The wind howled as I walked the narrow streets of Rivenmarch, my thoughts drifting between uncertainty and a sense of purpose that seemed to grow sharper with each step. The distant hum of the city's night market was a comforting sound, but it wasn't enough to quell the unease brewing within me. The recent encounter with the Order of the Veil had rattled something deep, shaking loose my confidence—like a stone dislodged in a mountain avalanche, its descent inevitable.
I could feel the weight of the letter in my pocket—the one I had stolen from the Keeper. Every second I kept it hidden was a risk, but the contents were too important to ignore. It had something to do with the ritual, the Sovereign, and—most importantly—me.
"You really think you can outrun them?" Kallion's voice broke through my reverie. His usual cocky tone was absent, replaced by a quiet tension that only added to the thickness of the air. He didn't need to say what he was thinking—if the Order wanted me dead, there wouldn't be much time left before they made their move.
"I'm not trying to outrun anyone," I muttered, clenching my fists. "I just need answers."
The truth was, I didn't know what I was doing. This city, with its labyrinthine streets and towering spires, seemed more like a cage with each passing day. A cage where every corner held a secret, and every shadow whispered my name.
We reached the old tavern—an unassuming building tucked between two crumbling shops. Inside, the warmth of the hearth greeted us, though the few patrons scattered around seemed indifferent to our arrival. Kallion motioned towards a corner booth, and I followed, my eyes scanning the room.
As I sat, the realization struck me: no matter how hard I tried to distance myself from the ritual, from the Sovereign, it would find me. The same dark force that had tainted the city was entwined with my fate. Every clue, every step I took led me deeper into its grip. Even now, I could feel it—like a serpent coiling around my spine.
"So," Kallion leaned forward, his eyes sharp, "what's your next move?"
I pulled the letter from my pocket, the edges worn from my anxious fingers. "This."
Kallion raised an eyebrow. "You stole that from the Keeper?"
"He didn't need it anymore," I replied coldly, though the truth stung. The Keeper's demise was still fresh in my mind, but there had been no other way. He had been too close to the truth, too dangerous to be left alive. I told myself it was a necessary evil, but the weight of the blood on my hands still lingered.
Kallion unfolded the letter, scanning its contents quickly before handing it back. "I don't recognize the language."
"Neither do I," I admitted. "But there's something about it. Symbols. The way it's written. It's part of the ritual."
His eyes narrowed, the familiar glint of curiosity replacing his earlier tension. "Then we need a scholar. Someone who can translate it."
"And I know exactly where to find one."
The Academy of the Arcane
The towering spires of the Academy loomed ahead, their stone walls ancient, weathered by centuries of magic and study. This place was once a sanctuary for the learned, but now it felt more like a fortress. The Academy was where the most powerful mages in the realm resided, honing their craft in secret. It was also where the veil between the natural and the arcane was thinnest.
I hadn't set foot in the Academy since… since before the incident. Memories of my time there, learning spells, dissecting ancient texts, flooded back, though they felt distant. It was no longer a place of solace. Not after what had happened.
Kallion glanced at me as we approached the gates. "You sure about this? They're not exactly fond of outsiders."
"I'm not an outsider," I said, my voice harder than I intended. "Not here."
The gates creaked open, and we stepped inside. The atmosphere changed immediately—a thick aura of magic hung in the air, so tangible it seemed to pulse with each heartbeat. I could feel it tingling against my skin, like the hum of a distant power, watching, waiting.
As we made our way deeper into the courtyard, I felt the eyes of the mages on us—some curious, others suspicious. Whispers followed our steps. It didn't matter. I was here for answers.
We reached the Hall of Scrolls, where the greatest magical minds studied ancient texts. The head scholar, a gaunt man named Eldrick, stood by a massive table, his hands deep in an old tome.
"Eryx." He didn't look up as we approached. "I wondered when you'd return."
"I need your help," I said, wasting no time.
He finally raised his head, peering over his spectacles with a thin smile. "I would've thought you'd learned your lesson about meddling in things beyond your control."
Kallion shifted beside me, ready for confrontation, but I placed a hand on his arm. "This isn't about the past."
"Isn't it?" Eldrick asked, his voice dripping with condescension. "You're still chasing the same shadows, still diving headfirst into the unknown. Tell me, Eryx, how did that work out for you last time?"
"Enough," I snapped. The memories were too raw, too painful. "I don't have time for games. Can you translate this or not?"
I threw the letter on the table, and for a moment, silence stretched between us. Eldrick glanced down, his eyes scanning the parchment with a calculating gaze. Slowly, he sat back in his chair, tapping his fingers together.
"This… this is older than I expected," he muttered, almost to himself. "Pre-cataclysmic, perhaps even earlier. Where did you find it?"
"That's not important."
He sighed, rubbing his temples. "Always so secretive. Fine. But you should know that if you're following this path, you'll find more than you bargained for."
"I'll take that risk."
With a slight nod, Eldrick rose from his seat and retrieved an ancient tome from a nearby shelf. "It will take time, but I can give you the rough meaning. These symbols, they aren't just words. They're spells woven into the fabric of the language itself. If you read it incorrectly, it could—"
"Just translate it," I interrupted.
Kallion glanced at me, his brows furrowing. "You sure about this?"
I wasn't. But I didn't have a choice.
Unraveling the Threads
Hours passed as Eldrick worked through the document, carefully piecing together its meaning. Kallion had drifted off at one point, leaving me to stew in my thoughts. Each passing moment felt like a ticking clock, counting down to something inevitable—something dark.
Finally, Eldrick looked up, his face pale.
"It's not just a ritual," he whispered. "It's a prophecy. One that ties you to the Veiled Sovereign. And if you're not careful, Eryx, it will consume you."
The room felt cold as his words settled in. This wasn't just a power struggle anymore. This was something far greater. Something that threatened to unravel the very fabric of reality.
I had opened a door, and now, there was no closing it.