Elias hadn't slept.
Not really.
The body rested, but the mind churned like a maelstrom. Arden's warning played on repeat in his head, and the words carved on that torn parchment burned behind his eyes.
The vessel must bear the mark.
That was him. He knew it. The mark was no longer just a scar—it pulsed now, glowing faintly in the dark like a second heartbeat etched into his chest.
He stood shirtless before a foggy mirror, the lines of the brand twisting like molten veins over his skin. It hadn't looked like this in Elyndros. There, it was dormant—nothing more than a badge of completion, a mark of a soul that had survived too much.
But here?
In this world?
It was alive.
---
The veil was never meant to be crossed twice.
It was ancient, older than most gods. A membrane between realities, maintained by balance, sacrifice, and blood. Those who passed through it once were marked forever—changed in ways that even time couldn't undo.
Elias had crossed it willingly.
And the veil remembered.
It welcomed him back. Or perhaps… it never let him go.
In Elyndros, they called him "Worldbreaker"—not for destruction, but because he'd achieved what no one had: returned. With power. With memory. And now, the cost of that feat was bleeding through.
Elias glanced at his wall—covered now in clippings, scribbled notes, coordinates, and symbols only he could decipher. He was building a map. Not of geography, but of cracks. Veil fractures.
He circled one location: Hollow Creek Psychiatric Facility. Abandoned. Rumored to be haunted.
His source? A journal recovered from the crawler's corpse. A journal that spoke of rituals, forgotten gods, and "the man with black fire in his veins."
Him.
They were summoning him before he even returned.
---
He needed answers.
And power.
---
Magic in this world didn't obey the same rules as in Elyndros. There, it was a science—runes, mana circuits, incantations etched into bone and will. But here? It was wilder. Untamed. Like radio static—everywhere, but hard to tune.
Elias had adapted. He'd had to.
He built a personal system: a blend of Elyndrian precision and Earth's chaotic energy. He called it Veilweaving—the act of bending reality's seams by channeling memories, emotion, and ancient code.
Runes still worked—but only when tied to significant meaning.
Weapons bonded through blood—Elias's blade, Veyrion, now pulsed with dual energy: forged in a land of gods, reforged in a world of men.
Abilities like Emberstep, Seer's Echo, and Soulburn had all evolved. Slower to cast, harder to channel—but deadlier.
And they were growing. Like his mark.
Like something was… feeding them.
---
Afternoon turned into twilight, and Elias walked the cracked road toward Hollow Creek.
The facility loomed on the horizon—five stories of broken windows, rusted gates, and forgotten silence. Trees bent unnaturally around it, and the air held a sharp static hum. It was a veil fracture, no doubt.
He stepped inside.
The scent hit him first. Mold. Blood. Old metal.
But beneath that—sulfur.
The smell of summoning.
The walls were scribbled with red chalk, and at the center of the main lobby stood a small altar. Animal bones arranged in spirals. Candles long burned down. Blood, recent, still drying.
Elias knelt beside it and placed his fingers on the floor.
He whispered a trigger phrase: "Reveal the wound."
His mark lit up, and so did the room.
The walls shimmered, and for just a second, reality peeled back.
He saw the fracture.
A jagged rift in the middle of the air, like a tear in the fabric of space. On the other side—shadows. Dozens of them. Waiting. Sniffing.
Watching.
And then—
> "You shouldn't be here alone."
The voice came from behind.
Elias stood, blade in hand instantly. Arden stepped out of the shadows, dressed in black, holding a glowing crystal in his palm.
"You're tracking fractures," Elias said.
"More like trying to contain them."
Elias narrowed his eyes. "You weren't honest before."
Arden gave a tired smile. "I wasn't lying, just… careful. There are factions, Elias. Groups that know about the veil. Some worship what's on the other side. Others—like me—try to hold the line."
Elias looked at the rift. "And what are you planning to do? Seal it?"
Arden's smile faded. "Too late for that. You opened it just by being here."
Elias didn't flinch.
"But," Arden continued, "you can control it. Shape it. You're the only one who's crossed and returned. That mark of yours? It's not a curse. It's a key."
The rift pulsed. Shadows began to twist.
"We don't have much time," Arden said, stepping forward. "You want revenge. I want survival. Help me stabilize this—and I'll help you find who summoned the first crawler."
That got Elias's attention.
"Fine," he said. "But after this, you tell me everything."
Arden nodded.
Together, they knelt, each taking a side of the rift.
Arden placed the crystal at its base. "Repeat after me."
The chant was ancient. Elias recognized parts of it from the Codex of Null. Words to bind, to contain—not to destroy.
They chanted in tandem.
The air grew heavier. The shadows screamed.
The rift began to seal.
But before it closed fully—one shadow slipped through.
It landed with a heavy crunch.
Its shape was wrong.
Human… but not.
It stood slowly, twitching. Bones cracked where they shouldn't. Limbs bent backwards.
Elias stepped forward.
"No more talk."
He lifted Veyrion, and the runes along its edge burned gold.
Then he charged.
---