Veyrath stood at the edge of the ruins, the ancient tablet now silent at his side.
The knowledge it had granted him burned within his mind.
It was not just a lesson.
Not just theory.
It was power.
A ritual unlike anything he had wielded before.
A power that did not strike.
Did not destroy.
But instead—
It removed.
From time.
From space.
From reality itself.
But knowledge was meaningless if it remained untested.
And power was useless if it remained unproven.
It was time to see what Voidbinding could truly do.
And for that, he needed a new hunting ground.
Somewhere with life.
With prey.
With a world that still believed in the safety of its own existence.
Somewhere he could shatter that illusion.
And so, he walked away from the wildlands.
Not as the same being who had entered them.
But as something more.
Something closer to what he was meant to become.
Days passed.
Veyrath moved through unclaimed lands, crossing rivers and hills, avoiding roads and settlements.
He traveled like a shadow, unseen, unfelt.
A ghost with a purpose.
Eventually, he found what he was looking for.
A settlement.
Smaller than the cities he had destroyed.
More isolated.
More vulnerable.
It was not a fortress.
Not a place of warriors or nobles.
It was a trading post.
A hub for travelers, merchants, bounty hunters.
The kind of place where stories spread.
Where people spoke of rumors, legends, nightmares.
The perfect place to begin his next experiment.
Because fear was like fire.
It only needed one spark to burn an entire world down.
And Voidbinding?
It would be the perfect spark.
Veyrath did not charge into the settlement.
Did not strike immediately.
Instead, he waited.
Watched.
Chose his first target carefully.
It had to be someone alone.
Someone who would not be missed immediately.
But when they were noticed—
It had to be in a way that would shatter the minds of those who found them.
And after hours of silent observation,
He found them.
A traveling scholar.
Young.
Weak.
An outsider to this place.
But one who spoke with many.
Traded stories for knowledge.
The kind of man who would be talked about if he vanished.
And so, he followed.
The scholar left the trading post at dusk, walking along a forest path.
Unaware.
Unprotected.
Veyrath moved behind him, silent as the night itself.
Close enough to hear his breath.
Close enough to feel the warmth of his life.
But he did not strike with claws or blades.
He did not tear or maim.
Instead, he spoke the words of the ritual.
Felt the power stir within him.
And for the first time—
He activated Voidbinding.
The effect was immediate.
The world shifted.
The air grew heavy, as if time itself hesitated.
And then—
The scholar staggered, clutching his chest.
His eyes widened in confusion.
His breath caught.
And then—
He vanished.
Not teleported.
Not transported.
But removed.
As if he had never existed at all.
His footsteps in the dirt?
Gone.
The sound of his breathing?
Erased.
Even the animals in the forest did not react.
Because to the world—
He had never been there to begin with.
Veyrath stood where the scholar had been, studying the effect.
Voidbinding was not like killing.
Not like fear or pain.
It did not leave a corpse.
It did not leave blood.
It did not even leave a memory.
And that—
That was far more terrifying.
Because what was more horrifying than death?
Never having existed at all.
But how long would the effect last?
Would the scholar return?
Or was he gone forever?
There was only one way to know.
And Veyrath was willing to wait.
To watch.
To see if the world would correct itself.
And if it did not?
Then he had discovered something far more powerful than he had ever expected.
A way to not just kill.
But to erase.
And that?
That could change everything.
By morning, the trading post was uneasy.
The scholar was gone.
His tent was untouched.
His books were still there.
But he was simply missing.
And no one could remember when they had last seen him.
Not exactly.
Some said he had been at the tavern the night before.
Others swore he had left at midday.
The stories did not match.
The details did not align.
And when someone finally checked his belongings—
They found something even stranger.
His journal.
Filled with his writings, notes, sketches.
But the last few pages were blank.
Not erased.
Not torn out.
Just empty.
As if he had never written them at all.
And that was when the fear truly began.
Veyrath did not leave.
He had no need for immediate answers.
Power was not something to be rushed.
It was something to be measured, understood, and controlled.
And Voidbinding—
That was not just a weapon.
It was something greater.
Something that could change the very nature of existence.
But only if he understood it fully.
So he waited.
Watched.
And listened for any sign that the scholar would return.
If he did.
If that was even possible.
