A Fragile Alliance

The night air was thick with the scent of damp stone and city filth. Footsteps echoed in the alley as Kael and Ronan moved swiftly but cautiously through the maze of backstreets. Their escape had been narrow—too narrow. Kael could still feel the residual tension in his limbs, his breath not yet fully steady. The figure from before still lingered in his mind, but right now, there were more immediate concerns.

Ronan led the way, moving with the confidence of someone who had done this before. His posture was relaxed, but Kael could tell it was an act—his eyes darted to every darkened corner, every rooftop, as if expecting death to emerge at any moment.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of moving through the city's veins, they reached an abandoned structure tucked between two leaning buildings. The wooden sign above the entrance had long since rotted away, and the windows were either shattered or boarded up. Ronan pushed the door open and ushered Kael inside.

"Welcome to my humble abode," Ronan said, spreading his arms as if presenting a palace rather than a run-down hideout. "Pretty cozy, and the rent's unbeatable."

Kael didn't respond, still catching his breath.

He scanned the room—dust-coated furniture, broken shelves, and a few crates stacked in the corner. It was clear no one had used this place in a long time.

Ronan dropped into a seat with a dramatic sigh. "Alright, so, we survived. You still look like you want to kill me, though. I get it. Suspicious guy appears out of nowhere, helps you escape. Classic setup for a betrayal, right?"

Kael leaned against a wall, arms crossed. "You're not making a strong case for trust."

Ronan grinned. "I don't need you to trust me. Just need you to listen." He leaned forward. "You want to know why those bastards are after you, right? Why they're turning the city upside down just to drag your sorry ass in?"

Kael said nothing, but Ronan took his silence as permission to continue.

"They're not just some cult, not just some gang of fanatics. They're trying to keep something buried." Ronan's fingers drummed against the table. "And you, my friend, are digging in all the wrong places."

Kael's brow furrowed. "Buried?"

"You really don't know a damn thing, do you?" Ronan exhaled, shaking his head.

"Alright, fine. Let's start small." He tapped his own temple. "The Veil. It's not just some force you tap into—it's got rules, methods, limitations. People interact with it in different ways. We call those ways 'Dominions.'"

The word struck Kael strangely. He had never heard it spoken before, yet something about it felt... familiar.

"Dominions," he repeated.

Ronan nodded. "Think of it like different approaches to handling the Veil. Some people manipulate perception, some rewrite reality in subtle ways. Some carve out pieces of something much, much worse and staple it onto themselves. Each one's different." He leaned back. "But here's the kicker—no one just stumbles into a Dominion. You either learn it, inherit it, or..."

He gave Kael a pointed look. "...or you were meant for something much bigger."

Kael felt something stir in his gut, a deep unease curling in his chest. He didn't like where this was going.

"But I'll give you a bit of free advice," Ronan said, his usual grin faltering just slightly.

"Just because you can use the Veil doesn't mean you should. Some things look back."

A heavy silence settled between them.

Kael wasn't sure how much of this he should believe, but before he could question further, the sound of heavy boots outside made both of them go still.

They weren't safe yet.

Ronan moved to the window and peeked through a sliver between the boards. His expression darkened. "They're moving fast," he murmured. "Damn it. You made more of a mess than I thought."

Kael joined him, eyes scanning the street below. Posters. Freshly nailed onto wooden boards, walls, and even shop doors. His own face stared back at him.

But it wasn't a bounty for a fugitive of the Veil. It was a fabricated crime—murder, conspiracy, treason. The organization had rewritten his existence into something people would believe.

"They're cutting off your exits," Ronan muttered. "Smart. If the public turns on you, they won't even need to hunt you down."

Kael clenched his jaw. He had to think. They needed to get out of the city before the net fully closed.

"I know a way out," Ronan said suddenly.

"The outskirts—sewers, ruins, places where their grip is weaker. Risky as hell, but it's better than sitting here waiting to get dragged out in chains."

Kael hesitated. "And why are you helping me?"

Ronan smirked. "Because if they're this desperate to take you alive, that means you're interesting." He stood. "And I like interesting."

Kael didn't have a better option.

They moved carefully through the city, avoiding patrols, slipping between blind spots. The tension was suffocating.

But something felt wrong.

It wasn't just the organization watching them. There was something else.

Kael felt it before he saw it—a disturbance in the air, a whisper of something old.

And then, it emerged.

A figure cloaked in shadows, barely human in shape, stepping from the alleyway ahead of them. The air around it warped, reality bending unnaturally at its presence.

Ronan tensed. "Oh, that's not good."

It lunged.

The fight was instant. Kael barely had time to react before his body moved on instinct, dodging, striking. But the thing's movements were wrong, unpredictable.

Ronan barked out a curse, his hands twisting the air itself, making phantom afterimages of himself to confuse the attacker. "We are leaving. Now."

Kael didn't argue. They didn't need to win this fight. They just needed to survive it.

A blur of movement, a clash of forces, and then they broke away, sprinting into the night.

But something burned into Kael's skin.

A mark.

He clutched his arm, feeling the strange sensation seep into his bones.

Ronan saw it.

For the first time, his joking demeanor vanished completely.

"Shit." His voice was quiet. "You're in deeper than I thought."