The days that followed were different.
Drak'thul was unlike Vaelor's frozen, desolate expanse. It wasn't the cold that tried to kill us here—it was the land itself.
The ground was a patchwork of cracked stone and dark, tangled roots, veins of bioluminescent moss threading through the earth, casting an eerie blue glow that never felt like true light. Jagged canyons split the landscape, yawning mouths that disappeared into darkness, their depths whispering things you could almost—but not quite—hear. The air was thick, not with cold, but with something heavier, like the land was holding its breath, waiting.
Mist hung low, weaving between twisted trees with blackened bark, their branches clawing at the sky like skeletal fingers. Shadows here didn't behave the way they should. They shifted even when nothing moved, and sometimes, if you stared long enough, you'd swear they were watching you.
But it wasn't the land that weighed on me.
It was everything else.
So that night, after we'd made camp near the crumbling remains of an old stone arch—half-buried in the earth like the skeleton of something ancient—I got up.
The others were quiet. Lucian was sharpening his blade, the repetitive scrape of steel against stone a comforting rhythm. Callen sat with his back to the fire, gazing into the dark like he was daring it to blink first. Gareth scribbled in one of his worn journals, muttering soft incantations under his breath, the faint glow of magic flickering between his fingers.
Elaris was asleep, her head resting on her arm, her face soft in the firelight, the lines of exhaustion finally starting to fade.
I needed air.
I needed space.
So I left.
I walked until the fire was just a faint glow behind me, until the voices of my friends were swallowed by the low hum of Drak'thul's endless night.
I found a spot near the edge of a canyon, where the ground fell away into nothingness. The mist curled around my feet, cool and damp, carrying whispers that didn't belong to any living thing.
And then—
"You've been quiet."
Veylara's voice slipped into my mind like a knife into soft flesh—smooth, easy, inevitable.
I didn't flinch.
I just stared out into the darkness. "Maybe I didn't have anything to say."
"Mmm," she purred softly, "or maybe you've just been trying not to hear me."
I didn't deny it.
Silence stretched between us for a heartbeat—or maybe a lifetime. Time felt strange here.
Then I spoke. "I've been thinking."
"Dangerous habit."
I ignored her. "About my life. About everything that's happened. About what's ahead." I let out a slow breath, watching it curl into the cold air. "And I keep wondering… was any of it really mine?"
She didn't answer right away. When she did, her voice was softer.
"You're looking for meaning in places it doesn't exist, dear Noctis."
I frowned. "Is that all life is to you? Just… nothing?"
"Oh, no." Her voice curled with amusement. "It's many things. Pain. Beauty. Hunger. Loss. But meaning? That's just a story mortals tell themselves to sleep better at night."
I closed my eyes for a moment, letting her words settle, then shook my head. "You're wrong."
"Am I?"
I didn't answer.
Instead, I changed the subject.
"Velka."
The name felt strange on my tongue, like it carried weight I still didn't understand.
Veylara chuckled softly. "Ah, the little godling who likes to play dress-up."
I turned my gaze to the mist below, the faint glow of bioluminescent plants swirling like distant stars. "She said she liked me. But I don't understand what she is. I know she's a god, but… what kind? Why was she watching me?"
Veylara's voice grew thoughtful. "Velka is young. A fledgling god, born from something ancient, but new enough to be reckless. Gods like her… they don't always know what they are. Not fully."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I have."
I clenched my fists. "You're older than her. You've seen more. You've been more. There has to be something you know."
"I know she's dangerous."
That sent a shiver down my spine—not because of the words, but because Veylara sounded almost… wary.
"She's just a god."
"No." Veylara's voice sharpened, like the edge of a blade drawn across stone. "She's a god who doesn't know her limits yet. And that makes her more dangerous than the ones who do."
I stared into the dark, feeling the weight of that settle over me.
Then, after a long pause, I asked the question that had been gnawing at me since that day on the dunes.
"Who was she talking about?"
Silence.
"You know who I mean," I pressed. "When Velka said she couldn't have her way with me because 'she's watching.' Who was she talking about?"
Veylara didn't respond.
