The first light of day had yet to touch the sky when Lucas opened his eyes.
His room was silent, the walls still cloaked in shadows. No bells, no footsteps, no shouts. Just the faint pulse of the Crucible's ever-present energy humming beneath the stone.
He sat up slowly, rubbing the back of his neck.
'So this is it.'
His gear was already laid out—what little he had. A light, reinforced coat. His soul-bound scythe, resting dormant in its unseen space. A pouch of basic rations. A waterskin. That was it.
He didn't need more.
By the time he stepped out of his room, the courtyard was still empty. Cold mist hung low over the stones, curling around the boots of a single rider waiting by the gates.
Lyss.
She was mounted on a sleek black beast—not quite a horse, not quite something else. Its eyes shimmered faintly, its body lean and armored in natural bone-like plates.
She didn't speak when she saw him.
Just nodded.
Lucas approached and pulled himself onto the spare mount she'd brought for him—smaller, leaner, but just as strange. Its breath steamed in the cold air.
"Not bringing an escort?" he asked.
"No one else knows the way."
That was all she said.
And with a click of her tongue, they were off.
The gates opened just enough to let them through, the guards on watch offering no words, only curious stares.
They rode into the mist-covered valley in silence, the Stronghold disappearing behind them like a memory swallowed by the fog.
The world beyond the Stronghold was different.
Not in the obvious way—no monsters stalking the horizon, no burning skies or twisted trees—but in the way the air felt. Heavy. Thicker somehow. As if it carried something unsaid.
Lucas rode behind Lyss, his mount's hooves crunching over rough earth and brittle weeds. The road they followed—if it could be called that—quickly veered away from any known paths. No markers, no patrols, no signs of life.
Just wild, forgotten land.
Dark hills rose in the distance like ancient backs hunched in sleep, covered in creeping roots and trees that looked more like bones than wood. Patches of strange purple moss clung to everything. The sun, though technically above the horizon, barely pierced through the haze that loomed over the region like a permanent bruise.
Lucas narrowed his eyes as they passed beneath a crumbling arch formed by two collapsed stone pillars.
'This place… doesn't feel dead.'
He guided his mount closer to Lyss.
"You sure this path leads anywhere?"
Lyss didn't turn around. Her voice was steady, but lower than usual.
"It leads somewhere. That's enough."
Lucas frowned.
"You ever gonna stop being cryptic and tell me what we're actually doing?"
"No."
He blinked. "Seriously?"
Lyss finally glanced over her shoulder. Her expression was unreadable.
"I didn't bring you to make conversation, Lucas. I brought you because the place we're going doesn't open unless certain conditions are met. And you… fit."
"Fit what?"
She looked forward again.
"You'll know when we get there."
'That's starting to sound less like a mission and more like a fucking prophecy.'
The trail began to slope downward, into a narrow gulch where the light dimmed further. Trees loomed overhead now—twisted and black, their branches reaching out like fingers. No birds. No insects. No wind.
Just silence.
Lucas tightened his grip on the reins and lowered his voice.
"This place doesn't like us."
"It shouldn't."
They rode in silence again, the only sound the breathing of their mounts and the distant echo of hoofbeats swallowed by the earth.
By midday—if the Crucible even followed such a thing—they reached a clearing.
It wasn't wide, and the trees around it seemed to press inward as if trying to reclaim it. In the center stood a massive stone slab, jagged and cracked with age, half-buried in the earth and covered in thick vines and moss.
The air around it was colder.
Lucas dismounted instinctively, stepping forward slowly, his eyes fixed on the stone.
There were markings carved into its surface—deep runes, old and worn, glowing faintly beneath the moss. Not in any language he recognized. Not even the system's interface tried to translate them.
He could feel something hum in his chest.
Not in his body… but in his soul.
"What is this?" he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.
Lyss approached beside him, her own mount standing still without command.
"One of the veil markers," she said, kneeling down and brushing aside the moss with a gloved hand. "There are three in total. This one is the first."
"The veil?"
