Axton Vail had lived seventeen years without once being named. Not his full name, not by the Vail Manor, not by the family, nor the staff who mastered the art of seeing through him as he passed."Mistake." That was his half-sister’s usual address."It." That was his half-brother's cold preference.Nothing. That was the word his stepmother’s silence screamed, louder than any spoken cruelty.The room was no room. It was a space cleared of storage, a six-by-eight closet gifted under the guise of mercy. His cot smelled of mildew and failed promises. The single blanket was so thin Axton had held it to the light once, then decided some truths were better left in the dark.The walls were cold stone. A cold that burrowed deep, finding a home in his bones until the memory of warmth became an unreliable ghost.He sat on the cot's edge at three in the morning, listening to the laughter rise from the floors below. Seraphine, his stepmother, hosted another gala. Cultivators from across Greyhollow,

The sewers smelled like the shame of civilization.Rot and rust and a chemical stench that seared the back of Axton's throat with every breath. He ran on bare feet, his shoes lost to the carnage, the moment of their loss buried deep beneath the horror. The water he splashed through was cold, viscous, carrying the unnamed diseases of the metropolis.Behind him, sirens wailed. The Sentinel Order. They would have tracked the spiritual rupture at the Manor instantly; a seal of that power breaking released enough energy to scream across the city’s defense arrays.Axton ran toward the absolute darkness ahead, chasing the echo of water dripping from pipes that looked older than the buildings they served.His body was a map of protest. The power that had erupted at the altar had receded, leaving his veins too hot, his skin too tight. He felt like a vessel whose original shape no longer fit the fire it contained.The white ceremonial robes were a disgrace, soaked with sewage and blood, neither

The Veilstone DecoyThe tunnels smelled of age and secrets.This was not the stench of sewage; this was the scent of stone carved centuries ago by hands that understood cultivation and warfare in a way the modern world had forgotten. The walls were smooth, etched with symbols that pulsed a faint, guiding blue light.Kael moved through the dimness like a man threading a tapestry, his drawn sword trailing a wisp of gray smoke like breath in winter.Behind them, the sounds of disciplined pursuit, footsteps and voices, signaled that the Heptarchy champions were closing the gap."How far do these tunnels run?" Axton whispered, the sound too loud in the confined space."Far enough. The Shadowvein Sect built them during the Divine-Mortal War, supply lines, escape routes, burial chambers." Kael took a swift, unhesitating turn. "Most have forgotten. The Heptarchy remembers. We have less than twenty minutes before they seal the usual exits."The path was a labyrinth, but Kael’s movements were un

Axton woke to the smell of burning.Not wood or fuel, but something chemical, metal subjected to extreme, failed heat.He bolted upright. His head swam, and his ribs protested, reminding him of the brief, brutal fight from the night before.Kael was gone. The candle was a lump of wax. Gray morning light fought its way through the cracks in the painted window. The chemical smell was intensifying.He drew the knife, the dark blade swallowing the scant light. He moved to the door, finding the hinges silent, Kael's thoroughness.Voices drifted up from the floor below. Kael’s, and another, male, unfamiliar, carrying an air of strained patience."...can't keep moving him," the unfamiliar voice insisted. "Every safe house you use is immediately burned. The Heptarchy is tracking your every movement.""Let them track. I will not leave the boy exposed.""He's not a boy. He's a weapon. And you are treating him like a student."A sharp silence. Then Kael's voice, chilled and lethal. "You wish to r

The Grind of the AegisTraining started at dawn.Axton woke to Kael's boot nudging his ribs. Insistent. "Up. We're burning darkness. Move."They climbed a flimsy fire escape to a rooftop three buildings over, an enclosed, private space surrounded by taller structures. Kael had marked the area with stones and a wooden post driven into the roof membrane."Six months until the rescue," Kael stated. "One hundred eighty days. We will use every one." He gestured to the boundary. "First goal: maintain Blue Mode for sixty consecutive seconds. Right now, you manage seven seconds before collapse.""My father took three years to reach sixty seconds," Kael added, pulling his sword. "You have me. We'll do it faster. Now, we begin with manifesting under pressure."He attacked without warning. Fast, efficient. Axton barely got his arms up."Aegis. Black Mode. Now."The power responded sluggishly. The black veins flickered, incomplete.Kael's sword stopped an inch from Axton's throat. "Too slow. Your