The disappearance had not gone unnoticed.
The people of the trading post were growing restless.
At first, they had assumed the scholar had simply wandered off.
That he had gotten lost, or left without a word.
But the more they spoke, the more they realized—
None of them could agree on when they had last seen him.
Not even his closest acquaintances.
A merchant swore he had bought supplies that morning.
A tavern keeper insisted he had been drinking late into the night.
A traveler claimed he had left the previous week.
And yet—
His belongings were still here.
His tent, his books, his notes.
As if he had never left at all.
As if he had never existed.
And that was what frightened them the most.
By the second day, murmurs had turned to whispers.
By the third, whispers had turned to paranoia.
The guards began to search the surrounding woods.
They found nothing.
No tracks.
No body.
No sign that he had ever been there.
By the fourth day, people started leaving.
Not out of panic.
Not yet.
But because they did not like the feeling in the air.
Something was wrong.
They could not name it.
Could not explain it.
But they felt it.
A wrongness just beneath the surface of reality.
And when men begin to fear what they cannot name—
That is when true terror begins.
On the fifth night, it happened.
Veyrath had been watching the trading post from the shadows, unseen.
And then—
A ripple.
A shift in the fabric of the world.
He felt it before he saw it.
The air grew heavy.
The ground seemed to hum beneath his feet.
And then—
The scholar was there.
Not as if he had walked back into town.
Not as if he had returned from a journey.
He was simply standing in the street.
Where before there had been empty space,
Now there was a man.
Back from wherever Voidbinding had sent him.
Or whatever was left of him.
The moment he reappeared, the air in the trading post changed.
A woman nearby let out a sharp gasp.
A guard froze in place.
Because something was wrong.
The scholar was standing still.
Too still.
His face was blank, his eyes unfocused.
As if he had been asleep for days and had just awakened.
As if his body was here—
But his mind had not caught up yet.
And then, slowly, he turned his head.
Looking around, confused.
As if he did not recognize this place.
As if he did not remember ever being here.
A guard stepped forward cautiously.
"Where have you been?"
The scholar blinked.
His lips parted slightly.
He spoke.
But not in words.
Not in a voice that belonged to this world.
What came out was a fractured whisper.
A sound that did not belong in the realm of men.
A sound that should not exist.
And everyone felt it.
A deep, primal wrongness.
A cold sensation that curled around the bones.
The sound of something slipping through the cracks of reality.
The guards took a step back.
A woman covered her ears.
And Veyrath?
He grinned.
Because now, he knew.
Voidbinding was not just a ritual.
It was a door.
And the scholar had seen something on the other side.
Something he had not brought back with him—
But something that had followed him anyway.
The trading post erupted into confusion.
The guards tried to question the scholar.
He could not answer.
Not in words they could understand.
He held his head as if in pain.
His hands shaking.
His eyes darting back and forth, as if he was looking at something they could not see.
And then—
He screamed.
A raw, unnatural sound.
One that did not belong to him.
One that should not exist in this world.
And the moment it tore through the night,
The entire trading post erupted into fear.
People fled.
Shouts filled the streets.
Weapons were drawn.
And the scholar?
He simply collapsed.
As if his body had finally given up.
The next morning, the guards burned his tent.
His belongings.
Everything he had ever touched.
Superstition.
Fear.
An instinct as old as mankind.
To destroy what they did not understand.
By midday, the trading post was half-empty.
Those who could leave, did.
Those who stayed refused to speak of what had happened.
And Veyrath?
He stood on the outskirts, unseen, watching it all unfold.
Watching the way fear consumed them.
How a single event had shattered their reality.
Because death was one thing.
But to disappear, to return with knowledge that no mortal should have—
That was worse.
And this?
This was only the beginning.
Because now, Veyrath knew what Voidbinding could do.
And the world was not ready for what came next.
Veyrath stood at the edge of the trading post, watching the aftermath unfold.
The people were still reeling from the scholar's return.
Whispers spread through the dwindling population like sickness.
Some called it a curse.
Others claimed it was a punishment from gods they no longer prayed to.
But none of them understood.
None of them knew what had truly happened.
Only Veyrath did.
And knowledge was not enough.
Not yet.
The scholar had returned, but broken.
His body had come back, but his mind had been shattered.
Was it the ritual itself?
