Night fell too fast.
One moment Kael and Lira walked beneath a fading gold sky, and the next, darkness dropped like a curtain—no sunset, no twilight, just sudden shadow swallowing the forest whole. Kael stopped mid-step, hand instinctively drifting to his sword.
"That wasn't natural," he said.
Lira's breath formed pale mist in the freezing air. "The Veil is thinning again. But this… this is worse."
They traveled through the old northern woodlands, a place older than kingdoms, older than the wars that scarred the continent. The trees were split by ancient magic, their trunks carved with runes half-buried by time. When the wind passed through them, whispers followed—soft, eerie, never fully clear.
Tonight the whispers were stronger, rising in waves like something was trying to speak through them.
Kael scanned the shadows. "Stay close."
Lira moved beside him, not clinging, not trembling—alert, aware, prepared. She was braver than she had ever been, her hand already glowing with white energy in case something attacked.
But what they found next wasn't an enemy.
It was a path.
A path that hadn't been there yesterday.
Perfectly smooth earth cut between the trees, clean and untouched, as though it had been carved into existence seconds before they saw it. No prints. No branches fallen across it. No snow despite the freezing cold.
Kael stared. "This wasn't here when we camped."
"It's guiding us," Lira murmured.
"How do you know?"
"I've seen this place before," she whispered. "In a dream."
Kael turned sharply toward her. Lira rarely talked about her dreams—the ones that felt too real to dismiss, the ones that saved them more than once.
"What did you see?"
"A gate. Broken stone. A voice calling a name I couldn't understand." She shook her head. "It wasn't human. Or dragon."
She didn't know she had dreamed the first touch of the being who appears in 14.5. But it wasn't time yet.
Kael exhaled slowly. "If this path is meant for us… then we go together."
They followed it.
The forest grew quieter with each step. No birds. No rustling. Even their footsteps sounded muted, swallowed by the air as if the world didn't want to disturb something ahead.
The trees opened. A clearing stretched before them—unnatural, circular, too perfect to be shaped by nature. In its center stood a towering obsidian monolith streaked with veins of silver that pulsed faintly.
Lira's eyes widened. "This is the place."
She stepped toward it. Kael caught her wrist gently.
"Careful."
"I have to," she whispered. "It's calling me."
He felt it too—the faint pull behind his heartbeat, like something invisible tugging at his soul. But when Lira touched the stone—
Light erupted.
Blinding. Cold. Silent.
Her eyes turned silver, pupils vanishing. Kael grabbed her shoulders.
"Lira! Hey—stay with me!"
She didn't respond.
Her voice spoke—but it wasn't hers.
It echoed, layered, ancient, sounding like many voices speaking through her all at once.
"The fracture widens… the threads unravel… the lost one stirs…"
Kael shook her gently. "Lira, wake up!"
But the voice continued:
"When the Veil tears at last, the world will bow—not to kings… not to gods… but to the one forbidden to awaken."
Kael felt his blood freeze.
"Lira! Please!"
The light snapped out. The monolith fell silent. Lira collapsed into his arms, breathing hard as if she had been underwater for too long.
Her voice shook. "I saw something, Kael. A shadow watching us. Not attacking. Just… waiting."
Kael helped steady her. "Whatever it is, we'll deal with it together."
Lira swallowed. "It knew my name."
Kael didn't answer. He only looked back at the monolith, its silver veins fading into black.
Something ancient had noticed them.
Something older than dragons.
Older than the Veil.
And it had no intention of staying hidden forever.