The tear in the wall didn't make a sound when it opened—it just appeared. A slow shimmer that pulled apart the surface of stone like it had never really been solid to begin with.
And from that quiet opening, something stepped through.
It looked like a man, if you squinted. But only just.
No robe. No mask. No attempt to hide or decorate. Just skin that looked like blackened bark, rough and ridged in some places, smooth and polished in others.
It didn't move like flesh. It moved like something carved—precise, silent, a little too smooth.
Symbols ran straight down his spine, not painted or drawn but burned in, like scars left by something old and searing, now long gone but not forgotten.
One of the veiled figures took a step back, more out of instinct than fear. Not submission, not worship.
Just the kind of stillness that comes when something bigger than you walks into the room.
"Lord Veleth," the figure said quietly.
