Rylan's body still trembled from the surge of energy that had coursed through him. His breathing was ragged, his limbs felt heavy, and yet—there was something different.
Something within him had changed.
The Sigil no longer felt like an external force but a part of him. It pulsed beneath his skin, a faint warmth in his chest, just below his collarbone. When he placed a shaking hand over it, he could feel the subtle vibrations, the hum of something beyond mortal comprehension. He didn't know what this power was yet, but it had chosen him.
But at what cost?
The moment his fingers brushed over the sigil-mark, pain lanced through his skull like a thousand needles piercing his mind. He gasped, doubling over as a rush of foreign knowledge flooded his thoughts. Symbols—intricate and ancient—danced before his eyes, burning themselves into his memory. He saw glimpses of figures cloaked in darkness, towering structures made of obsidian, and a river that shimmered like liquid gold.
And then, the voice came.
"You have taken the First Thread. The path unfolds, but the burden is yours to bear. Know this—power demands a price, and yours has yet to be paid."
Rylan gasped as the presence faded, leaving him shivering in the clearing. His vision cleared, but the weight of the words remained, settling deep into his soul.
His price had yet to be paid.
Swallowing hard, he forced himself to stand. His legs protested, his muscles stiff from exhaustion, but he couldn't afford to linger. The Void Beast was still somewhere above, and he had no doubt it would find a way down. He needed to move.
Rylan adjusted his torn cloak and took a deep breath, steeling himself before setting off. The path ahead was unclear, but his instincts told him to head north. The Cradle of Time was waiting, and he would not falter now.
---
Nightfall.
Rylan had traveled for hours, weaving through dense undergrowth and rocky terrain. His body ached, and his stomach twisted in hunger. He hadn't eaten since morning, and the fatigue was beginning to settle in.
Finally, he found shelter in the hollow of an ancient tree, its roots curling around a small, dry space large enough to shield him from the elements. He collapsed onto the ground, his breath heavy as exhaustion overtook him.
But rest did not come easily.
As he lay against the rough bark, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. It wasn't just paranoia—something was out there.
His hand instinctively moved to his dagger as he strained his ears.
Silence.
Then, the faintest whisper of movement.
Rylan tensed, his grip tightening. He turned his head slowly, his eyes scanning the darkness beyond the hollow. The moon cast faint beams of light through the trees, creating shifting shadows that made it difficult to see.
Then, a flicker of motion.
A figure stepped into view.
Rylan's breath hitched. The figure was cloaked, its face obscured by a deep hood. It stood motionless, watching him from a few paces away.
Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, it spoke.
"You should not be here, Sigil-bearer."
Rylan's pulse quickened. He fought the urge to bolt, forcing himself to stay still. "Who are you?" he demanded, keeping his voice steady.
The figure tilted its head slightly. "That is not the right question. The right question is—do you understand what you have done?"
Rylan's jaw tightened. "I took what was mine."
A soft chuckle. "Did you? Or did it take you?"
The words sent a chill down his spine. Before he could respond, the figure raised a gloved hand. The air around them shifted, and suddenly, the space between them was filled with glowing symbols—Sigils, ancient and intricate. They pulsed with an eerie light, forming a barrier that crackled with unseen energy.
Rylan's eyes widened. "You're a Sigil-weaver."
The figure nodded. "And if you continue down this path, you must learn what it truly means to bear one."
Before Rylan could react, the figure moved.
With a swift motion, they traced a symbol in the air—a single glowing rune that shimmered before vanishing into nothingness.
The world blurred.
Rylan gasped as an invisible force slammed into his chest, sending him sprawling back against the tree. His dagger fell from his grasp as his vision swam, his body pinned by a pressure unlike anything he had ever felt.
"You have potential," the figure murmured. "But you are reckless. Power without understanding leads only to ruin."
Rylan struggled against the unseen force, his muscles burning. "Then teach me," he growled.
The figure was silent for a long moment. Then, with a flick of their wrist, the pressure vanished. Rylan collapsed to the ground, coughing as he sucked in air.
"Very well," the figure said. "Prove that you are worthy."
Rylan looked up, breathing heavily. "How?"
The figure's hooded face remained unreadable. "The First Thread has accepted you, but you are far from ready. If you wish to master it, you must complete the Trial of Veiled Chains."
Rylan frowned. "What is that?"
The figure stepped closer. "A test of will, strength, and sacrifice. The Trial will break you if you are not prepared. And if it does—" The figure paused, then whispered, "—your soul will be lost to the Veil forever."
Rylan swallowed hard. The weight of the words pressed against him like a heavy shroud. But deep inside, beneath the fear, a fire still burned.
He had come too far to turn back now.
He met the figure's unseen gaze and nodded.
"I accept."
The figure was silent for a moment. Then, with a slow nod, they raised a hand and traced another Sigil in the air.
The world around Rylan darkened.
And the Trial began.
---
To be continued...