Greyhaven was quiet that night — too quiet for a city that never slept.The streets shimmered from a recent rain, reflecting neon signs like broken glass. Rick walked a few paces ahead of Lira and Marrek, his boots splashing through puddles that rippled with the faint hum of magic still clinging to the air.They’d been tracking whispers — something moving through the alleys, killing both human and fae without leaving a trace. The Underveil called it the Hound. Some said it was a spirit bound by blood. Others claimed it was a weapon from the old wars — a thing that didn’t serve light or shadow, only hunger.Whatever it was, it had left behind twelve bodies in two nights.Rick stopped at the corner of Glass Street, his breath turning white.“This is the spot,” Lira said quietly, scanning the rooftops. “Last sighting was here.”Rick crouched beside a faint scorch mark on the pavement. It wasn’t fire — it was ether burn, the residue left behind when something crossed between realms. He to

The safehouse lights flickered again that night.Every time Rick closed his eyes, he could feel the memory stone calling — a low hum beneath the noise of the world, like something ancient whispering from under the streets.He sat alone in the armory, staring at the black shard sealed inside a glass box. It wasn’t large — maybe the size of his hand — but its runes shifted whenever he looked away, rearranging like a living script.Marrek entered quietly, his boots echoing against the floor. “You haven’t left this room in hours,” he said.Rick didn’t look up. “It’s not just a relic. It’s alive. It’s… thinking.”Marrek crossed his arms. “Stones don’t think.”Rick finally turned. “Neither do shadows. But we’ve seen enough to know that rule doesn’t apply anymore.”For a moment, the older man said nothing. Then he sighed. “You’re not wrong. But that thing isn’t yours to play with. Lira said—”“Lira doesn’t trust me,” Rick snapped, standing. “You’ve both made that clear.”Marrek’s jaw tighten

The next morning, Greyhaven looked almost normal again — the kind of quiet city that hides its monsters well. But Rick knew better now. Behind the skyscrapers, beneath the hum of traffic, the shadows were breathing. Watching.He hadn’t slept all night. The name Kaelan Darnell echoed in his skull like a drumbeat. Every time he tried to rest, flashes hit him — glimpses of a figure standing before the same throne he’d seen in the book, surrounded by fire and broken glass.And in those flashes, that figure had his face.Rick sat at the table, running his hands through his hair as Marrek placed a mug of coffee in front of him.“You look like hell,” Marrek said.Rick gave a dry laugh. “You should see the other guy. He’s in my head.”Marrek sat across from him, the older man’s expression unreadable. “You said the name Kaelan Darnell. That’s not a name anyone uses lightly.”“So you know it,” Rick said sharply.Marrek hesitated. “Everyone in the Order knows it. He was one of the first humans t

Rick didn’t leave the Anchor chamber for hours after the fight.Even when the last of the Wraithspawn vanished, his mind was still spinning, the echo of Lucen’s words crawling under his skin like insects.> “You can finish what Kaelan started…”Those words wouldn’t stop replaying.Was Lucen lying? Or was Kaelan the one who hid the truth?Lira was tending to her wounds near the entrance while Marrek rechecked the runes that lined the walls. Every few minutes, the stone would tremble — faintly, like something underneath it was stirring.Rick sat near the Anchor, his hands resting on his knees. The pulsing runes cast strange light across his face.Lira looked up finally. “You haven’t said a word since the fight.”Rick didn’t answer.She sighed, walking closer. “Whatever he said, don’t let it get in your head. That’s what they do.”Rick glanced at her. “What if he wasn’t lying?”“Lucen works for the Shadow Court,” she said sharply. “He’s never told the truth a day in his immortal life.”“

Falling felt endless. Rick’s scream vanished into the roar of light that swallowed him whole. He expected pain — bone-breaking, breath-stealing pain — but what came instead was silence. A soft, endless hum, like a heartbeat wrapped in water. When he opened his eyes, he wasn’t falling anymore. He was standing. Beneath him was not ground, but glassy mist that glowed faintly beneath his boots. Above him, a storm of light churned in slow motion — white and gold and shadow all twisting together. Every so often, it flashed with images — faces, cities, memories. He turned in a slow circle. He wasn’t in the Cathedral anymore. He was inside the Veil. The realization hit like thunder. The air here wasn’t air — it was memory. When he breathed, it burned and whispered. When he stepped, ripples moved through reality itself. “Rick…” The voice was soft, echoing from everywhere and nowhere. He spun around. “Who’s there?” Shapes began to form in the mist — people made of light and smoke