Or was it the place where Voidbinding had sent him?
There was only one way to find out.
A single test was not enough.
He needed more.
More data.
More experiments.
More victims.
And he would begin immediately.
Veyrath did not act recklessly.
Power was only useful if it was understood.
And understanding required control.
The next target needed to be different from the scholar.
Not a thinker.
Not a man of knowledge.
But a warrior.
Someone who relied on instinct and strength instead of intellect.
Someone who would react, rather than reason.
Because if Voidbinding did more than just erase—
If it could alter a person's very essence—
Then a warrior's return would be vastly different from a scholar's.
And that would tell him everything he needed to know.
By nightfall, the opportunity presented itself.
A patrol of four mercenaries, sent out to check the roads.
They were tense, wary.
The scholar's return had rattled them.
But they did not know what they were looking for.
And that made them easy prey.
Veyrath followed them through the trees.
Silent. Unseen.
He did not need to kill them all.
Not yet.
Only one would suffice.
And as they moved deeper into the forest,
He chose his target.
A man with a heavy build, scars across his forearms, a broadsword strapped to his back.
A fighter.
Strong.
Confident.
Perfect.
And before the others even realized he was missing—
Voidbinding had already taken him.
The mercenary never saw it coming.
One moment, he was walking beside his allies.
The next—
He was gone.
Not a sound.
Not a movement.
As if the world had simply decided he did not exist anymore.
The other mercenaries noticed seconds later.
They stopped. Turned. Looked around, confused.
"Where did he go?"
"He was just here."
"Did he wander off?"
They called his name, retraced their steps.
Their voices grew louder.
More desperate.
Because just like the scholar before him—
The mercenary had left nothing behind.
Not even footprints.
Unlike the scholar, the mercenaries did not question reality.
They did not ponder the impossible.
They assumed the simpler truth.
That they were being hunted.
And that meant they reacted like prey.
Swords drawn.
Shields raised.
Voices shouting into the darkness.
"Come out and fight!"
"Who's there?"
They were not scared yet.
Not truly.
They still believed in the laws of the world.
That if something took their comrade, it had to be a physical force.
A man, a beast, a creature with form.
They still believed they could fight it.
And that belief was what made them weak.
Because Veyrath was not something they could fight.
He was not bound by the same rules.
And when the mercenary returned,
They would finally understand that.
Veyrath waited.
Waited to see if the warrior would come back as the scholar had.
Hours passed.
Then—
It happened.
The air shifted.
The forest grew quiet.
And then, where there had been nothing before—
A man stood.
The same mercenary.
The same scars.
The same body.
But something was wrong.
His stance was rigid.
His expression was blank.
And when his allies rushed toward him—
He did not acknowledge them.
Not at first.
His eyes scanned the area.
Not with confusion.
Not with fear.
But with something else.
Something cold.
And then, finally, he spoke.
A single word.
"Where…?"
The mercenaries paused.
One of them stepped forward.
"You disappeared. Where did you go?"
The mercenary's eyes flickered to him.
And for a moment, there was recognition.
And then—
He drew his sword.
And attacked.
It was sudden. Violent.
The mercenary struck with brutal force, his blade moving faster than before.
Stronger.
More precise.
As if he had been reforged into something else.
The others barely had time to react.
The first man fell immediately.
The second tried to block—
But the mercenary's blade shattered his guard, cutting him down in a single strike.
The last man turned to run.
But there was no escape.
The returned mercenary was faster than he had ever been before.
And in seconds, it was over.
Three men dead.
One man standing.
And then—
The mercenary stilled.
His breath calm.
His blade dripping with fresh blood.
And then, without a word—
He walked back toward the trading post.
As if nothing had happened at all.
Veyrath watched from the shadows, silent.
Now, he understood.
Voidbinding did not just erase.
It did not just return its victims changed.
It altered them.
The scholar had returned damaged, his mind shattered.
But the mercenary?
He had returned stronger. Faster. More lethal.
Something had reshaped him.
Reforged him into something new.
And whatever it was—
It had done so without hesitation.
Voidbinding was not just a ritual of removal.
It was a forge.
A tool to unmake and remake.
And now that Veyrath knew its secret—
He would push it even further.
Because this was only the beginning.
And there was so much more to learn.