The gates of the Athanor Academy did not open—they parted, as if the mountain itself exhaled.
Solan stood at the threshold, soaked in ash and rain, his body aching from the Trial of Echoes. The academy rose from a sunken chasm like a cathedral half-swallowed by the world, built into the skeletal remains of a dead colossus. Towering halls coiled with breathing runes, and the faint shimmer of divine seals marked every arch.
The academy was no mere school.
It was a sanctum of containment, a sanctuary for cursed blood, and a war-factory for the Veiled future.
"Try not to look up," Serain murmured beside him.
Solan glanced upward.
Above them, carved into the stone ceiling of the cavern, countless masks were embedded into the rock—some weeping, some screaming, some silent. One of them moved.
Solan looked away.
A thin bridge extended toward the main gate. Below, swirling mists shrouded whatever slept beneath. Lanterns floated in the gloom, their light casting shapes that shouldn't exist.
"This place feels like a coffin," he said.
Serain nodded. "That's because it is. For names. For gods. For people like us."
She pressed her hand against a sigil-stone at the gate. It flickered with pale-blue light, scanning her soul imprint.
.
Identification: Serain Valen
Rank: Veil Disciple – Tier 2
Mask: Hollow Flame – Subpath: Ashkeeper
Entry: Authorized
.
"Place your hand here," she told him.
Solan hesitated.
His hand still bore the burned sigil of the Forsaken Tongue—raw from the Echo fight.
He pressed it against the stone.
The response was immediate—and violent.
.
Identification: Unregistered
Mask Path: Forsaken Tongue – [Tier: ???]
Talent: SS-Rank [Sealed State]
Soulbinding Detected – Entity: Wyrm
Status: Veil Instability 63%
Damage Recorded: 14%
Condition: Irregular Initiate – High-risk anomaly
.
The gates did not open.
They trembled.
The runes along the arch blazed as if resisting his entry. For a moment, it seemed the entire mountain would reject him. Then a ripple passed through the air.
A seal broke.
The gates cracked open with a scream of stone.
"Unstable," Serain muttered. "But not denied."
Solan stepped forward—and the academy accepted him.
The Halls of the Sundered Veil were colder than the outer world.
Students passed them in silence, dressed in veiled robes or bone-threaded uniforms. Some walked alone. Others were flanked by shadow-bound spirits, echo familiars, or even fragments of wraiths bound in shackles.
No one spoke unless whispered to.
Veilwalkers, Inheritors, Echo‑bonded, Chainbearers, and Runescribes all moved along tiered staircases toward their chambers.
"The Academy is divided by Path and Tier," Serain explained as they walked. "Each of us is being watched—ranked—categorized by the System."
Solan's eyes flicked to a floating crystal above a central chamber. It pulsed as students passed.
.
Rank: Tier 1
Mask: Grovebound
Progress: 21%
Reckonings: 2
Damage: 3%
Potential: C
.
Another passed.
.
Rank: Tier 3
Mask: Mournkeeper – Subclass: Pale Eye
Progress: 77%
Talent: B+
Potential: A
Warning: Symbol Drift Stage 1
.
Then Solan passed.
The crystal froze.
Then flickered violently.
.
Rank: Unranked
Mask: Forsaken Tongue – Subclass: Shadow Veil [Locked]
Talent: SS (Sealed) – Potential: EX
System Integrity: 34%
Warnings: Echo-Bonded | Entity: [REDACTED]
Risk Rating: [Classified]
.
Eyes turned. Whispers followed.
"That Mask..."
"A Sealed tier?"
"Impossible. No one survives that Path."
Serain touched his arm. "Ignore them."
"I'm used to being stared at," Solan replied flatly.
She led him down a spiral stairwell into the Lower Archive, where new initiates were given dorms—and watched carefully for corruption. The Archivists here were dressed in layered veils, their faces covered with bronze masks, voices filtered through divine-modulated scripts.
One of them stepped forward.
"Solan Maelvaran," the figure intoned. "We have been expecting you."
He narrowed his eyes. "You know me?"
"No one forgets a corpse that speaks."
The Archivist handed him a Grimoire Page—blank, save for a single rune etched in the center. "This will record your veilcraft, chain growth, and system alerts. But be warned—each page comes at a price."
"What kind?"
"Memory. Or blood. Whichever comes first."
Solan tucked it into his cloak.
"Rest," Serain said gently. "Classes begin at dusk. Trials will come fast. And not all of us are here by choice."
Before he could ask what she meant, she was gone.
That night, Solan sat by the fireless brazier in his quarters, alone.
He examined his Grimoire Page. Slowly, under candlelight, it began to write itself.
Talent Tree: Path of the Forsaken Tongue
• Tier 1 Unlock: Whispers of the First Sin [Passive] – Insight into death echoes
• Tier 2 Unlock: Tongue of Broken Rites – Speak forgotten incantations
• Tier 3 Lock: Shadow Veil Subclass – Requires Reckoning: Pact of One Name
• Tier 4 Hidden: ??? [System access sealed]
He traced the ink with a fingertip.
A new line bled into the page.
"Would you give up your name… to speak the True One?"
His reflection in the window behind him tilted its head.
Solan did not.