Ryven stared at the flickering ember in his palm, his breath shallow and uneven. The air in the cavern was thick with the stench of decay, the faint drip of water echoing through the oppressive silence. The ember—a fragment of the Veil itself—felt alive, pulsating faintly with a rhythm that matched his own heartbeat.
But the ember was changing him.
He clenched his hand into a fist, extinguishing its glow, but the heat remained. The sensation of something alive within him, clawing at his very essence, refused to be silenced. He could hear it whispering, its voice like wind slipping through a cracked door.
Let go. Let me in.
Ryven stumbled backward, pressing his hand to the cold stone wall for support. His vision blurred, the edges of the cavern distorting and warping as though reality itself was unraveling. He could feel the curse creeping deeper into his veins, spreading like ink spilled across parchment.
"No," he growled under his breath. He gritted his teeth, forcing the ember's influence down with sheer willpower. "You don't control me."
But as he regained his composure, a figure emerged from the shadows at the far end of the cavern.
"You're talking to yourself now?" The voice was smooth, laced with mockery.
Ryven's eyes narrowed as the figure stepped closer, revealing a man cloaked in dark armor that shimmered faintly in the dim light. His face was hidden behind a mask, but his presence radiated a cold, suffocating power.
"You're not real," Ryven spat. "Just another trick of the ember."
The man laughed, a deep, resonant sound that seemed to fill the entire cavern. "Oh, I'm very real, Ryven. And you're running out of time."
Ryven's hand moved instinctively to the hilt of his blade. "Who are you?"
"I'm what you'll become if you keep holding onto that ember," the man said, tilting his head. "The curse is growing stronger, isn't it? Soon, it'll consume you entirely, and you'll become just like me."
"I'm nothing like you."
"Not yet," the man replied, his voice dripping with menace. "But you will be. Unless, of course, you're ready to embrace the truth."
Ryven took a step forward, his blade now unsheathed and glowing faintly with the same energy as the ember. "And what truth is that?"
The man's mask shifted, as though he were smiling beneath it. "That you were never meant to resist. The ember chose you for a reason. It wants you to let go, to let it guide you."
Ryven tightened his grip on the sword. "Get out of my head."
The man's laughter echoed once more, fading into the shadows as his form dissolved into mist. The cavern was silent again, but the ember's whispers were louder now, more insistent.
Ryven shook his head and strode toward the cavern's exit, his steps heavy with exhaustion. He had come here seeking answers, but all he had found were more questions—and a growing sense that he was losing control.
Elira knelt before the massive stone monolith, her fingers tracing the ancient runes carved into its surface. The air around her crackled with energy, the remnants of the Veil's collapse lingering like static in the atmosphere.
She had followed the map through treacherous terrain and countless dangers to find this place—a forgotten temple hidden deep within the riftlands. According to the prophecy, the monolith held the key to understanding the Veil's origins and the power needed to restore balance.
But as she studied the runes, doubt crept into her mind. The symbols were unfamiliar, their meanings obscured by the passage of time. She could feel the weight of the temple's history pressing down on her, as though the very stones carried the memories of countless generations.
"Is it true?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Can the Veil really be repaired?"
The silence that followed was deafening.
Elira closed her eyes and focused, reaching out with her own energy to connect with the monolith. The runes began to glow faintly, their patterns shifting and rearranging as though responding to her presence.
Suddenly, a voice spoke—a voice that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.
"Child of the Veil, why have you come?"
Elira's eyes snapped open. "I seek the truth," she said, her voice steady. "I seek a way to restore what was lost."
The voice laughed softly, a sound that was neither cruel nor kind. "Restoration is a lie. The Veil cannot be mended. It can only be reforged."
"Then tell me how," Elira demanded, rising to her feet.
The runes glowed brighter, and the air grew thick with power. "The path is one of sacrifice. To reforge the Veil, you must first understand its purpose. Are you prepared to face the cost?"
Elira hesitated, the weight of the question settling over her like a heavy cloak. She thought of the lives lost, the worlds torn apart by the rifts, and the fragile hope that still lingered in her heart.
"I am," she said finally.
The monolith's glow intensified, and the ground beneath her feet began to tremble. Elira braced herself as a blinding light engulfed her, pulling her into a vision of the past—a vision of the Veil's creation, its purpose, and the terrible price that had been paid to bring it into existence.
When the light faded, Elira was on her knees, her breath ragged and her mind reeling from the knowledge she had gained.
The voice spoke again, softer this time. "You have seen the truth. Now, you must decide whether to wield it."
Elira clenched her fists, determination blazing in her eyes. "I'll do whatever it takes."
End of Chapter 10