The morning air was crisp against my skin as I stepped out of the inn, the weight of last night's revelation pressing heavily on my chest. The streets of Luthadel were already alive with movement—merchants setting up their stalls, travelers preparing to set out on their journeys, and the ever-present hum of conversation drifting through the air. But I wasn't interested in any of it.
I had one destination in mind.
The Moonlit Hollow.
The red-light district.
I moved with purpose, my boots clicking against the cobblestone streets, my mind a storm of tangled thoughts. Veylara's words still echoed in my head, a constant whisper just beneath the surface of my consciousness.
Find me, Azrael.
She had never called me that before—not like it was a name that truly belonged to me. Not like it was something ancient, something older than my past life itself.
How many lives have I lived?
The question gnawed at me, a slow, insidious thing creeping through my thoughts. If Azrael wasn't my first life, then how far did the cycle go? How many times had I lived, fought, and died only to be reborn with no memory of it? And why?
I clenched my jaw, my hands curling into fists. I needed answers. And if anyone in this city had them, it would be Sylfaen.
The moment I crossed the threshold into the Moonlit Hollow, the atmosphere shifted.
The streets narrowed, lanterns bathing the walkways in a warm, intoxicating glow. The air was thick with perfume, spiced incense curling in wisps through the cool morning air. The sound of distant laughter and soft melodies played by unseen musicians drifted through the alleys, a song meant to lure the lonely and desperate into the arms of those who made a living off pleasure.
The fox and wolf beastkin ruled this place. Their presence was everywhere—lounging on balconies, slipping through the shadows in silken robes, tails flicking playfully as they whispered sweet promises to passersby.
A few eyes turned toward me as I walked deeper into the district. Some watched with curiosity, others with amusement. A few murmured my name—Voidbane Seraph—like it was some exotic title, a legend that had wandered into their domain.
I ignored them.
I wasn't here for them.
A pair of foxkin women draped in gossamer-thin robes stepped into my path, their tails swaying behind them. Their sapphire and amber eyes flicked over me, their smiles practiced and knowing.
"Looking a little lost, sweetheart," one of them purred, reaching out to lightly trail her fingers over my shoulder. "Or maybe you're exactly where you need to be?"
I gently brushed her hand off. "I'm looking for Sylfaen."
The shift was immediate.
The teasing smiles didn't falter, but there was something new behind their gazes now—an appraisal, as if they were re-evaluating my presence.
The second woman tilted her head, fox ears twitching. "The Sylfaen? My, my… you must be an interesting one."
I crossed my arms, my patience wearing thin. "Where is she?"
The first woman giggled, stepping aside as she gestured down the street. "Up ahead, darling. The Foxglove Den. But do be careful. The Madam doesn't take kindly to uninvited guests."
I nodded and walked past them without another word.
As I approached the Foxglove Den, the weight in my chest only grew heavier. The building was as grand as I remembered—its entrance framed by deep crimson drapes, the scent of exotic spices and lingering perfume wrapping around me like an embrace.
I stepped inside, and the world shifted again.
The lighting was dim, golden lanterns casting shadows that flickered like ghosts against the walls. The air was thick with the hum of conversation, low laughter, and the quiet rustle of silk against skin. Courtesans lounged on plush cushions, their eyes flicking toward me with mild interest as I moved deeper into the establishment.
And then—her.
Sylfaen.
She sat at the far end of the main hall, reclined on a cushioned divan, her nine silver-tipped tails lazily draped over the edge. Her hair was the color of spun moonlight, cascading down her back in waves, her vulpine ears twitching slightly as she toyed with the stem of a delicate glass filled with some deep red liquid.
Her gaze lifted the moment I stepped forward, those piercing violet eyes locking onto me with something between amusement and intrigue.
"Well," she murmured, voice like silk. "The Voidbane Seraph graces my hall. And here I thought you'd never come back."
I exhaled sharply, steadying myself.
"I need answers."
Sylfaen smirked, setting her glass down as she leaned forward slightly, the glow of the lanterns casting her face in a mix of shadow and light.
"Do you now?" She tapped a single clawed finger against the table beside her. "Then by all means, sit."
I did.
Sylfaen watched me for a long moment before she spoke again, her voice laced with something knowing.
"You're looking for something, aren't you?"
I clenched my fists beneath the table. "You already know what."
Her lips curled into a slow, lazy smile. "Of course I do, darling. But I want to hear you say it."
I inhaled deeply. "Veylara's tomb."
The room seemed to darken.
Sylfaen's expression didn't change, but something in the air shifted.
