Chapter 35 – Into the Veillands
The world changed the moment they crossed the Wraithroot Bridge—a crumbling stone span arching over a fog-choked ravine. The air grew colder. Sound dulled. Even light bent strangely, refusing to settle on solid ground.
Jean's senses sharpened instinctively, Radiant Fang pulsing at her side.
They had entered the Veillands.
The land was warped—trees with bark like bone, rivers that flowed backward, and hills that whispered names in the dark. Magic didn't behave properly here. Aura felt thinner, stretched, like breathing through cloth.
Whitney stalked beside Jean, his fur bristling. "This land remembers death. It remembers what your clan buried."
Silvia nodded grimly. "The Veillands were once sacred. Then your ancestors turned them into a battlefield."
They moved in silence for hours, cutting through spectral mists and the debris of ancient war. Half-buried swords littered the earth, fused with skeletal remains in twisted armor—some bearing the Luther crest, others bearing dragon bone.
At sunset, they reached the First Marker—a monolith carved in old Luther script.
Cassien traced the inscription. "'Here lies the first of the Seven Seals. Only blood may pass. Only light may guide.'" He turned to Jean. "That's you."
Jean stepped forward. The stone flared as she approached, glowing with a warm, golden hue.
"Jean Luther," she said aloud. "Emissary of Light. Daughter of the clan. I seek the blade of Martin Luther."
The seal cracked.
A hidden path opened—stairs spiraling down into the earth, lit by fireless torches that burned with Celestial flame.
As they descended, the air grew heavier, and the whispers began—voices of the dead, accusing, longing, remembering.
"You left us."
"You buried us."
"Your blood built a throne of silence."
Jean pressed on, heart steady. The others followed—except Kael, who muttered, "Remind me why I didn't stay back in Gildcrest?"
At the base of the stairs was a crypt-temple, its walls covered in murals of Martin Luther—slaying dragons, leading armies, weeping over fallen kin.
At the center: a trial circle, glowing faintly.
A spirit stood waiting.
Tall. Clad in silver armor. His face obscured by a helm bearing the Luther sunburst.
"I am Vaerin Luther, First Gatekeeper," the spirit intoned. "To pass, you must prove your will to carry the burden."
Jean drew her sword.
The spirit did the same.
"The trial begins."
---