Chapter Five: Whispers Beneath the Veil

The port city of Drelhaven never slept.

It was a city of mismatched towers and leaning chimneys, of creaking docks and hushed trades made beneath flickering lanterns. Sailors came here to forget, smugglers to profit, and mercenaries to vanish. But on this particular night, the city hummed with a different kind of tension—one felt in the bones more than the air.

Kael pulled his hood lower as they entered the lower quarter, the scent of salt and oil thick on the breeze. Seren walked beside him, her cloak brushed with sand and travel dust. They had journeyed across half the Crescent Wastes to reach this place, and both bore the wear of it—sore feet, half-spoken thoughts, and questions left to fester.

"I still don't understand why here," Seren said, her eyes scanning the alleyways.

Kael didn't answer at first. His thoughts had been circling for days.

"The dream again?" she finally asked.

He nodded. "It's always the same. A door of light. The city of obsidian. And someone waiting behind the veil."

He didn't tell her the rest—that the figure in the dream sometimes wore his father's face. Or worse, his own.

The Blade of Ruin pulsed beneath his coat, warm against his ribs. It had not spoken since the vault. Not with fire, not with visions. Just quiet, waiting.

They entered a crooked tavern nestled between two warehouses. Inside, sailors laughed too loudly, and a bard strummed a broken harp with more passion than talent.

A woman sat at the corner table—dark skin, silver tattoos spiraling up one arm, and eyes like mercury. She looked up the moment Kael stepped inside.

"You took your time," she said.

Seren narrowed her eyes. "Friend of yours?"

Kael gave a wry smile. "More like someone who knows where the skeletons are buried."

The woman stood. "Veyra Morn. Former mage of the Arcanum, current dealer in secrets and forbidden maps." She offered her hand to Seren, who hesitated before shaking it.

"And you brought the Warden's heir," Veyra said with an amused glint. "The world's getting interesting again."

Kael leaned against the table. "I need to find the Hollow Monastery."

Veyra's smile vanished. "Why would you want to go to a dead place like that?"

"Because something isn't dead there," Kael said quietly. "Something's waiting."

Seren glanced between them. "What is it?"

Veyra hesitated, her voice dropping to a whisper. "They say the Hollow Monastery was once the last bastion of the Silent Order. Before they vanished, they were the keepers of veil-lore… knowledge on the gates between realms."

Kael met her gaze. "And the veil is weakening."

Veyra nodded slowly. "There are signs. Dreams echoing through magic wards. Spirits restless in sealed crypts. Even the dead winds of the north have begun to whisper."

Kael clenched his jaw. "Then we don't have time."

"You're right." Veyra stepped away, reaching into a weathered satchel. She pulled out a scroll, brittle and bound with rusted wire.

She handed it to Kael. "This will guide you through the marshlands. But be warned—the Hollow Monastery was buried for a reason. And if the veil truly thins, something is trying to push through."

Seren glanced at Kael. "Then we find it before it crosses."

Far to the east…

Within the ruins of a forgotten chapel, candles burned without flame. A circle of robed figures stood in silence, faces hidden.

At their center, a child with ink-black eyes chanted words no mortal throat was meant to speak.

The shadows bent.

Reality quivered.

And the seal, one of many, cracked.

"The Warden has awakened…"

"The Flame stirs…"

"Soon the Veil shall part…"

The wind was sour as they left the tavern, the parchment map pressed tightly in Kael's palm. Veyra had vanished back into the shadows without a proper goodbye—as she always did. The mage preferred secrets over sentiment, and Kael couldn't blame her. In a world where knowledge was power, too many truths were best left buried.

"Marshlands," Seren muttered, eyeing the uneven cobblestones ahead. "Of course it's marshlands. Why can't ancient secrets ever be buried somewhere pleasant?"

Kael gave a tired smile. "You'd hate it if it were easy."

They walked the rest of the way in silence, weaving through Drelhaven's docks toward a small rented room above an abandoned fishery. It wasn't much, but it gave them a place to rest—though Kael doubted he would sleep.

He unrolled the scroll Veyra had given him. It wasn't just a map. It was etched with protective glyphs—some faded, others burned into the page like scars. Notes scribbled in the margins spoke of mirror creatures, quicksilver fog, and gatewatchers in stone. The Hollow Monastery wasn't merely lost. It was guarded.

Seren leaned over his shoulder. "There's something written here… beneath the runes."

Kael squinted. A line shimmered faintly when the candlelight hit the parchment just right. It read:

" Only the marked may pass where time forgets to flow."

He looked down at his arm—the glyph that had seared into his skin after drawing the Blade of Ruin. It had faded to a faint, pulsing crimson, like a brand waiting for a purpose.

"I think the blade is the key," Kael said.

Seren didn't speak, but her gaze lingered on the sword resting beside his pack. The unease in her eyes hadn't dulled since the vault.

"You still don't trust it," he said.

"I don't trust anything that hums when it's near death," she replied. "But I trust you. That has to be enough."

That simple truth hit him harder than he expected. He offered a quiet nod, then turned back to the map. The path ahead led through the Gloamfen—a labyrinth of bogs, ruins, and mists said to devour travelers whole. No roads, only instinct and half-lost magic to guide them.

Tomorrow, they would cross the first threshold.

But tonight, Kael dreamed again.

In the dream…

He stood on a bridge suspended between stars, the Blade of Ruin in his hand and a sky of violet fire above him. Before him, the Veil shimmered—a silken curtain of light, torn in places, stitched in others with threads of shadow.

From beyond the Veil, a figure stepped forward. Its face shifted—his father's, then his own, then blank.

It spoke without lips:

"You carry what should not be carried. You walk a path that ends in ruin."

"You were never meant to return."

Kael raised the blade.

"You were never meant to remember."

And with that, the dream broke—

He awoke in a cold sweat, breath ragged. Seren was already up, sharpening a dagger by the window.

"Another dream?" she asked.

He nodded. "They're getting clearer. Stronger."

She stood, fastened her cloak, and offered her hand. "Then we'd better reach that monastery before your dreams become prophecy."