Xander stood frozen, his mind reeling as he stared at the figure before him. The creatures, those terrifying beasts that had moments ago seemed unstoppable, were now motionless, their glowing eyes dimmed as if they were nothing more than puppets whose strings had been cut. The figure, the same shadow that had haunted his dreams and twisted his thoughts, was now standing right in front of him, flesh and blood—real and tangible.
Lyra lowered her bow, confusion and fear etched on her face. "Xander… what is this? Who is that?"
Xander didn't know how to answer her. He didn't even know what he was feeling—anger, fear, confusion, all mixed together into a storm inside his chest. He could barely breathe as the figure's cold eyes locked onto his.
The figure stepped closer, and with each step, Xander could feel the strange pull of its presence, as if an invisible force was tying them together. Its dark cloak billowed in the wind, and now, in the fading light of the twin suns, Xander could see its face. It was human-like but twisted, with skin that was too smooth, too perfect, and eyes that gleamed unnaturally.
"You're wondering who I am," the figure said, its voice smooth and dark, like silk sliding over a blade. "What I am."
Xander's hand tightened around the hilt of his sword. "I don't care who you are. I just want you to stay out of my head."
The figure smiled, a slow, unsettling smile. "Ah, but that's where you're mistaken, Xander. You do care. You want answers. You've been searching for them since the day you woke up with the power to devour others and steal their strength."
Xander flinched, the words striking too close to the truth. "I never wanted this," he growled, his voice low. "I never asked for any of it."
"Yet here you are, still alive, because of this power." The figure's eyes gleamed. "Because of me."
Lyra stepped forward, her voice sharp. "What are you talking about? What do you want with him?"
The figure's gaze flickered to Lyra, and for a moment, Xander thought he saw something dangerous in its eyes—a brief flash of something dark and predatory. But it faded just as quickly as it appeared.
"I want what is rightfully mine," the figure said, its voice calm and measured. "And Xander is a part of that."
"A part of what?" Xander demanded. His patience was wearing thin. The cryptic words, the half-answers—they were leading him nowhere, and he needed to understand. "What do you want from me?"
The figure chuckled softly. "The better question, Xander, is what you want. You see, you've only just begun to scratch the surface of your potential. This power—this gift—wasn't given to you by accident. It was chosen, crafted for someone with your... unique abilities."
Xander's stomach churned. "I'm not some pawn in your game."
"Perhaps not a pawn," the figure mused, stepping closer. "But you are something far more important than you realize."
Before Xander could respond, the figure's hand shot out, quicker than his eyes could follow, and grabbed his wrist. A surge of power shot through him, like fire and ice coursing through his veins. His vision blurred, and for a moment, he saw flashes of images—memories, but not his own. Dark caverns, ancient rituals, figures in hooded robes chanting in a language he didn't understand.
"Let go!" Xander yelled, trying to pull away, but the figure's grip tightened.
"You've been playing at survival, Xander," the figure said, its voice echoing in his mind. "But there's more at stake here than your own life. The power inside you is ancient, tied to the very fabric of this world. And now, you've crossed into the heart of that magic."
The world around them flickered, as if reality itself was warping under the figure's influence. The creatures that had been frozen began to dissolve into the air, like mist evaporating under the morning sun.
"What is this?" Xander gasped, struggling to keep his focus. The power surging through him was overwhelming, like it was trying to tear him apart from the inside.
The figure released his wrist, and the sudden absence of its touch left Xander feeling cold and empty. He stumbled back, his heart pounding in his ears.
"You're standing on the edge of two worlds," the figure said softly. "The Veil, the power it holds, is yours to control. But only if you choose to embrace it fully."
Xander's hands trembled, the weight of the figure's words sinking in. He had felt the pull of the Veil ever since he'd consumed the shadowbeast, ever since he'd started using this power. But now, the figure was telling him that this was just the beginning.
"Why should I trust you?" Xander asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.
The figure's smile returned, colder than before. "Trust? I don't ask for trust, Xander. I offer a choice. Embrace what you are, or be devoured by it. Either way, the path ahead is set."
Xander's pulse quickened, but before he could respond, a low rumble shook the ground beneath them. The sky above darkened as clouds began to swirl, forming a massive storm that seemed to gather strength from the figure's presence.
Lyra grabbed his arm, her eyes wide with fear. "Xander, we need to go. Now!"
But the figure stood unmoved, its gaze locked onto Xander's. "The storm is coming, Xander. It's time to decide where you stand."
Before Xander could make sense of what was happening, the figure took a step back, melting into the shadows once again. The last thing Xander saw was its eerie smile, the same one that had haunted him since the beginning.
Then, with a final rumble, the ground split open beneath their feet.
Xander barely had time to react as the ground gave way, sending him and Lyra tumbling into the abyss below. His mind raced as he fell, the air whipping past him, the weight of the figure's words pressing down on him.
The storm raged above them, lightning cracking through the sky, but they were falling into something deeper, something darker.
For a moment, all was silent.
Then Xander hit the ground with a bone-jarring impact. Darkness enveloped him, the world spinning, and just before he lost consciousness, he heard a voice—soft and familiar.
"Choose, Xander. Choose."