Chapter 4: The Road to Veyrith

1 – Departing the City of Lies

Draeven was a city that devoured the weak.

Elias understood that now. It was a place built on deception, where even the shadows had eyes, and every whispered conversation could be the prelude to a betrayal. He had only been here for a short time, but it was long enough to see the cracks beneath the surface—the tension in the streets, the fear lurking behind the bravado of mercenaries and thieves.

And now, he was leaving it behind.

He adjusted the strap of his newly acquired travel pack, filled with supplies provided by Dain. A battered sword rested at his hip, not much more than a rusted blade, but enough to get him through the wilderness if necessary.

Dain stood at the edge of the city gates, leaning against the stone archway, arms crossed. "Sure you don't want an escort?" he asked, a smirk playing at his lips. "Not every day you get to babysit someone with a death wish."

Elias exhaled. "I think I'll manage."

Liora was beside Dain, her sharp eyes studying Elias carefully. "You're heading into dangerous territory," she said. "Veyrith isn't just abandoned—it's cursed. The land there has been twisted by what happened centuries ago. And there are those who still linger in its ruins."

Elias met her gaze. "If the answers I need are there, then that's where I'm going."

Liora nodded, though something about her expression told him she wasn't convinced this was a good idea. "Then take this."

She held out a small metal pendant, a circular design etched with runes he didn't recognize.

"It won't protect you," she said. "But it might remind you that you still have a choice."

Elias hesitated before taking it. The metal was cool in his palm, heavier than it looked.

Dain chuckled. "Try not to get yourself killed, Forsaken. I'd hate to bet on the wrong horse."

Elias smirked. "I thought you didn't believe in fate."

Dain's grin widened. "I believe in survival. And right now, you're walking a fine line between the two."

Elias turned toward the open road. The air was crisp with the early morning chill, the distant hills shrouded in mist.

He didn't look back.

And the moment he crossed the city gates, he knew—

This was only the beginning.

---

2 – The Phantom That Walks

The road to Veyrith was not well-traveled.

Elias followed an old path carved through the forest, the trees arching overhead like silent watchers. It had been hours since he left Draeven, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't alone.

Something was out there.

His senses, honed from a lifetime of survival, picked up the subtle changes in the wind. The faint rustle of leaves where there should have been none. The sound of footsteps too soft to be human.

He didn't react immediately.

If someone—or something—was following him, it meant they were either cautious or waiting for an opportunity. Either way, he wouldn't give them the advantage.

Instead, he kept walking, his hand resting near the hilt of his blade, his muscles coiled like a spring.

Then—

A flicker of movement in his peripheral vision.

Elias spun, drawing his weapon in one fluid motion. The rusted steel gleamed under the dim light filtering through the canopy.

But there was nothing.

Only the trees.

Only the silence.

A trick of the mind?

No.

He knew better than that.

His grip tightened around the sword's handle. "You might as well come out," he said. "I don't like being watched."

For a long moment, there was nothing.

Then, from the shadows of the forest, a figure stepped forward.

She moved with a quiet grace, her form wrapped in a dark cloak that barely disturbed the underbrush. The hood concealed most of her features, but he caught a glimpse of sharp eyes—cold, calculating.

Not a traveler.

Not a bandit.

A predator.

Elias didn't lower his blade. "Who are you?"

The woman tilted her head slightly, as if studying him in return.

Then, in a voice as smooth as silk, she spoke.

"You're a long way from safety, Forsaken."

Elias stiffened.

She knew.

His mind raced. Had Dain sold him out? Had Liora's warnings been more than just words?

"Who sent you?" he asked, keeping his stance steady.

The woman didn't answer immediately. Instead, she reached up and slowly pulled back her hood.

Elias's breath caught.

She wasn't human.

Her skin had a faint, unnatural pallor, her features too sharp, too flawless. Her eyes—deep crimson—held an eerie glow, as if reflecting something beyond mortal understanding.

A vampire.

And not just any vampire.

One of the Nightborn.

Elias had heard whispers of them—ancient beings, remnants of a forgotten war. Few still existed in the world, and those that did were rumored to be more dangerous than an army.

The woman smiled faintly. "You carry a power you don't understand," she said. "And yet you walk toward the ruins of the dead. Do you even know what you're looking for?"

Elias kept his expression unreadable. "Maybe you should tell me."

She took a step closer. "You're either very brave," she said softly, "or very foolish."

Elias smirked. "Why not both?"

Something in her gaze flickered—amusement, perhaps.

Then, in the blink of an eye, she was gone.

Elias tensed, spinning instinctively—

Only for a blade to press against his throat.

She was behind him.

Fast.

Unnaturally fast.

He didn't move.

The cold steel of her dagger rested against his skin, and he could feel the slow, steady pulse of her breath against the back of his neck.

She could have killed him.

But she hadn't.

Not yet.

"You should turn back," she whispered. "Veyrith is not a place for the living."

Elias exhaled. "Then it's a good thing I'm already dead."

A pause.

Then, the dagger withdrew.

Elias turned, and she was already stepping back into the shadows.

"This won't be our last meeting, Forsaken," she said.

Then, like a wraith, she vanished into the night.

Elias let out a slow breath.

Whoever she was, she had just given him another reason to keep going.

And now, he had a new question.

If Veyrith was not a place for the living…

Then who—or what—was waiting for him there?