She leaned in slightly, her tails swaying behind her in slow, deliberate arcs.
"Ah," she breathed. "So that's where this road is leading you."
I narrowed my eyes. "You know where it is."
Sylfaen exhaled a quiet laugh. "No, dear boy. But I know where to start looking."
I remained silent, waiting.
She tilted her head, studying me. "Tell me… how much are you really willing to give up for this truth?"
My jaw tightened. "As much as it takes."
Sylfaen's violet eyes gleamed.
"Oh, Noctis," she whispered, almost affectionately. "That's exactly what she wants to hear."
Something cold curled down my spine.
Sylfaen knew something.
Something I didn't.
And I was beginning to think I wasn't going to like the answer.
Sylfaen's violet eyes gleamed with something unreadable, her nine silver-tipped tails flicking lazily behind her as she studied me. I felt like prey under the gaze of a predator, caught in a game I didn't fully understand. The weight of the past few days pressed against my ribs like a vice, and for the first time since stepping into the Foxglove Den, I considered walking away.
But I couldn't.
Not when I was this close.
I leaned forward slightly, keeping my voice steady. "What do you mean by that?"
Sylfaen's lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk. "Oh, Noctis… you already know the answer, don't you?" She rested her chin on one hand, her sharp nails tapping against the polished wood of the table. "She's been whispering to you since you were a child. Guiding you. Shaping you. Did you really think she didn't have an endgame?"
A pulse of frustration burned in my chest. "Veylara—"
"Veylara is not just some forgotten relic waiting for you to unearth her," Sylfaen interrupted smoothly, her voice dipped in amusement. "She's the Queen of the Void. And if there's one thing I know about queens, Noctis…" Her gaze sharpened. "They never kneel without a reason."
I felt my pulse stutter.
I had known Veylara was powerful. I had known she was feared. But the way Sylfaen spoke of her—like a force of nature, an inevitability—it unsettled something deep in my bones.
"She's leading you to her tomb," Sylfaen continued, tilting her head. "And you're following, blind and trusting. Like a hound chasing a scent. But ask yourself, why?"
A muscle in my jaw tightened. "Because she's been locked away for centuries."
Sylfaen's smirk widened, but there was no humor in it. "And you think that was an accident?"
The room felt smaller.
I tried to push down the unease clawing at my gut, but it was becoming harder to ignore. Veylara had always painted herself as the victim—sealed away by those who feared her, betrayed by those she trusted.
But what if that wasn't the full story?
What if she had been locked away because she needed to be?
Sylfaen leaned back, watching the storm behind my eyes with the patience of a creature who had seen this play out before. "You've already made your choice, haven't you? To see this through, no matter what it takes."
I nodded once, slow and deliberate. "Yes."
Her tails swayed, an almost thoughtful gesture. "Then I'll tell you where to start."
A pause.
"The last known whispers of Veylara's tomb speak of a place lost between time and memory. A ruin hidden across the five great continents, where the threads of reality are weakest." She exhaled softly, her violet eyes gleaming in the dim light. "But I have reason to believe that its entrance—the path leading to it—can be found in The Veil of the Forgotten."
The name sent a chill down my spine.
A land shrouded in mist, where time bled like an open wound and reality twisted on itself. A place where those who entered were often never seen again.
Sylfaen must have noticed my reaction because her smirk softened into something almost… fond. "Careful, Noctis. Once you step into the Veil, you may not step out the same."
I exhaled sharply, forcing the tension from my shoulders. "I'll take my chances."
Sylfaen's expression turned almost pitying. "Oh, I know you will."
I pushed away from the table, the weight of her words settling like iron in my bones. My mind was racing, already running through the logistics of the journey, the preparations we would need to make.
But before I could leave, Sylfaen spoke one last time.
"Do tell Veylara I said hello," she mused, her voice light, but her eyes sharp. "I imagine she's listening even now."
I stiffened.
A cold breath caressed the back of my neck, featherlight but unmistakable.
Sylfaen chuckled, clearly enjoying the way my body went rigid.
I didn't turn around.
Instead, I walked out of the Foxglove Den and into the cool night air, where the city lights of Luthadel shimmered like dying embers against the horizon.
I needed to think.
I needed to talk to her.
And for the first time in years, I wasn't sure if I wanted to hear what she had to say.
The moment I stepped into the cool night air of Luthadel, I felt her.
A presence. A whisper in the void.
It didn't matter that I couldn't see her, that the streets were alive with the soft glow of lanterns and the distant hum of revelry. She was there, lingering at the edges of my awareness, just as she always had been.
