"I didn't know," I whisper.
"No time for regrets." Thorne straightens as much as his injuries allow. "New plan. You go northwest as planned. I'll head east, lay a false trail."
"Absolutely not. I'm not leaving you."
"This isn't a debate." His voice hardens. "I'll recover. Meet you in Ravenwatch."
"You'll die," I say flatly. "You need treatment within thirty-six hours, or the corruption will spread too far."
He blinks in surprise. "How do you—"
"Observe ability. It showed me your condition." I grip his good arm. "We stay together. Find higher ground first, try to spot landmarks. Maybe there's a closer settlement than Ravenwatch."
The howling grows louder, more frenzied.
Thorne hesitates, then nods reluctantly. "There's a ridge about a mile north. If we can reach it before they catch our trail again…"
We move as quickly as Thorne's condition allows, which isn't nearly fast enough. The howling continues, sometimes fading, sometimes growing closer, as if the creatures are quartering the forest in search patterns.
By midday, we reach the base of a steep, rocky incline. Above us looms the ridge Thorne mentioned—perhaps two hundred feet of difficult climbing.
"You go first," Thorne says, leaning heavily against a tree trunk. "I'll follow."
I eye the crumbling rocks doubtfully. "Together. I can help support you."
He shakes his head. "Too dangerous. Go. I'll be right behind you."
Before I can argue further, a crashing sound in the undergrowth behind us decides the matter. Something large is moving rapidly in our direction.
I begin climbing, turning frequently to check Thorne's progress. He follows more slowly, using only one arm, his face a mask of determination and pain.
Halfway up, disaster strikes. A handhold I'm gripping crumbles away, sending me sliding several feet down the incline. I catch myself, but not before dislodging a shower of rocks that cascade toward Thorne.
He tries to dodge but is too slow. A large stone strikes his injured arm, and he loses his grip with a cry of pain.
I lunge downward, somehow managing to catch his wrist before he falls completely. For one terrible moment, we hang there, my muscles screaming with the effort of supporting both our weights.
"Let go," he gasps. "Save yourself."
"Not happening." Through gritted teeth, I somehow find the strength to pull him upward until he can grasp another handhold.
We continue our ascent, more carefully now. The sounds of pursuit grow louder below us.
Finally, we haul ourselves over the edge onto the ridge. The view would be spectacular under other circumstances—forest stretching for miles in all directions, broken occasionally by glittering streams and meadows.
"There," Thorne points weakly to the northwest, where a thin plume of smoke rises in the distance. "That might be a settlement. Closer than Ravenwatch."
Hope flares briefly, then dies as I gauge the distance. "That's still at least a day's journey."
"Better than two." He slumps against a boulder, his strength visibly fading. The sigils tattooed on his chest are now almost black, the skin around them red and inflamed.
I peer over the edge of the ridge. Below, dark shapes move through the trees—not quite wolf, not quite humanoid. The Veil Stalkers have found our trail.
"They're climbing," I warn. "We need to move."
Thorne tries to stand but falls back with a groan. "I can't. Not right now. Need… rest."
For a moment, his expression shifts—not just pain, but something else. Like he's weighing something. Measuring me.
"What?" I press. "What aren't you telling me?"
He exhales sharply. "Later." His tone makes it clear he's already said too much.
"If we live that long."
I scan our surroundings desperately. The ridge extends in both directions, relatively flat along its top. To the east, perhaps half a mile away, I spot what looks like a cave entrance in the rock face.
"There," I point. "If we can reach that cave, we can defend it. Make a stand."
Thorne nods grimly. "Go. I'll follow."
"We've had this argument. I'm not leaving you."
"Then help me up."
I pull him to his feet, supporting as much of his weight as I can. We move painfully slowly along the ridge top. Behind us, the first of the Veil Stalkers crests the edge.
In the full light of day, they're even more horrifying than the glimpses I caught in the Veil Lands. Roughly humanoid in overall shape, but with too many joints in their limbs, skin like tarnished silver stretched too tight over protruding bones. Their faces are smooth, featureless expanses except for wide mouths filled with needle-like teeth.
"Don't look back," Thorne warns. "Just keep moving."