For the first time, her silence felt like more than just arrogance. It felt like hesitation.
When she finally spoke, her voice was low, soft, like she was choosing her words carefully.
"You're not ready for that answer."
I growled under my breath. "I didn't ask if I was ready. I asked who."
Another pause.
Then—
"Fine."
Her voice shifted, becoming something darker, something older.
"I'll give you a riddle instead."
Of course.
I should've expected that.
"Go on, then," I muttered bitterly.
Her voice was a whisper against my ear, velvet-wrapped steel.
"She walks where time forgets,
Her eyes see truths you cannot yet,
Born of light, but dressed in shade,
Her name is written where stars fade."
The words sank into me, coiling like vines around my thoughts.
I opened my mouth to demand more, but she was gone.
The space she'd occupied in my mind went silent, leaving me alone with nothing but her riddle echoing in my head and the distant whisper of Drak'thul's dark valleys below.
And for the first time, it wasn't just the land that felt like it was watching me.
It was something else.
Something older.
Something waiting.
The riddle echoed in my mind, each word lodged like a splinter, impossible to ignore.
"She walks where time forgets…"
I stared into the abyss below the cliff's edge, the mist swallowing everything beyond a few feet. Drak'thul's canyons felt like they could swallow more than just light—like they could swallow memories, too. Maybe that's where she was—whoever she was.
"Her eyes see truths you cannot yet…"
A flicker of frustration burned in my chest. I hated riddles. They weren't answers; they were just delays wrapped in pretty words. But Veylara had a talent for weaving truths into her lies and leaving me to pick them apart like scraps from a dying fire.
"Born of light, but dressed in shade…"
That part stuck with me the most. It felt… familiar. Like something I'd seen—or felt—but couldn't quite reach.
"Her name is written where stars fade."
I glanced up at the sky, where the stars should have been—but Drak'thul's night was too thick, the mist and clouds blotting them out like ink spilled across parchment. It felt symbolic, almost like the land itself was keeping secrets.
I clenched my jaw, kicking a loose stone into the canyon. It tumbled into the darkness below without a sound.
Of course, Veylara was gone, leaving me alone with nothing but questions and the echo of her laughter still lingering like a phantom touch.
I stayed there longer than I should have, staring into nothing, letting the cold bite at my skin just to remind me I was still here, still real. But eventually, the warmth of the campfire called me back—not because I wanted it, but because I needed to see them. My tether to whatever part of me was left.
When I returned to camp, the fire had burned low, casting long shadows that danced like silent sentinels around the group.
Lucian was still awake, sitting against a crumbling stone with his sword resting across his knees. His sharp eyes met mine, flickering with something between curiosity and concern. He didn't say anything, just gave a slight nod. That was Lucian for you—a man of few words but too many thoughts.
Callen was snoring softly, his shield tucked beside him like a loyal dog, even in sleep. Gareth was muttering in his sleep, fragments of incantations slipping from his lips like the remnants of a dream he couldn't shake.
But it was Elaris I found myself drawn to.
She was curled close to where I'd left her, her breathing steady, her face peaceful in the dim glow. She always looked younger when she slept, the hard edges softened, the weight she carried tucked away for a few precious hours.
I sat beside her, careful not to wake her, though part of me wanted to. I wanted to hear her voice, something real to pull me out of the spiral Veylara had left me in. But I didn't. I just… sat there.
The fire cracked softly, filling the silence between my thoughts.
"You're restless," Lucian murmured eventually, his voice low enough not to wake the others.
I didn't look at him. "Always."
He gave a soft snort, shifting slightly. "Figured as much."
We sat like that for a while, the quiet settling between us like an unspoken understanding. I wasn't ready to talk. Not yet. But Lucian's presence was grounding in its own way—a constant in a world that felt like it was unraveling at the seams.
Eventually, exhaustion caught up to me. I leaned back, letting the weight of everything fade just enough to close my eyes. Veylara's riddle still echoed, carved into the edges of my thoughts like an inscription I couldn't erase.
"She walks where time forgets…"
Sleep took me anyway, dragging me under like a tide I couldn't fight.
But even in dreams, I felt it—
Something was watching.