, kneeling before a throne of weeping stone. A woman sat on it—her face Eline's, but older, regal, broken.
She reached for him. "You swore to bind it, Kael. Not to me. To the Veil."
He awoke with a strangled breath, heart pounding.
The morning haze clung to his limbs. When he rose, his muscles felt taut, like cords drawn too tight. He walked the halls alone, avoiding eyes and voices. The dream had not faded. The coin was still in his pocket, warmer now.
He entered the Archive again, claiming 'assigned reflection' as his purpose. Few questioned him now. There was a rumor swirling through the compound, something about Kael being favored by Ser Whitmer's circle, or cursed by the Veil—it changed depending on who whispered it.
He traced the stacks until he found the book again. The one he wasn't supposed to open. The leather was brittle, the pages redacted with alchemical burns, but the smell of it—the same faint spice that clung to his coin—called to him.
He opened it to the charred edges.
This time, the ink moved.
It shimmered under his breath, symbols twitching like leaves in windless air. His fingers hovered above them, and Tenebris stirred inside him.
That is not for now, the shadow whispered. But it was once yours.
"Then why was it taken?" Kael whispered aloud.
Because the others forgot the cost of remembering.
He traced one of the sigils. A sudden pulse of warmth surged from the coin, and a single word whispered itself into his skull:
Veilblood.
Kael jerked his hand back.
Later that evening, during mandatory meditation, he sat at the rear of the reflection hall. The instructor droned on about binding intent and shadow modulation, but Kael heard nothing but the sound of blood rushing in his ears.
Across the room, Eline was present.
She sat three rows ahead, still and silent, her head bowed just slightly. But as the candlelight shifted, he saw her eyes were open. Watching. Not him—someone else. Another Whisperer—Joren, dark-haired and too confident—leaned close to speak with her.
She didn't smile. But she didn't pull away, either.
Jealousy wasn't foreign to Kael, but it was usually a cold thing, buried beneath purpose. Now it felt raw, a wound reopened.
He closed his eyes, tried to center.
Tenebris murmured beneath his skin, as if laughing.
She chooses her masks carefully. So must you.
That night, he didn't sleep. Instead, he laid the coin flat on his desk and stared at it, letting the flickering candlelight play over its surface.
He placed his palm over it.
Whispers rose, not from his mind but from the dark behind his eyes. This time, clearer:
"You are not alone in the blood."
He flinched. The coin stayed warm.
Kael sat back, exhaling through his nose. He looked again toward the hallway. No sound. No footsteps. Eline would not come tonight. Not as she had once.
Still, something moved within him—tension, ache, and the awareness that whatever tied them had not been imagined. It had not been hallucination or loneliness. It was something older. Something carved in shadow and memory.
He would not chase her.
But he would remember.
And when the time came, he would ask her: not why she left, but why she ever came at all.