The moment Caelum stepped into the Veil, the world fell away.
Time unraveled, bending and breaking into fragments that dissolved into the churning storm of shadows and light. His heart pounded, not in his chest but everywhere—his pulse reverberated in the air, his blood thrumming in unison with the chaotic force surrounding him. He wanted to scream, but the sound was swallowed whole before it could leave his lips.
Then, silence.
The cacophony collapsed into stillness. And he was alone.
Caelum floated, though there was no ground, no sky, no sense of up or down. The Veil was endless, a void filled with flickering lights like stars drowning in a sea of darkness. He reached out, his hand trembling as he tried to steady himself, but the air here wasn't air at all—it was thick, alive, pressing against him as though it wanted to seep into his very being.
What have I done?
A voice, or maybe a thought, pierced through his mind. It wasn't his own, and yet it carried a weight he couldn't ignore.
"You are unbound now."
Caelum whipped around, his breath catching in his throat. The figure from the chamber—cloaked in shadow and shimmering with otherworldly light—stood just a few paces away, though the distance felt immeasurable.
"What do you mean?" Caelum's voice was hoarse, raw from the pressure of the Veil. "What is this place? What am I doing here?"
The figure tilted its head, a motion that felt almost curious. Its face, obscured by swirling shadows, gave nothing away, but its presence was suffocating, like standing before the weight of the ocean.
"This is the heart of the Veil," it said. "And you, Caelum Wrenwick, have done what no one else dared. You have opened the door."
"I didn't mean to—" he started, but the figure raised a hand, and the words died on his tongue.
"Intent is meaningless here. You carry the Spark now, and it burns with a fire the Veil has not seen in centuries. Do you feel it?"
Caelum swallowed hard, suddenly hyper-aware of the energy coursing through him. It wasn't like the city's magic—the gentle hum that powered lamplights and fueled the mages' crafts. This was untamed, feral, a force that threatened to consume him if he let it slip from his grasp. It coiled in his chest, an ember waiting to ignite.
"I don't know what I feel," he admitted. "I don't even know who I am anymore."
The figure stepped closer, the shadows around it twisting and writhing like living things.
"You are no longer the boy who walked the streets of Cindrelle. The Veil has chosen you—marked you. But power comes at a price, Caelum. You must decide if you are willing to pay it."
The air thickened, and suddenly the Veil wasn't empty anymore. Images flickered to life around him—visions of people, places, moments frozen in time. He saw the bustling streets of Cindrelle, but they were twisted, shrouded in a haze of despair. Faces flashed before him: familiar ones, strangers, even his own reflection. But it wasn't him.
It was a version of himself that he didn't recognize. His eyes burned with a light too bright, his skin etched with glowing cracks as if the magic inside him had broken free, tearing him apart.
"What is this?" he demanded, his voice shaking. "What are you showing me?"
"This is your path," the figure said. "Or one of them. The Veil does not dictate your fate—it reveals the truths you already carry within you. The power you have awakened is not a gift, Caelum. It is a burden. And it will shape you in ways you cannot yet imagine."
The visions shifted, melting into a scene that made Caelum's blood run cold. The Veil expanded, consuming everything in its path. The city of Cindrelle disappeared, swallowed whole by the swirling storm, its people screaming as they dissolved into the mist. And at the center of it all stood him. Not the boy he was, but the fractured version—the one whose power had destroyed everything he had ever known.
"No." Caelum shook his head, stepping back. "That's not me. I would never—"
"Would you not?" the figure interrupted, its voice sharp. "The Veil does not lie, Caelum. It shows you the truth of what you could become. The power you now hold is neither good nor evil. It is a storm. And you must decide whether to wield it—or let it consume you."
The weight of the words settled over him like a shroud. He wanted to deny it, to fight back, but deep down, he knew the figure was right. The power inside him was like a living thing, clawing at the edges of his control, begging to be released. And he didn't know if he was strong enough to contain it.
"But how do I stop it?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "How do I make sure I don't—don't become that?"
The figure didn't answer right away. When it finally spoke, its voice was quieter, almost sad.
"There are no guarantees. The path you walk now is one of sacrifice. The choices you make will shape not only your fate but the fate of the Veil itself. And the world beyond it."
Caelum's stomach twisted. The weight of the responsibility pressed down on him like a physical force. He hadn't asked for this. He hadn't wanted this. And yet, here he was, standing at the edge of something far greater than himself.
"One last question remains," the figure said, its form beginning to dissolve into the shadows. "Will you embrace the storm—or will you run from it?"
The lights around him flared, and the Veil surged, pulling him deeper into its endless expanse. For a moment, Caelum was weightless, lost in the chaos. But then, somewhere deep inside, a spark ignited—a flicker of defiance, of hope.
He clenched his fists, the power inside him roaring in response.
"I won't run," he said, his voice steady despite the storm raging around him. "If the Veil thinks it can break me, it's wrong. I'll find my way. I'll control this."
The shadows recoiled, as though startled by his resolve. And then, the light consumed him.