Gareth had been in that cell for two whole days.
Two days of cold stone, iron chains, and silence that scraped the mind raw.
He sat against the wall, staring at the faint light bleeding through the cracks.
The air stank of rust and damp earth — heavy, unchanging.
Beside him, Ariela sat with her knees drawn close, eyes red from exhaustion. She didn't speak anymore.
Just breathed — shallow, steady, distant.
Gareth watched her for a while. The anger in her face wasn't loud. It was quiet, buried under fear she refused to show.
He pushed himself closer, the chains clinking with each slow step.
Her head turned slightly, cautious, but she didn't pull away.
"It's gonna be alright," he said softly. No certainty. Just the weight of someone trying to believe it.
Ariela looked at him — tired, sharp, and a little broken.
"Don't lie to me," she whispered. "Not in here."
She smiled faintly, lowering his head. "Then I'll call it hope."
Gareth shifted closer until his shoulder brushed the wall beside hers.
The stone was cold, but her presence made it bearable.
For a while, neither spoke. The air between them hummed with quiet fatigue.
Then Gareth broke the silence, his voice low.
"What even is this place? The wild zone… what do they call it?"
His words hung in the air, hesitant — half curiosity, half defiance.
Ariela's eyes lifted slightly, dull light catching their pale edge.
"The Wild Zone isn't its real name," she murmured. "It's called the Veilward Expanse."
He turned to her, brow furrowing.
"Veilward…?"The name tasted strange on his tongue — too familiar to be new.
Ariela studied him quietly, something wary in her gaze. "It's tradition," she said slowly. "Every child in Sion knows that."
Her eyes lingered on him, curious now. "But you don't… do you?"
Gareth didn't answer. He just stared back — a heartbeat too long.
And for the first time, Ariela seemed truly unsure who was sitting beside her.
Ariela's voice broke the silence first. It was quiet — almost too calm for the words she chose.
"You know…" she began, her eyes fixed on the floor, "there isn't any record of you." Her tone sharpened.
"Not in the lists. Not in the school ledgers. Even the teachers don't know where you came from."
Gareth didn't move. His gaze stayed on the faint light creeping through the bars.
He could feel her eyes on him — measuring, searching.
She leaned forward slightly, her brow furrowed. "Now that I think about it… where do you even come from, Gareth?"
Her voice lowered, cautious but certain. "You're not from here. Not from Draemond. I can feel it."
Gareth turned his head slowly, meeting her stare. For a heartbeat, the air between them seemed to hum — faint, unsteady, alive.
He didn't answer right away.
Just watched her, expression unreadable. And beneath that silence, the Veil itself seemed to stir — as if listening.
Gareth stared at her for a long moment. The silence stretched, heavy enough to make the air feel colder.
Then he smirked faintly — not arrogance, just tired confidence.
"Does it matter where I'm from," he said, "when the whole world's about to remember my name?"
Ariela blinked, caught between disbelief and unease.
The faint light flickered against his eyes, catching something sharp there — something dangerous.
She opened her mouth, then closed it again. For a heartbeat, she almost believed him.
Gareth leaned back against the wall, gaze drifting toward the ceiling.
"Let them wonder," he muttered. "I'm not from here… but I'll still change it."
The words hung in the air like a promise — quiet, heavy, unshakable. Even the Veil itself seemed to tremble at the sound.
Ariela let out a faint scoff, the corner of her mouth twitching. "You wish," she said quietly. "That's a dream, not happening."
Her voice carried a touch of sarcasm — thin, brittle, covering something else. Maybe fear. Maybe hope she didn't want to admit.
Gareth didn't argue. He just looked at her for a moment — calm, steady.
Then he smiled, small and somber, the kind that said he'd already buried too much to dream.
"Maybe," he said softly. "But dreams are all that keep us alive, aren't they?"
The torchlight flickered, catching the faint glint in his eyes.
Ariela didn't reply — she just looked away, as if afraid she might start to believe him.
Gareth's gaze lingered on her a moment longer. Then, quietly, he asked, "How does someone ascend… to Veil Stage Two?"
Ariela blinked, caught off guard.
"That's… not something you just do," she said slowly. "You need a Veilbond — a weapon born from your own resonance."
He frowned, curious. "A weapon?"She nodded, eyes distant, as if remembering something she didn't fully understand.
"Everyone who reaches the threshold meets… someone," she said.
"Some call them ghosts. Others, death. Or a reflection of what waits behind their Veil."
Gareth tilted his head slightly. "So it's not taught — it's given?"
Ariela's voice lowered. "Given… or taken. No one really knows who gives it. Only that when they appear, you're never the same again."
Silence filled the cell — thick, uneasy, charged. And for the first time, Gareth felt like the Veil itself was listening.
The air trembled. A low rumble rolled through the stone halls before a flash of white split the heavens.
The thunder that followed was deafening — a sound that shook dust from the ceiling and made the lamps flicker.
Ariela glanced up, startled. "The storm's getting worse," she muttered.
Gareth didn't answer. His gaze drifted toward the corner of the ceiling where a hairline crack ran like a vein through the stone.
Rainwater seeped through it — dark, sluggish — carrying with it a faint shimmer of red.
It wasn't just water.
The liquid coiled and pulsed as it slid down the wall, glinting like blood caught in moonlight. Corrupted blood.
Gareth's expression hardened.
He could feel it — the Veil stirring inside the storm, alive, whispering through the thunder like a pulse from another world.
