"Veil... I told you. I won't be claimed," Atlas said quietly, his voice a low murmur that barely rose above the crackling tension in the air. The statement felt heavier than he intended, weighted with the knowledge that some things could not be refused without consequence.
Veil inclined his blub head, a motion so deliberate it seemed to draw out seconds that were already too long. "I told her that," he said. His tone was neutral, almost clinical, but Atlas knew better. Veil's kin, born of shadow and blood, carried a truth beneath their words that the mortal mind often failed to grasp.
"And?" Atlas asked, his brow furrowing, jaw tight. There was the edge of exhaustion beneath his calm, the reminder that he had fought gods, braved death, and carried kingdoms, yet here he was, facing something that unsettled him more than any storm or battlefield.
