Chapter 1: Rain That Fell Too Late
The storm had passed, but the streets of Ydrael still shimmered with its ghost.
Sol Veyne walked through the puddles like a man trying not to drown in shallow water. Each footstep echoed—too loud, too alone. His coat was damp. The back of his head still throbbed where he'd woken up, and the strange encounter in the alley hadn't left his mind.
That shadow.That name.That voice.
It called him Pactbearer—a word that meant nothing to him, yet made something deep in his bones tighten.
He glanced down at his hands. Faint lines, almost like burned-in sigils, curled along his right palm. They weren't there earlier. He could swear it.
"...what the hell's happening to me?"
No answer came—only the rustle of wet banners and the distant toll of a broken bell tower.
Ydrael was a city of ruins pretending to be whole. Some buildings stood tall, ancient and dignified. Others leaned like drunkards, whispering secrets to the streets. Every corner had a statue that seemed too lifelike. Every alley felt like it remembered things people shouldn't.
As Sol wandered, he began noticing the signs.
A glyph scrawled in ash across a rusted door.
A vagrant mumbling about "threads unraveling."
A black bird with too many eyes, perched above a street sign that flickered between names.
He stopped in front of a worn notice board. Torn papers, some wet and unreadable, clung to the wood.
But one stood out.New. Not soaked. As if waiting for him.
"TRIAL NOTICE: INDUCTION OF A NEW PACTBEARER"Location: Tier Three – Hall of Ink and FlameTime: Sundown. Attendance mandatory for initiates.Failure to comply is grounds for forfeiture.
Sol read it three times.
His name wasn't on it. But the paper… it watched him. Just like the voice in the alley. Just like the stitched-faced shadow.
That night, he found shelter in an abandoned library. The building was collapsed at one end, and the books were mostly rotted, but the warmth of dry pages and dust was better than rain.
He sat cross-legged by an overturned desk, staring at his reflection in a broken shard of glass.
"Sol Veyne," he whispered to himself.
The name still felt strange.
Not wrong.Just… borrowed.
"You've crossed the first Thread," the voice had said.
What did that even mean?
And what was a Trial? What was a Pactbearer? Why him?
His head throbbed again.
He gritted his teeth and rubbed his temple—and that's when he felt it.
A flicker under his skin. A movement.Like something old had stirred inside him.
Not pain. Not fear.
Power.Wrong power.
"Find the Hall. Or you'll be unmade."
The voice wasn't coming from outside anymore.
It was whispering from within.