The storm broke sometime before dawn. Rain hammered the rooftops, turning the capital's stone veins into rivers of ash and grime. But beneath it all, down in the marrow of the Undercity, the world was still holding its breath.
Veyrion stood alone in the alley behind the Dust Widow Tavern, the stink of mildew and blood thick in the air. His coat clung to him, soaked. One hand rested loosely on the hilt of his left katana, but his stance wasn't loose. It was tight. Too still. Too calm.
Like the moment before a predator pounced.
The woman inside had left minutes ago, but her presence still lingered in the stone like poison in the lungs.
Aelira. She wasn't a ghost. Ghosts didn't speak your name in a voice that still knew how to hurt you.
And they didn't leave trails of blood across your city.
His left eye shimmered faintly, scanning the stone, the scent in the air, the vibrations still echoing in the tavern's bones.
Skill Analyzation Activated.
Magic: Death Imprint.
Essence Signature: Confirmed – Subject: Aelira Veyrienn.
Status: Unstable. Augmented. No longer fully Elven.
Threat Level: Unknown.
Veyrion's jaw clenched. The skill's cold voice in his mind gave no comfort.
She'd changed.
And whatever she was now… it wasn't something he could afford to underestimate.
Not again.
He stepped out into the rain, his boots slapping water as he moved through the Undercity like a shadow that didn't belong. Eyes watched him from cracks and corners, but none dared speak. Not when his face looked like a man walking with ghosts.
Later, Near the Southern Barricade
Torches flickered against soaked wood and rusted metal. The barricade was new—sloppy, panicked work by guards who weren't trained for what was coming.
Veyrion stared out beyond it, where the mist rolled like a living thing.
He didn't speak.
Didn't blink.
Didn't breathe.
His thoughts moved faster than any blade—breaking down the situation, layer by layer, threat by threat. He saw it all: the weak points in the defense, the shifting patterns of power inside the council, the silent screams in the guards' posture.
Everything was falling apart.
And the worst part?
He knew this wasn't the start.
It was a continuation.
Aelira's return was the spark—but someone had been stacking the powder beneath the city for years.
Elsewhere – Deep in the Wastes Beyond the Kingdom
Snow fell. Not the soft kind, but the kind that cut skin and whispered old names.
A figure crouched in the ruins of an ancient outpost, bones poking through the snow like jagged teeth. Their cloak was black. Their eyes were hollow. They spoke without moving their lips.
"He is waking up."
Behind them, a circle of robed silhouettes kneeled. Their chants were low, hungry.
The figure lifted a shard of obsidian crystal, its core pulsing with red light.
"The mana sealed within him must remain dormant. If the AI fully awakens…"
They paused.
"…the world resets. Again."
Back in the Capital – Veyrion's Quarters
The room was simple. Weapons lined the walls. A cracked mirror stood untouched in the corner. He never looked at himself in it. Not since that night.
Veyrion sat at his desk, a thick folder of gate logs open in front of him. His eyes moved faster than the average soldier could track. Page after page, he tore through names, patterns, inconsistencies.
Then he stopped.
One name.
Written in ink that shimmered faintly under his left eye's scan.
Not a person.
A code.
"Sundown Protocol – Cleared for Level 7 Priority."
He swore under his breath.
Only three people in the entire kingdom had that level of clearance.
And he wasn't one of them.
To Be Continued…