The fog clung stubbornly to Sira's crooked streets. Prince—inside Nasir's body—walked beside Lyra, his calm, measured steps in sync with hers. Every flickering lamp, every shadowed corner, every faint sound of distant movement was cataloged in his mind. Nasir's body could move, breathe, and act—but the intelligence, patience, and reasoning belonged entirely to Prince.
The Lantern Inn appeared at the end of a narrow alley, modest, unassuming. Warm light spilled through fogged windows, illuminating wet cobblestones. Its wooden sign swung gently with the breeze.
Prince noted the small details: the faint smell of roasted coffee, the creak of the stairs, the way the innkeeper's gaze lingered on Lyra and then quickly diverted. The inn was aware. The city had prepared for him.
The Guide
Lyra led him upstairs. Her movements were precise and quiet, trained.
"They know you've arrived," she whispered. "Someone unusual has appeared. They've been waiting for you."
Prince's eyes narrowed slightly—not fear, only observation. Expected, he thought. The threads of the Veil responded faintly to him, assessing, measuring.
"I see," he said. Calm, controlled.
The Room and the Book
The room was small: a low bed, a wooden table, a single chair. He placed the half-burnt book from the chamber on the table and opened it again.
Along the margins were faint pencil marks—notations, diagrams, calculations. Someone had studied the Veils before him. Someone who understood their patterns.
Prince traced the symbols lightly. The Veils pulsed subtly around him, aware of the soul inside the vessel. Not responding to Nasir. Responding to him.
"The Veils are mirrors," he whispered. "Every action, every choice, every reflection…" He trailed off, voice low but steady. "They show what you are willing to see."
Lyra tilted her head, watching. "Do you understand it?"
Prince studied her, the room, the faint ripples of Veil energy. Then, finally:"I can. Not fully yet—but I will."
Even the city seemed to lean closer, listening.
Observation and First Lesson
Night fell quickly over Sira. Prince sat by the window, observing the city. Shadows stretched unnaturally across the alleys. Streetlamps flickered. He noted the subtle patterns: who moved deliberately, who paused, who avoided eye contact.
The faint pull of the Veils returned. Threads of hidden power twisted imperceptibly in the air. Prince extended a hand slightly, and silver light responded, tracing patterns only his mind could interpret.
"Paths exist even when unseen," he murmured. "Every choice creates a branch. Every branch has consequences."
Lyra, still at his side, whispered, "You already know too much."
Prince did not respond. His eyes remained on Sira. The city had revealed a fraction of its truth. The threads of the Veils rippled faintly in acknowledgment of him.
Sira had always been patient. It had waited for someone like him.
And now, Prince—fully aware, fully awake, conscious inside Nasir's body—was ready.