The medallion was heavier in Kael's hand than it had any right to be, its surface cold and unnervingly smooth. He turned it over, his sharp gaze tracing the intricate symbol etched into the metal—a design that spiraled inward like a vortex, its edges curling in sharp, unnatural angles.
It whispered to him.
The sound wasn't external, but a hum at the back of his mind, faint and melodic, like the pull of a distant thread. It was the same resonance that had echoed through the carvings on the walls and the air in the lower depths, a reminder of the strange, unseen force entwined with this body and its past.
Kael slipped the medallion into his pocket and tightened his grip on his dagger. Whatever the Eternal Choir was, whatever this body had been tied to, the answers weren't here. Not yet.
The whispers of his pursuers had grown distant, scattered among the labyrinthine ruins of the Veil's upper levels. For now, the echoes of death and steel were faint—a reprieve that Kael knew wouldn't last.
The chamber he entered was vast, a sprawling hall lit by the flickering glow of torches that lined the crumbling walls. Broken statues and toppled columns littered the floor, their jagged edges casting long, uneven shadows that stretched across the stone. The air was thick with the scent of blood and decay, a reminder that this place, once a bastion of precision and order, had devolved into chaos.
Kael's footsteps were light, silent, as he crossed the chamber. The tendrils of shadow that clung to him rippled faintly, their cold presence wrapping around his arms like a second skin. He could feel their anticipation, their eagerness to be wielded, to obey his will.
And then, the silence broke.
A faint rustle. The scrape of steel against stone.
Kael's head snapped to the side, his sharp eyes locking onto the flicker of movement in the shadows.
They were waiting for him.
The first figure emerged from the far side of the chamber, their blade glinting in the torchlight. Another followed, stepping out from behind a broken pillar, their crossbow already raised.
Kael's breath came slow and steady as he assessed his surroundings. There were four of them—no, five. Their movements were deliberate, coordinated, and they encircled him like predators closing in on their prey.
"Traitor," one of them hissed, their voice low and venomous. "You don't leave this room alive."
Kael tilted his head, a faint smile curling at the edges of his lips.
"Alive?" he murmured, his voice calm. "How unimaginative."
The assassin lunged.
Kael's body moved with a fluid precision that felt almost instinctual, his feet shifting as he sidestepped the blade. The dagger in his hand slashed upward in a sharp arc, catching his attacker's arm and sending a spray of crimson into the air.
He didn't stop. His body twisted as the second assassin fired their crossbow, the bolt whistling past him as he dropped low to the ground. The shadows around him surged, their cold tendrils curling upward to meet his will.
The tendrils lashed out, striking the crossbowman with a force that sent them sprawling to the ground. Kael rose smoothly, his dagger dripping with blood as he turned to face the remaining three.
The air in the chamber shifted, the torches flickering as the shadows grew darker, thicker, alive with an energy that seemed to pulse in time with Kael's heartbeat.
The assassins hesitated.
Kael's lips parted, his voice soft but resonant.
"Let me show you something… beautiful."
The shadows obeyed his call.
They surged outward like a living tide, coiling around the legs of the nearest assassin and pulling them to the ground. The tendrils writhed and twisted, dragging the struggling figure toward the base of a shattered column.
Kael moved with the precision of a sculptor, his dagger slicing through the air in deliberate arcs as he turned to face the remaining two assassins. The second lunged at him, their blade slashing toward his throat, but Kael parried effortlessly, his movements sharp and controlled.
The dagger found its mark, sinking into the assassin's chest with a sickening ease. Blood sprayed across the stone, pooling around their collapsing body in uneven streaks.
Kael stepped back, his sharp eyes scanning the scene.
The shadows pulsed faintly, their cold presence growing stronger as they shaped the blood into flowing patterns that spread across the floor like brushstrokes on a canvas.
The last assassin hesitated, their blade trembling in their hand as they took a step back.
Kael tilted his head, his voice calm. "Go ahead. Run."
The assassin's resolve broke, and they turned, bolting toward the far side of the chamber.
Kael raised his hand. The shadows answered.
They coiled upward, striking with the force of a serpent's bite, and the fleeing assassin collapsed mid-step. The tendrils wrapped around their body, dragging them back toward the center of the room, where Kael stood amidst the carnage.
His breathing was steady, his movements deliberate as he adjusted the positions of the bodies. Each limb, each angle, was placed with care, the shadows aiding him in shaping the scene into something deliberate, something meaningful.
But as he worked, a sharp ache flared in his chest, stronger than before. Kael staggered slightly, his hand clutching at his ribs as the shadows around him flickered and wavered. The cold presence that had been so obedient, so eager, now felt heavier, pressing down on him like an unseen weight.
The medallion in his pocket burned against his skin.
Kael's gaze snapped downward as the ache in his chest intensified, his breath hitching as the weight of the shadows threatened to crush him. The medallion's surface was glowing faintly now, its intricate symbol pulsing in time with the shadows that coiled around him.
And then, he heard it.
The whisper.
"Kael…"
It was clearer now, sharper, cutting through the haze in his mind like a blade through silk. It wasn't just a whisper—it was a voice, cold and melodic, heavy with an authority that sent a chill racing down his spine.
Kael's vision blurred for a moment, the chamber around him fading into darkness. In its place, he saw flashes of something else—shattered spires rising against a blackened sky, a sea of shadows writhing like living things, and a figure cloaked in light that burned like a dying sun.
The voice spoke again, its tone colder now.
"You are not yet worthy."
Kael gasped as the vision shattered, his surroundings snapping back into focus. The ache in his chest began to subside, and the shadows around him receded, their tendrils fading into the stillness of the chamber.
He straightened slowly, his breathing steady once more. His sharp eyes scanned the scene he had created—the flowing blood, the carefully arranged bodies, the flickering torchlight casting restless shadows across the stone.
It was beautiful.
Kael's lips curled into a faint smile as he turned and walked away, the medallion's faint hum still resonating in the back of his mind.