The Light that Shouldn't Be

The wind howled across the upper cliffs of Sanctum's northern peaks, rattling the ancient stonework of the Arcanum Archives. It was here—far from the dormitories and training fields—that Master Rhain often disappeared for days at a time. Few dared venture this high without invitation, and even fewer returned with answers.

Kaien stood at the base of the spiraling staircase that led into the tower, his breaths uneven, his muscles tense. The events of the last few days had changed everything. Lyra's near loss of control. Zedd's confrontation with his brother. The appearance of that Wretch in the forest with a human voice. Something unnatural was stirring.

He gripped the satchel slung over his shoulder, filled with pages Eira had gathered—texts torn from forbidden tomes, sketches of symbols found in the ruins, and fragments referencing something ancient: Null Veyl. The phrase echoed in his mind like a curse.

Kaien hesitated only a moment longer before beginning the climb.

The tower walls closed in around him as he ascended, every step heavier than the last. Shadows danced between torch brackets, casting fleeting shapes that made Kaien pause. He had once thought the Sanctum was a beacon of clarity and light. Now, it felt like a castle built on forgotten ghosts.

He reached the summit door and knocked. No answer. He raised a fist to knock again—but it swung open on its own.

Inside stood Master Rhain, not surprised in the least.

"I was expecting you," the elder said, voice gravelly and low. "Come in."

Kaien stepped through, blinking against the dim candlelight. Books filled every wall. Maps overlapped on tables. A strange, humming crystal floated above a basin of black water. The place was unlike any chamber he'd seen in the Sanctum.

"I need to understand what I am," Kaien said, his voice more confident than he felt.

Rhain turned, his stone-colored eyes narrowing slightly. "No. You want to understand who you are. That's a much harder answer."

He motioned to a chair. Kaien sat. The elder didn't waste time.

"You possess Null Veyl," he began. "An energy form theorized, suppressed, and nearly erased after the Veilfracture. It is the absence of Aspect—born from neither thought nor emotion. A force that should not exist. And yet… it does."

Kaien was silent.

"You weren't supposed to survive that Wretch attack, Kaien. And yet, something responded to your will. Your refusal to die. And now, you're tethered to a power no one fully understands."

Kaien took a breath, then opened the satchel. "Eira found these. She thinks the Dissonant Choir is trying to awaken it too."

Rhain sifted through the papers. His face darkened at several of the sketches.

"They're not trying, Kaien. They already have."

A beat of silence.

"What?"

"They've tapped into a fraction of Hollow Veyl—an echo of the cataclysm that almost ended our world. But they lack a true host. A vessel strong enough to contain it. That's why they've taken interest in you."

Kaien clenched his fists. "Then we stop them."

Rhain placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. "It's not that simple. You're already changing. That light of yours—its duality of destruction and regeneration—it mirrors the instability of Hollow Veyl. The more you use it, the closer you walk toward becoming like the one who ended the First Era."

Kaien looked up, voice low. "The hero who became a destroyer."

Rhain nodded.

"That hero… was my grandfather."

The words struck Kaien harder than any Wretch's claws.

Down in the lower sanctums, Lyra stared at the obsidian mirror in her family's wing of the academy. Her fingertips glowed with faint embers, flickering between Flame and Shade. The duality of her Aspects was both a blessing and a curse.

Her family's shame was written in every archive scroll. The Caelum line had once walked the edge of Blight, seeking to bind Shade under human will. The result was disaster—and centuries of disgrace.

She looked at her own reflection and saw her mother's cold eyes staring back.

Then a knock.

"Eira?" Lyra opened the door.

The Tidebound healer entered quietly, carrying a fresh stack of scrolls. "I think we've found something. About the Choir's next move."

Lyra's expression sharpened. "Where?"

"Below. Beneath the Sanctum itself."

The three of them met that night in the abandoned Hall of Whispers, a chamber sealed off after the last internal war between Sanctum factions. It smelled of dust, old parchment, and forgotten regrets.

Eira laid out a map, her voice calm but firm. "There's a network of tunnels that run beneath the academy. Pre-Sanctum structures. According to these texts, the Choir has been moving artifacts through them—perhaps even a Wretch host."

Lyra frowned. "Why not act sooner?"

Eira hesitated. "Because there's evidence that someone high-ranking in the Sanctum is helping them."

A silence fell.

Kaien stepped closer. "Then we go now. Quietly."

Lyra crossed her arms. "Just the three of us?"

"Zedd's recovering. Rhain can't move openly. We're it."

Lyra's eyes glinted in the dark. "Then we make it count."

The tunnels were cold and narrow, the walls carved with markings older than the current age. The deeper they went, the more the air thickened—not with dust, but with tension. Kaien could feel it in his bones.

"Here," Eira whispered, pointing to a passage branching left.

They followed it, blades and Veyl ready. A soft chanting rose in the distance. The language was not one they understood—but its rhythm chilled the soul.

As they approached the chamber, Kaien's light flickered from his palm. The power, as always, was unstable—responding to his fear, his anger, his hope. He forced it still.

Peering inside, they saw them: robed figures kneeling in a half-circle around a massive stone cocoon, pulsing with shadow. The Dissonant Choir.

Eira gasped softly. "They've found a vessel."

Kaien stepped forward, but Lyra grabbed his arm. "If we strike, we have to end it fast. Otherwise—"

The stone pulsed again. This time, a crack appeared.

"Too late," Kaien said.

He burst into the chamber, the light erupting from his hands. Shadows screamed. The choir turned, caught mid-ritual, but already their energy surged toward the cocoon.

Lyra followed with twin lashes of fire and shadow, dancing between pillars as she burned symbols off the walls. Eira held the rear, erecting barriers of liquid light to deflect thrown daggers of pure Blight.

Then the stone split.

From within stepped a figure—its body shaped like a man, but hollow where the face should be. Darkness wept from its core. The Hollow Wretch.

It raised a hand, and Kaien's light struck it—only to be absorbed.

"What—?"

Eira screamed as a blast of anti-Veyl sent her flying.

Lyra engaged, her Flame roiling, but even her Shade twisted unnaturally in its presence.

Kaien charged. He wasn't thinking anymore. Only feeling. And in that moment, the light in his hands flared—not white, but silver.

He struck the creature, and it howled.

The silver light didn't destroy. It separated.

For the briefest moment, Kaien saw into it—a void filled with memories not its own. And at the center, a voice: familiar. Cold.

"We are not so different, Kaien Voss."

Then everything exploded into darkness.

Kaien awoke in the infirmary, bandaged and bruised. Lyra sat nearby, arms crossed but watching. Eira slept in the corner.

"What… happened?"

Lyra looked at him. "You touched the Hollow Wretch. And it touched you back."

Kaien sat up slowly. "Did we stop it?"

"No. But we forced it to retreat."

He clenched his fists. "That's not enough."

Lyra's voice softened. "No, it's not. But now we know where they are."

She handed him a sealed letter.

"It's from Rhain. He's requested a mission team. Us. He wants to go to the Shattered Vale. He thinks that's where it began. Where the Hollow Veyl was born."

Kaien looked down at the letter, then at his hands.

The silver light still danced beneath his skin.

And for the first time, he wasn't sure if he was wielding it—or if it was wielding him.