chapter 18.1

The night stretched endlessly before him, an expanse of inky blackness devoid of moonlight or guiding stars. The only sounds that accompanied Alcard as he rode were the rhythmic beats of his horse's hooves striking the dirt road and the distant whisper of the wind rustling through unseen trees. The cold air bit into his skin, but he barely noticed it. His mind was a whirlwind, thoughts racing as fast as his steed as he processed everything he had learned. The Veil. The Fragment. Tanivar's alliance with the unseen forces that lurked behind the curtains of Middle Earth's power.

Every step he took away from that accursed fortress only solidified the weight of what he had discovered. This was no longer about a corrupt lord lining his pockets with gold or leveraging his power for political gain. This was something much worse. Tanivar was merely a pawn, a desperate man clawing for relevance in a game he barely understood. But the true masterminds—the ones who had granted him an audience in that tower, the ones who whispered in the darkness—they were the real threat.

Alcard's grip on the reins tightened as the memory of that hushed conversation replayed in his mind. The way Tanivar spoke of the Fragment, as though it were a key to a kingdom unseen, a power waiting to be harnessed. The way his unseen master's voice sharpened at the mere mention of it. That was the moment Alcard knew—this was bigger than anything he had encountered before.

Legends of the Fragments had circulated through the ages, passed down from generation to generation like cautionary tales, whispered in hushed tones by scholars and madmen alike. Some spoke of them as relics from a lost era, pieces of something ancient and all-powerful. Others believed they were the remnants of a weapon crafted by the gods themselves, too dangerous to be wielded by mere mortals. Wars had been fought over them, empires had risen and crumbled because of them.

And now, The Veil sought to claim one for themselves.

Alcard exhaled sharply, his breath turning to mist in the night air. If they succeeded, Middle Earth would never be the same. The balance of power would shift in ways no king or lord could predict. The Veil had always been a phantom force, moving unseen, shaping history from the shadows. But if they controlled a Fragment, they wouldn't have to remain in the dark any longer. They could carve the world into whatever shape they desired.

He urged his horse forward, pushing the beast faster, feeling the urgency of his mission coil tighter around his chest. He had to reach The Wall. He had to warn Oldman. If anyone could make sense of this and find a way to stop it, it was him.

But another thought gnawed at the back of his mind.

"How long have they been moving these pieces? How much have we already lost without realizing it?"

For years, Alcard had believed The Veil was little more than a myth—a boogeyman used to explain the inexplicable, to justify betrayals and political maneuvering in the great courts of Middle Earth. But they were real. They had been real all along. And now, they were closer than ever to grasping something that could reshape reality itself.

The thought made his stomach churn.

His gaze flickered to the horizon. The road stretched out before him, leading into the darkness like a corridor with no end. The path to The Wall was still long, and the night was still young. But he would not stop. He could not stop.

His fingers grazed the satchel strapped to his belt, feeling the edges of the stolen documents inside. Proof of Tanivar's treachery, proof of The Veil's movements, proof of the Fragment's existence. It wasn't much, but it was something. And right now, it was the only weapon he had.

"I have to get this to Oldman."

Yet deep inside, another fear clawed at him—one that refused to be ignored.

What if he was already too late?

What if, at this very moment, The Veil had already set their plans in motion? What if their reach extended farther than he could comprehend? What if, by the time he arrived at The Wall, the tides of fate had already shifted beyond his ability to turn them back?

The thought sent a chill down his spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

He couldn't allow himself to dwell on it.

Alcard clenched his jaw and leaned forward, whispering to his steed, "Faster."

The horse responded immediately, muscles tensing as it galloped forward with renewed speed, tearing through the darkness like an arrow loosed from its bow. Every moment counted. Every second brought him either closer to stopping a disaster—or closer to realizing he had already lost.

Somewhere, beyond the trees and the empty roads, beyond the towering fortress he had left behind, the future of Middle Earth was shifting.

And Alcard, whether he wanted to or not, was now entangled in its fate.

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