"It's what hides the path we're going to. The runes are the locks. And you—" she looked up at him, eyes sharp "—might just be one of the keys."
Lucas stared at her for a second.
"Okay. Sure. Normal day."
He stepped closer to the stone, uncertain.
As his fingers brushed the surface, the runes flared.
A sudden pulse of violet light erupted from the markings, spreading in a slow ripple across the slab. Lucas staggered back instinctively, a pressure slamming into his chest—not painful, but deep. Like something had just touched him from inside.
The light faded just as quickly.
Lucas stood frozen.
Lyss didn't move.
"…That shouldn't have happened," she said quietly.
Lucas blinked.
"Great. Love that."
He turned to her slowly. "Wanna explain what that was?"
"I have a theory," she replied. "But we're not at the part where I share it."
"Of course we're not."
The stone now glowed faintly. The air felt lighter.
Almost like the land had acknowledged them.
Lyss stood, brushing her hands on her trousers.
"One down. Two to go."
Night fell, though it felt more like the darkness simply crept in and stayed.
The forest offered no stars, no moonlight. Just a deep, swallowing black that settled between the twisted branches above like a lid shutting tight over the world.
Lucas lay beneath a jagged tree with no leaves, wrapped in his cloak, his scythe summoned beside him like a ward. The fire Lyss had lit earlier was little more than embers now—deliberately small, barely enough to keep the cold at bay. Neither of them had spoken much since the rune stone.
Sleep didn't come easy.
The ground was too hard, the silence too loud, and his mind wouldn't shut up.
'Why the hell did that stone react to me?'
He turned onto his side and stared into the dark.
Somewhere nearby, Lyss slept, or pretended to.
Eventually, the weight of exhaustion forced his eyes to close.
And then—
He was standing.
But not in the forest.
It was the same clearing… but the trees were gone. The sky above was cracked like broken glass, bleeding streams of dark violet light into the void.
The rune stone stood in the center—whole now, shining like obsidian laced with molten silver.
And beside it… stood Shadow.
Tall. Cloaked. Silent.
The hood obscured any face, but Lucas felt its gaze like a pressure on his chest.
He couldn't move.
Couldn't speak.
Shadow didn't advance. Didn't threaten. It simply lifted a hand… and pointed to the stone.
Then, slowly, turned its hand toward Lucas.
'What do you want from me?'
No answer came. Only the unbearable stillness. And then—
Shadow vanished.
The dream snapped like a thread pulled too tight.
Lucas gasped awake, breath sharp, sweat cold on his neck.
The forest was still there.
The fire still crackled.
But everything around him felt… wrong. Tilted. Like the dream had left something behind.
He sat up, hand brushing his scythe.
In the darkness, he could barely make out Lyss's shape. She hadn't stirred.
'Was that… a warning?'
Or something else entirely?
He didn't sleep again.
The first pale hint of light filtered through the trees—though in this part of the Crucible, it barely passed for dawn.
Lucas sat upright, his back against the tree trunk. He hadn't slept since the dream. Not really. Just stared at the embers, eyes half-lidded, thoughts gnawing at him like wolves.
Lyss approached silently, her boots crunching softly over fallen leaves and dust.
"You're awake," she said.
Lucas looked up at her, eyes dull.
"Didn't sleep."
She studied him for a second. "You dreamed something."
It wasn't a question.
Lucas didn't answer.
Lyss didn't press.
Instead, she crouched beside the remains of the fire and tossed in a few sticks. Flames danced to life again, tiny and pale in the strange light of the region.
"We're close," she said finally, eyes locked on the flames. "The second veil marker is just beyond the ridge."
Lucas blinked.
He hadn't even realized they were that far already. The journey had blurred—twisted trees, silence, that feeling of being watched.
'We're close to something… I can feel it.'
Lyss stood.
"Eat. We move in ten."
Then she walked away toward the edge of the ridge, her figure vanishing briefly into the fog.
Lucas watched the fire for a long moment.
Then looked to the trail ahead.