Threads of the Unknown

A heavy silence hung in the dimly lit chamber, broken only by the faint hum of unseen energy in the air. Kael's breath was steady, but his fingers twitched slightly at his sides, ready to react. Across from him stood the enforcer—a man draped in dark robes, his face partially obscured by the flickering glow of the lanterns.

"You should not be here," the man said, his voice an unsettling mix of curiosity and certainty. "But perhaps it is fate that you are."

Kael said nothing. His body tensed as he instinctively reached for the Veil's power, but the robed man merely tilted his head, as if he could sense the shift in energy.

"You don't even understand what you are, do you?" A smirk ghosted across his lips. "That makes this far more interesting."

Kael refused to play into whatever game this was. His mind calculated his options—fight, flee, or find another way.

But before he could make a move, the enforcer raised a gloved hand, and the shadows themselves seemed to shift unnaturally.

The moment stretched thin before snapping like a taut string. Kael darted sideways as an unseen force tore through the air where he had stood moments before. The enforcer's power was precise, controlled—nothing like Kael's own raw and unstable use of the Veil.

The chamber erupted into chaos. Shelves splintered, artifacts clattered to the ground, and Kael wove through the destruction, using instinct over mastery. Every time he tried to manipulate the Veil to counterattack, the enforcer effortlessly countered it.

I can't win this.

He gritted his teeth, seeking an escape. But as the enforcer closed in, a second presence entered the fray.

A blade flashed from the darkness, forcing the enforcer to deflect it at the last moment. Kael didn't hesitate—he seized the opening and vanished into the labyrinthine corridors of the underground.

Kael didn't stop running until he was certain he wasn't being followed. He ducked into a ruined alleyway, catching his breath.

"I didn't expect to be rescuing someone today."

Kael's gaze snapped toward the voice. A figure leaned against a cracked pillar, casually inspecting a dagger. A man, roughly his age, with sharp eyes that reflected both caution and amusement.

Kael didn't lower his guard. "I didn't ask to be rescued."

The stranger shrugged. "Could've fooled me. You were seconds from being skewered."

Kael's exhaustion and frustration made him reckless. "Who the hell are you?"

The man smirked. "Someone who has more reason to hate those bastards than you do."

His expression darkened. "And someone who knows exactly what they're after."

Kael's fingers twitched, but he forced himself to stay calm. He wasn't in a position to turn away potential information.

"They're not just after you," the man continued. "They're after anyone with a connection to the Veil. And they don't care who they have to erase to keep their secrets."

Kael frowned. "Secrets?"

The man's expression hardened. "There's something buried beneath all of this. An old truth they've tried to erase. And if you're involved, that means you're already neck-deep in something bigger than just survival."

Kael studied him. He didn't trust him, but for now, their interests seemed aligned.

"You still haven't given me your name," Kael said.

The man smirked. "Ronan."

Kael exhaled slowly. He didn't trust Ronan, but for now, trust wasn't necessary. Only survival.

As they moved through the ruins, Kael's head throbbed with a sudden pressure. A whisper curled at the edges of his mind.

Flashes of something distant—a burning sky, a circle of figures chanting in a forgotten tongue, something ancient staring back at him from the abyss.

His vision swam.

"Hey."

Kael's vision snapped back into focus, Ronan's face coming into view.

"You went pale for a second."

Kael forced the sensation aside. He wasn't ready to tell anyone—especially not a stranger—about the pieces of his past that clawed their way to the surface.

"I'm fine."

Ronan didn't look convinced, but he didn't press.

They continued moving through the hidden pathways of the city, but something felt off.

The streets were quieter. The air heavier.

Then Kael saw it.

Symbols etched into the stone, barely noticeable—marks left behind by the organization. They weren't just searching for him anymore. They were closing in.

"We need to move," Ronan muttered, already scanning for an escape route.

Kael clenched his fists. He was tired of being chased, of running blindly into the unknown. He needed answers.

Then, just as they turned a corner, a voice called out from the shadows.

"So you still carry that name… Then you have no idea what you truly are."

Kael froze. His blood ran cold.

Ronan reached for his blade. "Who the hell is that?"

But Kael couldn't answer. Because, for the first time, someone had spoken his name as if it meant something more.

As if it was a curse.