We're still at least a quarter mile from the cave when Thorne's legs give out completely. He collapses, pulling me down with him.
"Go," he insists. "I'll hold them off."
"With what?" I demand. "You can barely stand!"
He fumbles at his belt, producing a small leather pouch. "Last resort. Moonsilver dust mixed with black salt. Creates a barrier they can't cross." He presses it into my hand. "Enough for maybe ten minutes. Get to the cave. Use the Blood Memory. Find out what your mother was trying to tell you."
The Veil Stalkers are closing rapidly, moving with that strange, jerking gait that covers ground faster than seems possible.
"I won't leave you to die," I say fiercely.
"Then we both die, and your father wins." His eyes lock with mine. "Your mother sacrificed everything to keep you from him. Don't waste that."
The lead Stalker is less than fifty yards away now. I clutch the pendant, feeling the power pulsing within it. There has to be another option.
"The pendant," I say suddenly. "Maybe it can help. The Veil Cloak—"
"Won't work against beings already tracking you," Thorne finishes. "And even if it did, it would only conceal you, not me."
The creature closes in, mouth gaping open. Behind it, at least five more scramble along the ridge toward us.
In desperation, I squeeze the pendant tight, focusing on the power I feel within it. "Please," I whisper. "I need more than a cloak. I need a weapon."
The gem flares blue again, but nothing else happens. Not ready, I realize. My attunement isn't strong enough yet.
"The pouch," Thorne urges. "Use it now!"
With shaking hands, I open the leather pouch. Inside is a fine powder that seems to shimmer between silver and black. Following Thorne's gasped instructions, I draw a circle around us with the powder.
The lead Stalker reaches the edge of the circle—and stops. It paces along the boundary, hissing in frustration. The others join it, surrounding us completely.
"It worked," I breathe.
"Temporarily," Thorne warns. "The barrier fades quickly. You need to go, now."
I shake my head stubbornly. "Not without you."
He sighs, then suddenly grips my wrist with surprising strength. "Aria, listen. There's something I haven't told you. About your mother. About why Azrael wants you so badly."
His voice drops to a whisper, forcing me to lean closer.
"Your mother wasn't just any mage. She was Moonshadow, yes, but more than that. She was the last living descendant of Nyssara the Worldwalker."
The name means nothing to me, but Thorne continues urgently.
"Nyssara created the first stable passages between realms. Your bloodline carries that legacy—the ability to open gates between worlds without ritual or sacrifice. That's what Azrael wants. Not just you as his daughter, but your power to create a permanent gateway for his kind."
The Veil Stalkers continue their restless pacing around the barrier, which I can see is already growing thinner.
"But I don't know how to do any of that," I protest.
"It's dormant. Instinctive. But with training…" He breaks off, coughing violently. When he speaks again, his voice is weaker. "Your pendant. Use the Blood Memory ability. Your mother must have left instructions."
The barrier flickers, growing more transparent. One of the Stalkers tests it with a twisted limb and jerks back with a hiss when the contact creates a shower of silver sparks.
"It's failing," Thorne observes grimly. "Maybe five minutes left."
I stare at the pendant, then at the cave still so far away. A desperate plan forms in my mind.
"Thorne, what if I try to open a gate? Right now? Could I create one to the cave?"
He looks alarmed. "Absolutely not. Untrained gate creation is wildly dangerous. You could tear a hole into any realm—including the Eighth Circle."
"So could running out of time with these things surrounding us," I counter. "At least this gives us a chance."
"It's what he wants—for you to start experimenting with your powers."
"I don't see another option!" The barrier flickers again, and one of the Stalkers manages to push a limb partially through before withdrawing it with a shriek.
Thorne is silent for a moment, his face drawn with pain and indecision. Finally, he sighs. "If you're determined to try, don't aim for the cave. Too far, too unknown. Aim for somewhere you know well. Somewhere with a strong emotional connection."
I think quickly. "The hollow tree? Your home?"
He shakes his head. "Too close to the Veil Lands boundary. And Azrael will have corrupted those grounds by now."
I search my memories desperately. "The village market? Where I worked?"
"Better. Familiar. Recent memories."
The barrier sputters more dramatically. Two of the Stalkers manage to push partially through before the power repels them.