Ariela shivered. "That... isn't normal rain."
Gareth looked up, eyes reflecting the lightning's pale fire. "No," he said quietly. "It's not."
The storm came down like the wrath of something ancient.
Thunder cracked so violently that the bars of Gareth's cell shivered. Rain slammed against the iron roof, a thousand fists pounding in unison.
Water streamed through the cracks, hissing as it struck the torches outside — one by one, they sputtered out.
From beyond the cell, muffled shouts echoed.
"Get inside!"
"Move to the east post!"
"Lightning's hitting the ramparts—!"
Their voices faded under the roar of the rain.
Soon, the corridor was silent except for the storm's endless pounding and the faint hum of the Veil that Gareth felt beneath it — a rhythm older than the thunder itself.
The wind howled through the gaps, cold and sharp.
The cell door groaned, chains rattling. Ariela sat against the wall, arms crossed, her eyes catching each flash of light that tore across the sky.
Gareth exhaled slowly, eyelids heavy. Each thunderclap seemed farther away.
Each drop of rain slower. Until it was only a whisper.
By the time he drifted into sleep, sitting beside her, the storm began to fade — the kind of stillness that feels wrong after chaos.
Ariela exhaled.
She stood, shaking the water from her hair, and spat on the floor — a sharp, disdainful gesture.
"Tch. Useless Gareth , you didn't even sleep for two whole day's. Your so damn annoying."
Her eyes gazed on Gareth. He'd fallen asleep sitting upright, his arm slumped at his side.
The dim light caught something on his wrist — a faint, pulsing mark, like a dying ember beneath his skin.
She didn't hesitated. She proceeded to crouch and lift his arm.
Then the mark glowed faintly — a circle broken through by a single dark line. The Eclipse.
Ariela's breath hitched. For a long moment, she just stared at it, rain still dripping from her hair.
Then, slowly, she raised her other hand — the one bearing the faint, translucent ring that shimmered with invisible light.
"I've identified the Marked One," she whispered to it, voice low and steady.
The ring pulsed once, faintly — as though something on the other end had heard.
The silence after the storm didn't last.
Heavy footsteps sloshed through the wet corridor, echoing closer — boots striking puddles, the jangle of keys, the low murmur of gruff voices.
The iron door creaked open with a groan that made Ariela tense.
Two men stepped through. Both were tall, broad-shouldered, their skin tanned and weathered from sun and salt.
One had a scar running from his jaw to his temple; the other's arms were covered in old burn marks.
Their eyes were sharp, watchful — soldiers, not common guards.
"On your feet," the scarred one barked, his voice cutting through the damp air.
Before Ariela could speak, rough hands grabbed her by the collar and yanked her upright.
Gareth stirred as another grip hauled him up, his head lolling for a moment before his eyes fluttered open — dazed, half-aware.
"Wh–" he started, but the words were lost as the guards dragged him out of the cell.
The stone floor scraped beneath their boots, puddles splashing as they moved.
Ariela clenched her fists, but didn't resist.
Her ring shimmered once, faintly, beneath her sleeve.
They were pulled down the corridor, past empty cells and flickering torches.
The rain had stopped completely now — only the faint drip of water echoed in the hall.
Then, as the corridor widened, the walls began to change — stone turning smooth, carved with sigils and old marks of power. The air grew warmer, cleaner.
And ahead — rising like a mountain of shadow and light — stood a massive castle.
Its spires cut into the storm-washed sky, gold and obsidian gleaming with faint dawn light.
Banners fluttered above its gates, emblazoned with the West Veilward expanse Sigil.
The guards didn't slow.
They dragged Gareth and Ariela across a bridge toward's it — the heart of the West Veilward expanse.
The doors of the castle opened with a low, resonant groan.
Golden firelight spilled across the wet stone as Gareth and Ariela were shoved inside.
The hall was wide but rough-hewn — its pillars carved from the bones of old beasts, marked with symbols scorched by flame instead of ink.
Smoke from burning herbs coiled thick in the air, carrying the bitter scent of resin and rain.
At the far end stood a throne of darkwood and horn.Upon it sat a man.
He was old — but carved from something harder than age.
His skin was tanned and lined, his hair bound in braids streaked white like river foam.
His cloak was stitched with scales, each glinting faintly like trapped sunlight.
When he lifted his head, the torchlight struck his eyes — sharp, gold like a hawk's.
The guards dragged Gareth and Ariela to their knees before him.
He didn't speak at first. Just looked. Studied them both — but lingered on Gareth.
Then, slowly, he stood.
"The storm brings more than rain tonight," he said, his voice low and heavy, like earth after thunder. "It brings answers."
He stepped closer, each footstep soft on the damp floor.
The air seemed to lean toward him, drawn by weight unseen.
"I am High Elder Cael Ardentis of the Wild Council," he said.
"Keeper of the Old Law." His eyes narrowed on Gareth.
"And you, boy… you carry something that reeks of the sky."
Lightning flared through the open ceiling, splitting the dark — and for a heartbeat, the mark beneath Gareth's sleeve glowed faintly.
The elder saw it.
A slow smile touched his lips, but it wasn't kind.
"Anomalies…" he murmured. "They are neither curse nor gift."
His hand brushed the carved pillar beside him.
"They are storms in human form — destroyers or saviors, depending on who dares to command them, try to understand."
He turned his gaze back to Gareth."And you… tell me my dear child, which one are you? "