The air outside the chapel was colder than before. Night had settled completely over Sundermere, and the village—already lifeless—now felt like a graveyard. Not a soul stirred. Even the wind seemed afraid to pass through.
Aric leaned against the chapel wall, trying to steady his breath. The Emberblade's fire had dimmed, but it still hummed softly in his grip. The heat from the clash lingered in his bones, like ash after a firestorm.
Maelis stood a few steps away, eyes fixed on the dark tree outside the chapel. His knuckles were white around the hilt of his sword. "That thing… It wasn't human."
"It wasn't," Aric said quietly. "It knew me. Knew the sword."
"It also called it a mistake." Maelis turned to face him. "What does that mean, Aric? What are we walking into?"
Aric didn't answer right away. His thoughts were spinning, not just from the creature's words, but from the way the fire inside him had reacted—so fast, so violently. It wasn't just power. It was instinct. Like something ancient inside him had woken up.
The old man in the chapel hadn't moved since the attack. He was still kneeling, staring at the floor like it held the answers no one wanted to speak aloud.
Aric walked back inside, his footsteps echoing off the stone.
"You knew it would come," he said to the old man. "That's why everyone ran."
The old man didn't look up. "The moment I saw your blade, I knew it would follow. Fire calls to shadow."
"You said Sundermere was lost," Aric said. "But we're still breathing."
"For now," the man replied. "But that thing wasn't here for you alone. It's searching. Testing the edges of the world. And you've drawn its gaze."
Maelis entered behind them. "What is it? What is the Veil really?"
The old man's voice was hollow. "They were once like you. Bearers of gifts—powerful, blessed by the ancient elements. But they wanted more. They reached deeper than they were meant to. And something reached back."
He finally looked up, eyes distant.
"They gave themselves to it. Lost their names. Their souls. Now they're nothing but vessels."
"So that shadow," Aric said, "was one of them?"
The old man nodded. "The first wave. The hunters. They come to weaken the light—to extinguish the last sparks."
Maelis let out a slow breath. "And we're the spark."
"No," the man said, turning his eyes to Aric. "He is."
The silence was heavy.
Then, as if feeling the weight of prophecy pressing in, Aric sheathed the Emberblade and stepped outside again. The village hadn't changed, but it felt smaller now. Like the moment he'd raised the sword, the world had started to close around him.
Maelis followed. "You alright?"
"I don't know," Aric admitted.
Maelis nodded. "Fair."
They walked together down the path toward the stream. Aric knelt by the water and splashed some on his face. The cold helped, but only a little.
"Do you ever think," Aric said slowly, "that maybe I'm not meant to carry this?"
Maelis crouched beside him. "Honestly? Yeah. All the time. But you are carrying it. That's what matters."
Aric let out a bitter laugh. "Great encouragement."
"You're welcome."
They stood in silence for a moment before Maelis added, "The old man said the Veil lost their souls. You haven't. That's the difference."
Aric looked at his reflection in the water. For a split second, he thought he saw something else in the stream—eyes that weren't his, burning too brightly.
He blinked.
Gone.
But it left him with a question he didn't dare speak out loud.
What if the fire wanted something more than just to protect?
What if it wanted control?
He stood and faced Maelis. "We need to leave at first light."
"
Where to?"
Aric's grip on the hilt tightened. "Wherever the next shadow is."