The Black Hearth was silent, save for the faint pulsing within the stone veins carved into its walls. Malik stood before the dim light of a flickering lamp, his eyes sharp and unblinking. In his hand rested the remaining Ember Shards—the faintly humming fragments of the cursed sapphires he had stolen. The Keeper had taken most, yet these… these were different. Weak, but not entirely consumed.
Malik pressed one to the surface of his palm. It thrummed faintly, like a dying heartbeat.
> Shadow Veil, consume.
The whispers in his mind were no longer fleeting. Since his first brush with the Keeper, they lingered—a faint, incomprehensible murmuring at the edge of his perception. But this time, as he willed the Veil to respond, the shard melted into a faint black mist, which seeped into his veins. His body tensed; a faint cold spread across his wrist, then up his arm like ink creeping beneath the skin.
The world dimmed. His senses sharpened.
He saw the faint threads of energy around the vault's chamber—the flicker of a rat scurrying behind stone, the dying warmth of the lamp's flame. He even felt the presence of a weak lifeform above him—a beggar sleeping in a Driftshore alley.
> This is… sharper than before.
Shadow Veil was evolving. Slowly, yes, but undeniably. With every fragment consumed, his perception grew, like a spider weaving its first strands into a web.
But it was still insufficient.
Malik clicked his tongue. "Not enough. These scraps won't strengthen me further. I need a source. A true Anchor."
The Keeper had spoken of Anchors only in riddles—calling them "fragments of intent, buried where the Vein still breathes." Malik had pieced together enough from rumors and stolen fragments of old Driftshore lore. Somewhere beneath this rotting city was a Vein Node, an ancient site where the primordial Echo leaked into the mortal world. The old smugglers called it the "Whispering Vein."
If Malik wanted to climb beyond this pitiful power, he would have to descend into Driftshore's oldest catacombs—the Vein tunnels that even the city's criminal scum avoided.
---
He gathered his tools deliberately. A hooked blade coated in brine-oil, a rope treated with drying salt to repel the damp Vein residue, and a small bottle of spiced Driftshore liquor—useful for sterilizing wounds and for igniting fires if needed.
Before leaving, he glanced once more at the ledger of debts and informants on his table.
> Rin hasn't reported back yet. Either she's hiding, or someone silenced her. If Elara is already moving pieces in Driftshore… I'm running out of time.
He extinguished the lamp. The vault went dark.
---
The Driftshore catacombs were a labyrinth of sunken stone and broken sewage channels, older than any living soul could remember. The air there was thick, damp, and heavy with the scent of moss and decay. Malik descended carefully, every step echoing in a silence too dense to feel natural.
The Vein's hum was stronger here.
It was subtle at first, like a vibration behind the ears, but the deeper he went, the more it became… alive. A faint pulsation through the stone beneath his boots.
His Shadow Veil reacted. It unfurled slightly around his body, forming faint smoky tendrils at the edge of his vision. Malik allowed it, testing its behavior.
The Veil shivered.
> Caution, his instincts whispered. Something stirs ahead.
---
He reached the first collapsed archway, an old marker of the smuggler routes. Someone had marked the wall with salt chalk, a common Driftshore sign for "do not cross." Malik smirked.
> If they avoided it, it means it's worth my time.
He pushed through.
Beyond the arch was a narrow chamber, lit faintly by a strange blue-green glow. Malik crouched low, his steps silent as breath. There, coiled atop an eroded altar, was a Vein Beast.
It was small—no larger than a dog—but its body was fused with stone-like plates, its eyes glowing faintly like dying coals. Vein corruption had warped it beyond any natural form. Its jaws dripped with thick, black ichor.
Malik studied it carefully.
> It guards something.
Indeed, behind the beast, half-buried in rubble, was a faint crystal formation pulsing with the same dim light as his Shadow Veil. A fragment of an Anchor.
Malik's grip tightened on his blade.
---
The beast stirred. Its eyes locked on him instantly. No hesitation, no pause. It lunged.
Malik rolled aside, swift and precise. The creature's claws scraped stone where his neck had been a breath before. He pivoted, slashing low—not for a killing blow, but to test its reflexes. The blade skittered off its plated hide, leaving only a shallow mark.
The beast shrieked. Its body pulsed, veins of light crawling across its limbs. It lunged again, faster this time.
Malik exhaled. Calm. His Shadow Veil extended faintly, blurring his outline. The beast hesitated for half a heartbeat—confused.
That was all Malik needed.
He sidestepped, letting the momentum of the lunge carry it forward, and drove his hooked blade into the soft joint beneath its plated neck. Black ichor splattered. The beast thrashed violently, claws raking his arm.
Malik gritted his teeth. He twisted the blade, severing its vein channels. The beast convulsed once, then fell limp.