But this time, something was different.
A faint chill ghosted along my spine, curling around my thoughts like silk spun from darkness.
"So that's where she's been hiding…" Veylara's voice seeped into my mind, a velvet murmur laced with intrigue. "Sylfaen. I should have known she'd find her way here, nestled within the filth and decadence of mortals."
I stopped mid-step, standing motionless in the alley, letting my breath even out. My pulse still carried the remnants of the conversation from before, but Veylara's tone… It was different now. Not the usual sultry amusement or the calculated persuasion she so often wielded like a blade.
No.
This was recognition.
"You know her," I said, keeping my voice low as I resumed walking, making my way down the winding streets. I kept my hands in my pockets, my movements deliberate—calm, despite the storm churning in my mind. "And not just as some old legend."
"I remember her now," Veylara admitted, and I could hear the slow, measured weight behind her words. "A being like me… but lesser. A shard of something ancient, something given shape by the will of another. She was favored by 'him.'"
I paused, my brows knitting together.
"Him?"
Silence.
The kind of silence that stretched like a chasm, as if even the void itself hesitated to speak.
Veylara was never hesitant. Never quiet without intent.
And yet, now…
I pressed on, my voice firmer. "Who is 'him,' Veylara?"
A low, almost imperceptible hum followed, something dark curling at the edges of her tone.
"A name you are not yet ready to know," she murmured, evasive. "Not yet. Not now."
I clenched my jaw, irritation flickering beneath my skin. "That's not an answer."
"No, it's a mercy."
The words came smoothly, but there was something… distant about them. For the first time in a long time, I heard something strange in her voice—something close to… restraint.
That alone made my pulse quicken.
"You think I can't handle it?"
"Noctis," she exhaled, almost like a sigh. "You are already burdened by truths that should have remained buried. Another will only weigh you further into the depths, and I do not intend to lose you before I am free."
I stopped walking.
Something about the way she said it—the way she acknowledged that she was keeping things from me—dug its claws into my gut.
She always manipulated, always spoke in ways that turned my mind against itself, but this?
This was different.
This wasn't a game.
This was fear.
Not for herself.
For me.
And that was far, far more unsettling than anything she had ever told me before.
I exhaled slowly, shoving a hand through my hair. "Sylfaen mentioned something," I muttered, half to myself. "That you were locked away for a reason. That maybe you weren't the victim you claim to be."
The words settled between us like a blade pressed against a throat.
"You believe her?"
I hesitated.
Because I didn't know.
I had spent years trusting Veylara, listening to her whispers, letting her guide me even when I didn't fully understand where she was leading me.
But now?
Now doubt crept in like frost on glass, thin cracks forming where once there had been certainty.
Veylara was dangerous—I had always known that. But was she truly a prisoner of fate? Or was she something far worse?
She didn't answer immediately. And when she did, her voice was quieter, heavier than before.
"I have never lied to you, Noctis."
And yet, she didn't deny it.
I could feel her presence shifting, coiling around me, unseen but impossibly close.
"I told you once that you were special," she whispered, softer now, almost… affectionate. "That you were unlike any who came before you. But even I did not realize the extent of it until now. Until that girl's presence dragged old memories to the surface."
My jaw tightened. "Sylfaen."
"Yes," she admitted. "She was chosen by 'him,' granted a place among the eternal cycle while I was cast into the abyss. I despised her for it. Perhaps I still do."
I frowned. "And yet, she spoke like she pitied you."
Veylara laughed. A breath of amusement tinged with something sharper, something bitter. "Let them pity me. It will not change what is coming."
I shook my head, my fingers clenching at my sides. "And what exactly is coming, Veylara?"
Another pause.
Then, a whisper.
"The end of all things."
The words sent a slow, cold ripple down my spine.
I should have questioned her more, should have demanded answers—but before I could even open my mouth, her presence began to slip away, like sand through my fingers.
"Wait—"
"Not yet, Noctis," she murmured, a teasing lilt returning to her voice, though I could hear the undercurrent of something more solemn beneath it. "Soon, you will remember. Until then, follow the path you've set upon. And do not trust so blindly, not even in me."
And just like that—she was gone.
I exhaled, long and slow, staring up at the night sky above Luthadel, the city lights flickering like dying embers against the void.
The weight in my chest had not lifted. If anything, it had only grown heavier.
Veylara was keeping things from me.
Sylfaen knew more than she let on.
And somewhere, lurking in the shadows of forgotten history—there was a him.
And if he had chosen Sylfaen…
Then what, exactly, had chosen me?