The Whispering Veil

Kael and Ronan resurfaced into the cold night air, but there was no relief—only the heavy weight of what had just happened beneath the city.

Kael's body still felt wrong, his mark pulsing in rhythm with something unseen. The whispers hadn't stopped. They weren't words anymore, but sensations—something crawling at the edges of his thoughts.

Ronan, usually quick to fill the silence, was uncharacteristically quiet. His gaze flickered toward Kael more than once, studying him, searching for something. He had seen the way Kael moved—how he reacted to things before they even happened. It wasn't just skill or instinct. It was something else.

Something was wrong with Kael. And Ronan knew it.

The city had become a maze of locked doors and watchful eyes. Patrols combed the streets, their numbers growing. Some were human. Others were… not.

Kael and Ronan moved in silence, sticking to the blind spots of the city, avoiding the places where shadows moved on their own.

Eventually, they slipped into an abandoned inn on the outskirts, a building long forgotten by the world.

The walls were cracked, the floorboards creaking under their weight. Dust clung to the air, swirling in the faint moonlight slipping through broken windows. It was shelter, but nothing about it felt safe.

Kael sat by the window, watching the flickering city lights in the distance. His fingers pressed against the mark on his skin, as if trying to ground himself.

Ronan finally broke the silence. "You felt it too, didn't you?"

Kael hesitated. There was no point in lying. "…Yeah."

Ronan's jaw tightened. "I don't know what happened back there, but you're different.

And I don't mean the usual kind of different."

Kael said nothing.

"I don't care what's going on with you,"

 Ronan continued, his voice steady, firm. 

"But if you lose control, I'll put you down myself."

Kael didn't react—not because he was angry, but because, deep down, he wasn't sure if Ronan was wrong.

Sleep didn't come easily.

The moment Kael's eyes closed, he felt like he was somewhere else. Floating.

Weightless.

Then, the world shifted.

He stood in a vast, empty space, where shadows stretched unnaturally. The air was thick, pressing against his skin. A faint ringing filled the silence—steady, rhythmic.

In the distance, figures moved, twisting and reforming like reflections in broken glass.

They had no faces, only outlines, but Kael could feel their presence.

Then, a whisper—not from his mark, but from the space itself:

"You are not ready."

A sharp pain flared in his chest. The world snapped back into place, and Kael woke with a ragged breath, his body drenched in cold sweat. The mark burned against his skin, pulsing like a second heartbeat.

But more than that—something inside him felt different.

Kael's abrupt movement woke Ronan, who groggily sat up.

"You look like shit," he muttered, rubbing his eyes.

Kael exhaled slowly, trying to steady his breathing. "Thanks."

But Ronan wasn't paying attention to his words. His eyes narrowed, locked onto something beyond Kael.

"…Your shadow just moved."

Kael froze. He turned his head slightly, looking down. The flickering light from the window cast his shadow against the floor, still and unmoving.

But Ronan saw it. He knew what he saw.

And he didn't like what it meant.

Unbeknownst to them, they had never been truly hidden.

From the rooftops above, a lone figure observed. Cloaked in darkness, they remained motionless, watching, studying.

A voice murmured into a communication device, barely above a whisper.

"They're changing faster than expected."

A pause. A response unheard. Then, the figure shifted, vanishing into the night.

The hunt wasn't over.

It never was.

Beyond the fragile walls of their sanctuary, the city moved like a living thing. Patrols passed like circling predators, whispers carried on the wind.

Something unseen stirred.

And Kael, still staring at his unmoving shadow, felt the weight of an unseen presence lingering just beneath his skin.