"One minute, maybe less," Thorne warns.
I clutch the pendant tightly, focusing on my memories of the village market. The familiar stalls, the smells of baking bread and flowers, the sounds of haggling and children playing.
"What do I do?" I ask, panic rising.
"Focus on the location. Feel the connection between where you are and where you want to be. Then…" He hesitates. "Your blood. Use it to draw a doorway. Anywhere—on the ground, in the air. Make the shape, and will it to open."
My mind races. This is nothing like the carefully controlled abilities the System has shown me so far. This is wild magic, unpredictable and dangerous.
But the barrier is nearly gone now. The Stalkers are pressing against it, their featureless faces somehow conveying hunger and anticipation.
I take Thorne's knife again and draw it quickly across my already scarred palm. Blood wells up, bright against my skin. Guided by instinct more than knowledge, I reach out, using my bleeding hand to draw a vertical line in the air before me.
To my shock, the blood doesn't fall. It hangs suspended, glowing with an inner light. I draw another line, parallel to the first, then connect them at top and bottom. A rectangle of blood hangs in the air between us and the creatures.
"Now," Thorne whispers. "Will it open. Think of your destination. Bind it with your intent."
I focus all my concentration on the market square. The familiar well at its center. The worn cobblestones. I pour my desperation into the visualization, feeling something within me respond—a power I've never accessed before.
The rectangle of blood begins to shimmer, its center darkening, then swirling with indistinct colors and shapes.
"It's working," Thorne breathes.
The barrier around us fails completely. The Stalkers surge forward—just as the blood rectangle expands with a sound like tearing cloth. Through it, I can see not the market square but a swirling vortex of colors and fractured images.
"That's not right," Thorne says urgently. "Close it! That's not a stable gateway!"
The vortex within my makeshift doorway churns violently, fragments of different landscapes flashing within—none of them the market I'd focused on. The blood frame pulses, expanding and contracting as if struggling to maintain its form.
The lead Stalker lunges for us just as the gateway flares blindingly bright. I throw myself over Thorne, trying to shield him. The creature's claws graze my back, tearing through fabric and skin. Pain lances down my spine.
[DAMAGE SUSTAINED: 18 HP]
Light wound. Blood loss minimal.
"Aria!" Thorne shouts over the howling wind now pouring from the gateway. "You've opened a fracture, not a door! Multiple realms bleeding together!"
I turn to see the Stalkers being pulled toward the portal. They dig their twisted limbs into the ground, fighting the suction, but one loses its grip and hurtles into the vortex with a shriek that cuts off abruptly.
The pull intensifies, rocks and debris lifting from the ridge surface. Thorne and I slide several inches closer despite clinging to each other.
"How do I close it?" I scream over the roaring.
"Your blood! Take it back!"
I reach out instinctively, feeling for the connection between the doorway and myself. It's there—a tether of power stretched between us, feeding on my energy. With desperate concentration, I visualize pulling that energy back, reclaiming what is mine.
The gateway frame shudders, the vortex within shrinking slightly. But as I pull, something pushes back—a foreign presence, dark and ancient. The sensation is terrifyingly familiar.
"He's using the connection!" I gasp, understanding. "My father—he's trying to force it wider from the other side!"
Thorne's face goes ashen. "Break the connection completely. Now!"
Two more Stalkers lose their battle against the suction and vanish into the vortex. The rest scuttle away along the ridge, abandoning their hunt in the face of greater danger.
I concentrate again, but this time instead of pulling the power back, I imagine severing the cord between us entirely. The pendant grows scalding hot against my skin, seeming to respond to my intent.
The gateway frame cracks like ice breaking, fractures spreading through the suspended blood. The vortex within shrieks—an almost living sound of rage and frustration. For a split second, I see a figure within the chaos—tall, elegant, with burning crimson eyes fixed directly on mine. My father, reaching out, his expression a mixture of fury and… fear?
"This isn't over, daughter," his voice resonates in my mind. "What's born of my blood will return to me. The gates will open fully, with or without your cooperation."
With a sound like thunder, the gateway collapses inward, imploding into nothingness. The sudden silence is deafening. The air where the portal stood shimmers briefly, then settles back to normal.
I slump against Thorne, utterly drained.