Shadows of the Past

The echoes of the tavern fight still clung to Kael as he moved through the dimly lit streets, his steps quick but calculated. The weight of the moment pressed against him—not just the attack itself, but what it revealed. The organization had reached the city long before he had. They were prepared. And they knew who I was.

He clenched his fists as he recalled the surge of the Veil's power inside him. It had flared violently, untamed, slipping through his grasp like sand. The sensation still lingered—a raw force that left him both exhilarated and disturbed.

"What is happening to me?"

He could still hear the dying man's voice from the tavern, whispering about erasing him before he "awakens." The words gnawed at his mind. He had already awakened. Hadn't he?

Kael took a deep breath, forcing the uncertainty aside. Dwelling on it won't change anything. I need answers.

And to find them, he had to start somewhere.

Kael's instincts led him through the twisting alleys of the lower district. The city was a tangled beast—each street bled into another, its arteries pulsing with the constant motion of people, deals, and whispers. He moved carefully, eyes scanning the crowds, the walls, the signs.

Then he saw it.

Etched into the stone of a crumbling building was the same symbol he had seen on his attacker's coat. A curved sigil, almost resembling an eye, half-obscured by faded paint.

Not just here. Another, carved into the wooden frame of a merchant's stall. And another, woven into the hem of a passing noble's cloak.

They're everywhere...

The realization tightened his chest. The organization wasn't just a hidden force working in the shadows—it had embedded itself into the very bones of the city.

I need to go deeper.

Following murmurs of forbidden knowledge, Kael found himself at the entrance of the undercity. Beneath the main streets lay an older, rotting heart of tunnels and passages—a haven for those who thrived in the dark. Smugglers, informants, and those who traded in secrets.

The entrance was guarded by two men who barely spared him a glance before letting him through, as though they had already known he was coming.

Inside, the undercity pulsed with a different energy. Dim lanterns flickered against stone walls, illuminating stalls of illicit goods—stolen artifacts, rare scrolls, exotic weapons. A place where one could buy power… or sell their soul.

Kael approached a merchant draped in tattered robes, his face half-hidden beneath a hood. The air smelled of parchment, ink, and something faintly metallic.

"You seek knowledge," the merchant rasped, not even looking up. "But knowledge is never free."

Kael didn't flinch. "That depends on what you want in return."

A slow, knowing smile spread across the man's lips.

As Kael negotiated, something caught his eye—a book, its cover worn and stained, but its pages filled with intricate symbols. One of them looked familiar.

The moment his fingers brushed against the parchment, a sharp pain lanced through his mind.

A vision.

Flashes of a place he had never seen, yet knew too well. A vast hall bathed in crimson light. A voice, cold and commanding. "You are not ready."

Then, darkness.

Kael stumbled back, breath ragged.

The merchant tilted his head. "A memory, is it?" His voice was laced with amusement. "It seems you are carrying more than just questions, stranger."

Kael swallowed hard, his hands still trembling. He had to keep moving.

He had barely left the merchant's stall when a chill ran down his spine.

He was being followed.

Kael kept his pace steady, turning down a less crowded path, waiting for the moment. The second he rounded a corner into an abandoned corridor, he spun—blade in hand.

His pursuer lunged first.

Steel clashed as Kael barely deflected the strike, the impact sending vibrations up his arm. This was no ordinary thug. His opponent moved with precise, calculated aggression. Someone trained. Someone sent to kill him.

As the fight escalated, Kael felt the Veil stir inside him again. The shadows flickered, his vision sharpening.

Then, for the first time, he willed it.

The darkness curled around his fingers, extending outward in tendrils. His attacker faltered—only for a moment—but that was all Kael needed. He struck fast, sending his blade deep into the assassin's chest.

The body slumped, and Kael let out a slow breath.

It's getting easier.

The thought unsettled him more than the fight itself.

Kael crouched over the body, searching for anything useful. His fingers closed around a folded parchment tucked inside the assassin's cloak.

A list of names.

His eyes skimmed over them—some were crossed out. Others were still untouched.

Then he saw his own.

Not at the bottom. Not at the top.

But in the middle.

There are others.

He stared at the parchment, heart pounding. The organization wasn't just after him. They were hunting others—people like him.

But why?

Kael left the underground as dawn began to creep over the horizon. The city was waking. So was he.

He had two choices.

He could keep searching, diving further into the darkness for answers.

Or he could leave, disappear before the organization tightened its noose.

Before he could decide, a shadow fell over him.

"You shouldn't have come here, Kael."

The voice was familiar.

He turned, eyes widening.

The robed figure from the ruins stood before him.

And then—darkness.