Chapter 7.1

The sun rose on Kadven like a blade unsheathed—sharp and cold.

From the high windows of the academy's northern spire, its light struck gold on marble, silver on steel. To most, it looked beautiful. Glorious, even.

To me, it felt like judgment.

Something in me had changed. Since the mirror. Since the voice.

I saw more. Felt more. The silence between words. The weight behind glances. The invisible tension crawling through the academy like a living thing.

And now, they were watching me more openly.

Not just students.

The faculty.

The knights.

The cloaked ones who never gave names.

By midmorning, I was summoned.

No note this time.

A senior aide came, pale-faced and stiff. She said only one thing:

"You've been called to the Hall of Veils."

I'd never heard of it.

No one had.

Even among Kadven's elite, there were places that didn't appear in books. Places spoken of in hints and riddles.

This was one.

The aide led me past the main halls. Past the testing chambers. Past the sealed archives where cursed tomes whispered through their bindings. She stopped at a door with no name, no symbol.

She didn't open it. She simply turned and said:

"From here, you walk alone."

Then she left.

The door groaned as I pushed it.

Inside—darkness.

But not total.

Soft blue fire hung in braziers along the wall. Cold light. Unnatural.

I walked.

The corridor narrowed, sloping downward. I lost track of time again. The air grew heavier. Like walking through water, or memory.

At the end, the path opened into a vast hall.

Silent.

Still.

There were twelve thrones, arranged in a crescent. Eleven were filled. The twelfth was empty. Each figure wore a veil—fine cloth woven with sigils that shimmered faintly. Their faces were hidden.

Only their voices would speak.

The Circle of Veils.

They were the ones who decided who lived, who learned, and who was never seen again.

One of them rose.

Voice like rusted bells. "You bear a mark."

I nodded. "I didn't choose it."

"Few do," said another, softer, older. "But it chose you. And now you must prove if you are meant to carry it."

"Or be buried with it," said a third.

I stood silent.

This was not a place for protest.

They gestured to the center of the hall. A glowing circle of glyphs carved into the stone.

I stepped forward.

The sigils sparked as my foot touched them.

One by one, the veiled figures stood.

Together, they chanted.

The circle of glyphs flared with light—blue, then black, then colorless.

And then… the floor fell away.

I was falling.

Not through space, but through memory.

Through time.

Through fragments.

I saw visions:

A field of ash where children once played.

A beast with silver eyes chained beneath a tower.

A woman in robes of light, bleeding into a black mirror.

Then—

Silence.

When I opened my eyes, I was in a forest.

Not a real one.

A trial.

Part illusion, part reality—made by the Veilfire.

Everything here had weight. Smell. Sound. But nothing was truly alive.

Still, it could kill me.

I heard the growl before I saw them.

Three figures emerged from the trees.

Not men. Not beasts.

Veilborn.

Creatures forged from memory and magic. Each carried a piece of the forgotten world. Each wanted mine.

They attacked as one.

The first struck fast. Shadow blades. Whispers turned to edges. I dodged, barely. My shield spell cracked on impact.

The second came from above—leaping, claws extended.

I rolled, drew my blade, slashed up.

The creature shrieked, black smoke bleeding from the wound.

The third—the biggest—watched.

Then it spoke in a voice that echoed with dozens.

"Gatebearer."

I froze.

"You have walked too far."

I clenched my jaw. "Not far enough."

I whispered the word I'd learned in the mirror.

The seal on my chest burned.

Dark magic poured into my hands—not evil, but older than light or dark. It was hunger, shaped.

I struck the lead creature.

It disintegrated into ash and silence.

The second lunged again.

I caught it mid-air, buried my blade in its chest, and let the shadow do the rest.

Only the third remained.

We stared at each other.

Then, slowly—it bowed.

And vanished.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back in the hall.

On my knees.

Breathing hard.

The Circle of Veils remained silent.

Then, one by one—they bowed their heads.

Even the twelfth chair now held a figure.

It did not speak.

But it raised one hand.

A flicker of motion.

A mark appeared on the air before me—shaped like the mirror I had seen in the pit.

It drifted toward me, and sank into my skin.

Not pain.

Not pleasure.

Just finality.

One of the veiled ones finally spoke:

"You are no longer just a student of Kadven."

"Then what am I?" I asked.

The answer came like a chill.

"You are its memory. And its weapon."