He was drowning in the nightmare again.
But this time — something was different.
The shadow on the throne. The one that wore his face like a mask, the one that had always sat in silence at the top of those bone-white stairs —
Veil had never heard its voice before.
Today, he could.
The shadow rose from the throne and appeared directly before him. That cold, indifferent voice —
*"Tch. Useless... that's not how you do it."*
The moment those words reached him, something happened.
The air went still.
Not quiet — *still.* The kind of stillness that presses against the chest and refuses to let go. Veil's entire body locked up. He opened his mouth — nothing came out. Not a word. Not a sound. His throat had forgotten how to work.
He watched the shadow turn away from him.
And then his own body stood up.
He hadn't told it to.
His hands — his feet — his face. Moving. Rising. Stepping forward without him. The shadow was no longer on the throne. It was inside him. And he was somewhere else entirely — watching from a place with no walls, no floor, no way out.
He tried to scream.
Nothing.
He reached forward.
His hands found nothing.
Then the ground beneath him shifted — that thick, sticky red swamp pulling at his ankles. He looked down. It was already at his knees. He thrashed — or tried to — but his body wouldn't respond. His arms flailed through nothing. His legs kicked against nothing. The swamp didn't care. It pulled steadily, patiently, like it had all the time in the world.
It reached his waist.
He was clawing now — desperate — fingers scraping at something that wasn't there. His chest was tightening. Each breath came harder than the last, like something heavy was sitting on his ribs and pressing down. The red around him darkened. The air thickened. His lungs were burning for something they couldn't find.
He was sinking.
*No—*
His vision began to blur at the edges — shapes losing their lines, the bone staircase going soft and distant. The crimson red sky above him was fading into black. He couldn't feel his hands anymore. He couldn't feel anything.
*Someone—*
Darkness closed over him.
And then —
A hand.
Something grabbed him — hard, sudden — and pulled.
*"Hah—!"*
He gasped — sharp and deep — and the nightmare shattered.
---
His eyes opened.
Someone's hands were holding him steady. Drake was directly in front of him — a thin line of blood running from his nose and mouth, slightly hunched, breathing hard.
But on his blood-streaked face —
A smile. Strange. Unsettling. The kind that didn't quite belong anywhere normal.
Drake opened his mouth to say something —
And Veil's eyes closed again.
---
When they opened the second time, he was in his room. Soft bed. Evening light through the window.
He sat up slowly. His body still ached faintly — but there wasn't a single visible mark on him.
He got up and walked out.
Night had fallen over the manor by the time he reached the dining hall. Everyone was already at the table.
"Come, Veil," Rudious said — warmly, but with a weight underneath it. "Sit. Eat."
"Yes, Father," Veil said quietly.
He greeted everyone and took his seat — right beside Drake. Drake's face still carried faint scratches. He said nothing about them. He just smiled slightly and served food onto Veil's plate.
They ate in silence. Only the soft sounds of cutlery filled the hall.
Then the meal ended.
And the atmosphere changed.
---
"You two really do love fighting, don't you."
Rudious said it quietly. But the weight in his voice was enough to drop the temperature of the entire room. An invisible pressure settled over the dining hall — heavy and total.
Drake's eyes went wide. He couldn't sit straight under it. Veil was worse — completely folded forward, forehead damp with sweat.
Jorald, standing nearby, stepped forward. "My — My Lord. They're children..."
Rudious turned his eyes toward Jorald slowly.
Jorald's voice died in his throat. He went still.
"My Lord..." Jorald managed, steadying himself. "Children make mistakes."
Rudious exhaled. Long and slow. The pressure lifted instantly. Hans, standing in the corner as always, hadn't moved. He looked entirely used to this.
"Speak," Rudious said, his voice still firm. "Do you enjoy fighting that much? One of these days you'll actually kill each other."
"No, Father," Drake and Veil both said at once — quietly.
"Then what was that?"
"We were just—" Veil started.
"Father," Drake cut in, "we were only—"
"If Arthur hadn't arrived when he did, one of you would be dead right now." Rudious's voice cut through the room. "And you're telling me you were just doing it casually?"
Silence.
Drake's strange smile was gone. His head was down. Eyes wide.
Rudious pressed his fingers to his forehead. "Drake — Veil is still a child. You're supposed to know better. What if something had happened to him?"
"Father. I apologize." Drake's voice was quiet but steady. "It won't happen again. I only wanted to... test him."
"Test him? His awakening hasn't even happened yet. What if something had gone wrong before that?"
Drake said nothing.
Rudious exhaled again. "Go. Both of you. Veil's birthday is coming — start preparing for that."
Both of them stood quietly, said goodnight, and walked out.
---
The moment they were gone, Rudious leaned back in his chair.
"Tch." He rubbed the back of his head. "Is there no normal child in this family?"
Jorald coughed lightly. "My Lord — considering whose bloodline this is... you can hardly expect normal."
"Hmm." Rudious smiled faintly. "Drake I can understand. But Veil? That technique. That power-up. That presence—"
He stopped mid-sentence.
Jorald placed a hand on the table. "He gave Drake scratches, My Lord. Drake — who is already the strongest among those his age and earned his title as champion."
Rudious was quiet for a moment. "Yes. But they've always sparred. They've fought a hundred times. What made this one different?"
"My Lord..." Jorald's voice dropped slightly. "I think something large is about to happen at his awakening. And I think..." A quiet smile crossed his face. "Veil is becoming a monster. Right in front of us."
"Hmm. You might be right." Rudious paused. "But that form of his..."
Jorald's expression shifted — serious now. "Are we raising something that shouldn't exist in this world, My Lord? A power that doesn't belong here?"
Rudious looked at him.
A slow, quiet smile.
"We'll see."
He turned his gaze toward Hans. "And you, Hans? What do you think?"
Hans stepped forward from his corner. "My Lord — Young Master Veil is gentle and kind. I have never seen him like that before today."
"Hmm." Rudious nodded slowly. "And Hans — before you sleep tonight, stop by the office. I left some papers out of order."
"Yes, My Lord." Hans bowed.
---
Drake and Veil sat together in Veil's room for a long time that night — talking the way they always did when Drake came back. Drake told stories from the Academy. Veil listened.
Then Veil stretched — a long, drowsy yawn — and asked, "Brother... will I ever be as strong as you?"
Drake thought for a moment. Then smiled.
"Hmm. Yes. Maybe even stronger."
"Really?" Veil's eyes lit up — then immediately began to droop.
Drake reached over and ruffled his hair. "Go to sleep, Veil. You're exhausted."
"Mm... Brother. I'm sorry. You got scolded because of me."
"Don't worry about it. Honestly — I'm glad you've been improving."
But Veil was already gone — deep asleep before the sentence finished.
Drake pulled the blanket over him. Then stood and walked toward the door.
---
In the hallway, moonlight came through the windows in long pale strips. A cool wind moved through the corridor.
Drake stopped.
He stood at the window and looked out at the stars for a moment. Then slowly raised his hand and touched the scratches on his face — tracing them lightly with his fingers.
*Hmm. You're sharpening, Veil,* he thought. *Every time — more interesting than the last.*
That smile came back to his face. Strange. Quiet. Not quite right.
He looked out across the viscountcy — the scattered lights of the town below glowing like fallen stars in the dark.
The smile widened.
*But the one who surprised me most tonight...*
*...wasn't Veil.*
---
**[Chapter 38 — End]**