A Stone and a Nail
"You rush the gate, you die at the door,"
The woods thickened.
Not just in density—but in presence. The trees leaned too close. The sky narrowed into ribs of black bark. Even the wind had stopped pretending to be natural.
The road curved inward like it wanted to vanish.
The Charger pushed through it all—engine low, steady.
Lucas drove like nothing changed. But everything had.
Beside him, Jack braced against the door. He didn't speak. Didn't crack a joke. He just watched.
Behind them, in the backseat, Varos had closed his eyes. Not to sleep. Not even to rest. Just to feel what came next.
The convoy held behind, two matte-black vans with Victor's private soldiers. Their armor and weapons blessed, hands ready. But their eyes...
Their eyes shifted.
Because the forest had changed. The air didn't just grow colder—it grew quieter. Like it was muting joy itself. Like every breath stole happiness, but you didn't realize you were losing.
One soldier muttered, voice barely a whisper, "What happens... when we get there?"
No one answered.
Because the deeper they drove, the more the woods answered for them.
And the answer was not kind.
—
Lucas pressed the brake.
The Charger rolled to a halt.
Behind them, the two vans followed—silent engines humming like war drums holding their breath.
They had arrived.
Not close enough to see the entrance, but close enough to feel it.
Half a mile ahead, obscured by tangled trees and black stone shadows, the Bastion Veil slouched in the earth like a forgotten god's ribcage. It wasn't just a stronghold.
It was a wound. One the city had buried deep. One that never healed.
Lucas stepped out of the car first.
The air hit like a warning.
Heavy. Greasy. Charged with something wrong. Not rot, not smoke—something between. Like sorrow that had learned how to sharpen itself.
Jack climbed out next, straightening his coat as he exhaled. His drawl cracked through the stillness.
"This is some corrupted air."
Lucas didn't disagree.
He circled to the backseat. Jack followed.
The door creaked open, and they pulled Varos out.
The Nightsworn slumped forward like a man woken from sleep he hadn't earned, but his eyes—his eyes were alive.
Hopeful.
Stupid.
Lucas said nothing. Just tightened the grip and nudged him forward.
Behind them, the vans stopped. Victor's men stepped out, weapons in hand, armor blessed. But even the strongest among them felt it.
The pressure.
The narrowing of the world.
The pull of something that wasn't done with them.
Their eyes locked onto the horizon—but the horizon didn't lock back.
What stood ahead wasn't visible yet.
But they could feel it, as surely as a wound beneath bandages.
The Bastion Veil.
A hybrid of fortress and rot.
Its foundations a blend of old catacombs, rusted infrastructure, and ritual-carved stone.
Traps hidden in its breath.
Fires that didn't give off warmth.
Tunnels built to drown you if you turned the wrong corner.
Lucas stared ahead, face unreadable.
He could already see the entry funnel in his mind—narrow, designed for killing.
He could already smell the Hollow Market, feel the stone slick in the Flooded Tunnels, hear the quiet chant in the Ritual Chamber.
He wasn't walking into a fortress.
He was walking into a maw.
Jack leaned slightly toward him.
"How far in do we go?"
Lucas didn't answer.
Not with words.
Only a step forward.
And every man followed.
Not because they were brave.
But because no one wanted to be the first to stay behind.
—
Fifteen minutes into the trees, the entrance showed itself—half-sunken into root and stone, weeping damp from its old bones. But Lucas didn't rush.
"You rush the gate, you die at the door," an old hunter once said. Lucas remembered. Because he'd seen the truth in it.
They stopped and crouched into cover. Branches above twisted like ribs, casting jagged shadows over the squad. The air itself seemed to hesitate—as if the Veil didn't breathe, it listened.
Lucas studied the entrance: two guards flanking it. One looked Marked. The other a Nightsworn
A soldier behind him leaned in. "Which gate, sir?"
Lucas didn't turn. His voice carved the air.
"The main one."
Jack raised a brow. "What about the unguarded drainage tunnels? The south route, like Varos told us?"
Lucas's gaze scanned the soldiers. His answer didn't come in words—it came in orders.
"You six. Two-man teams. Three pairs. Fan out. Each team takes an exit. Jack knows the layout. He'll guide you."
Then Lucas reached into the deep pockets of his coat—and pulled out more than orders.
Two relics. Dark things.
The first: an obsidian slab, veined with quartz and bone ash. Cold in the firelight.
The second: a black iron nail, long as a finger, humming with reversed breath.
The Stone of Terminus.
The Bone-Singer's Nail.
Lucas handed the Stone of Terminus to the team assigned to seal the unguarded drainage exit—the heart of the structure.
"This stone seals more than walls," Lucas said. "Once placed, the Veil won't just close—it'll forget how to open."
He gave them the instructions, voice clipped, deliberate:
"Place it at the corner of an exit."
"Spill three drops—your own. Then speak:
'I place the mark. Let all within be still. Bound by stone, sealed by silence.'"
"If you hear stone grinding, that's the sound of truth taking root."
They nodded. The slab was heavy in their hands, but they held it like it mattered—which it did.
To the second team, he handed the Bone-Singer's Nail. Lucas didn't blink. These weren't just tools. They were promises—made in older rooms, under older names.
"A door you pierce with this… doesn't close. It vanishes."
He looked the team in the eye as he explained:
"Drive it into the frame."
"Whisper a confession."
"Then hammer it in with your fist. Say the line:
'Bone sings. Way silenced. Let none pass until breath returns.'"
"If you lie during confession? The nail still works. But it'll seal a random exit. And nyxbornes will escape and kill you."
A soldier blinked. "What if someone tries to open it?"
"They won't," Lucas said. "Because they'll forget it was ever there."
Jack added, tone playful but edged: "Try to yank it out, and you'll lose your voice for a week. We tested it. On worse things than men."
The relics were passed. The soldiers split.
The Stone would trap the Veil from within. The Nail would sever escape paths. And the rest… would be blood and will.
Lucas looked to Jack. No words. Just the nod that meant: We begin soon.
The forest didn't speak.
But the Veil… it was already listening.
End of Chapter 29.