---
Malik crouched beside the carcass. Carefully, he extracted a Vein Core from its chest—a small, glowing organ still pulsing faintly.
> Not much power. But still useful.
He didn't consume it immediately. Instead, he tucked it away. Reckless consumption without preparation was what made fools die to their own Echo.
His focus shifted to the rubble behind the altar. Malik pried the stone apart, revealing the faintly pulsing Anchor fragment.
The moment his fingers brushed it, the world shifted.
---
For an instant, Malik was elsewhere.
The catacombs dissolved. He stood in a vast, drowned plain beneath an endless black ocean. Monolithic statues of drowned gods loomed in the distance, their eyes hollow and weeping dark water.
And in the center of it all… a figure. Cloaked. Watching.
"You are persistent," the voice echoed—layered, unhuman. "Yet you crawl blindly, thinking yourself clever."
The Keeper. Again.
Malik clenched his jaw. "You talk too much."
A faint laugh rippled through the drowned plain. "Take it, then. Take what you cannot comprehend. You will come to me regardless."
The vision snapped.
---
Malik gasped, back in the catacombs. The Anchor fragment was in his hand.
It was heavier than it looked, a jagged crystal with faint veins of black and silver threading through it. Its hum resonated with his own Vein, drawing the Shadow Veil tighter around his body.
> This… will let me form the first true step.
But before he could leave, a faint sound echoed from deeper in the catacombs.
Footsteps.
---
Malik melted into the shadows, pressing his back to the damp wall. His Shadow Veil thinned his presence, muffling even his faint breath.
From the darkness emerged a man clad in sea-worn armor, barnacles clinging to its edges. His eyes glowed faintly blue, his skin pallid like drowned flesh.
A Tidewalker.
Elara's cult had reached Driftshore already.
The Tidewalker moved with a strange stiffness, half-living, half-something else. It approached the altar, pausing at the carcass of the Vein Beast. It touched the ichor with two fingers, then slowly turned its head.
Directly toward Malik's hiding place.
---
The Tidewalker spoke. Its voice was hollow, like water echoing in a deep well.
"Thief of the Serpent's cargo… you carry what belongs to the Tide."
Malik didn't reply. He assessed.
The Tidewalker carried no visible weapon, but its fingers dripped faint Vein energy. A melee fighter. Fast. Durable.
Malik's options:
Attack first—risky, but might give him the edge
Retreat deeper—but there could be more Tidewalkers
Distract, then escape
> No… I can't run now. If I show weakness, the cult will swarm Driftshore.
Decision made. Malik moved.
---
He struck first, a swift, silent lunge. Blade aimed at the Tidewalker's throat.
But the cultist reacted with inhuman reflex. Its hand shot up, catching the blade mid-swing. The metal hissed as Vein corrosion spread along its edge.
Malik twisted, letting the blade go, and swept low with his other hand, a hidden dagger flashing toward the creature's gut. It connected—briefly—but the Tidewalker didn't flinch.
Instead, it gripped Malik's wrist. Hard. Bone creaked.
"Return the Anchor," it whispered.
Malik's Shadow Veil flared.
A burst of darkness enveloped them both, blinding the Tidewalker for half a breath. Malik wrenched free, darting sideways, grabbing the rope from his belt. He hooked it around a jagged stone and yanked it taut, tripping the creature as it lunged blindly toward him.
It stumbled. Just enough.
Malik snatched the Vein Core from his pouch and crushed it in his palm. The Echo burst outward, merging with his Shadow Veil, creating a momentary surge of speed.
He didn't waste it.
In a blur, he darted past the Tidewalker, blade in hand once more, and slashed through the joint of its neck.
The creature fell. Not dead—but disabled, ichor spraying in slow, sluggish arcs.
---
Malik didn't linger.
He retrieved his Anchor fragment, wiped his blade on the creature's sea-rotted armor, and vanished into the tunnels before it could rise again.
---
When he emerged from the catacombs hours later, the Driftshore air felt heavier.
The Anchor fragment pulsed faintly in his pack. He could feel it already drawing his Vein tighter, whispering new possibilities.
But more troubling than that was what the Tidewalker's presence meant.
> Elara is already here.
---
Back at the Black Hearth, Malik laid the Anchor fragment on the table. He stared at it for a long time, the faint glow reflected in his sharp, calculating eyes.
He had a choice.
Consume it now—gain immediate strength, but risk instability.
Or wait. Prepare. Gather more fragments. Build a foundation before taking the next step.
He exhaled slowly.
"Too many fools rush forward," Malik muttered. "I'll move carefully. Let Elara think she's ahead. Let the Keeper think I crawl blindly."
A faint smile curved his lips.
> In the end… I'll take it all.
The whispers in the Anchor fragment pulsed faintly in response.
And somewhere in the drowned depths, the Keeper laughed.