Night draped Dawncrest in shadows, silver moonlight spilling over cobblestone streets and the distant academy walls. Gareth walked alone, restless, drawn by something he could not name. The echoes of the previous trials lingered in his veins, a low hum of dark energy, pulsing like a heartbeat.
His feet carried him farther than he intended, through twisting alleys and past crumbling gates, until the Forbidden Ruins rose before him. Blackened stone, engraved with forgotten runes, jutted from the earth like skeletal fingers. The air hummed with a presence older than any mortal memory.
Gareth paused. His mark pulsed, faintly glowing. Veilbound Root… Stage 2… barely controlled. But something here is speaking to it.
A ripple of air, then a figure emerged. It was massive, yet its form shimmered, half-light, half-shadow. Eyes like molten gold burned into his, and its voice carried like thunder through the ruins.
"You… carry the mark," the being said. Its tone was both curious and hungry. "The forgotten energy of the gods, bleeding into mortal veins. Why have you come here, child?"
"I came because I was bored," Gareth said bluntly, stepping closer. Shadows curled around him, dark energy responding to his pulse. "And because I like finding things that might try to kill me."
The god's laughter shook the ruins. "Bold. Foolish. Entertaining. You feel the Veil… but you barely control it. Why should I grant you power?"
Gareth's gaze flicked across the ruins, taking in fragments of old inscriptions, faint echoes of divine wars, and relics humming with residual energy. Then, carefully, he spoke:
"Because I can use it. I will use it. And I'm not asking for a share of your essence. I just… want to learn. To be stronger. To survive. To… dominate."
The god tilted its head, intrigued. "Dominate…? You are mortal. Mortals cannot command gods. You would bind yourself to my will—do you understand what you ask?"
"I understand perfectly," Gareth said, voice calm. "But I'm offering a trade. I take what I need, and you remain here, free of my interference… bound to me in return."
The god's eyes narrowed, sparks of divine fire flickering in its form. "You… dare? You would make me your servant?"
"Why not? Want to stay here locked up forever or want to come with me and understand this world " Gareth said with a grin, stepping closer. His dark energy flared, not violently, but like a tide pressing against the shore.
"You want to be acknowledged, remembered… worshipped. I can give you that. In return, I gain your guidance, your power, your… history."
The god laughed again, low and reverberating. "A mortal commanding a forgotten god… amusing."
"Amusing but true," Gareth said. "I've seen centuries of gods come and go. I've faced illusions that made lesser men beg for death.
I've survived while others failed. You can test me, of course—but when I succeed, we both gain. And if I fail…" He let the words hang in the air. "I die, and you remain forgotten. Safe. But I won't fail."
A tense silence stretched across the ruins. Then, slowly, the god bowed its head—not in submission, but in acknowledgment.
"Very well, mortal," it said. "I will lend you my strength, but only because I am curious… and because your ambition appeals to me. Speak the binding words, and the contract is sealed."
Gareth smiled faintly, his mind sharp. He traced a subtle pattern in the air, fingers glowing as the Veilbound Root responded. Words older than history formed on his lips—half truth, half Veil trickery.
The god's form shimmered, binding itself to Gareth's will. Its essence poured subtly into him, strengthening his Veilbound Root. His mark pulsed, glowing brighter, steady for the first time.
"I am aware," Gareth whispered, sensing the god's essence intertwining with his Veilbound energy. "And you… are mine now."
The god's eyes flared, shock and recognition passing across its expression. "Impossible…"
"Not impossible," Gareth said calmly. "Clever."
A pulse of energy radiated outward, shaking the ruins, illuminating centuries of forgotten carvings and divine remnants. Gareth felt it surge through him: Rooted Awareness. Stage 3 of Veilbound Root, stable, attuned—not only to his own cursed mark, but to the lingering echoes of divine power around him.
The god bowed fully, powerless to resist the clever mortal. "I am bound… yet I am intrigued. What will you do with me, child?"
"Teach me. Guide me. Show me the old powers and the hidden ways of the Gods' Era. And then…" Gareth's eyes glinted with quiet malice. "…we see who serves whom in the long run."
The ruins fell silent. Even the stones seemed to hold their breath. Gareth turned toward the path leading back to the Academy, shadowy energy flickering along his mark.
The god's voice whispered from behind him, low and begrudging:
"Very well, mortal… I am yours, but remember this—nothing from the Gods' Era is without consequence."
Gareth smirked. "I don't plan to forget."
And with that, he stepped into the night, stronger, sharper, and more dangerous than ever before. The first stage of true mastery had begun—not gifted freely, but earned through wit, cunning, and ambition.
The morning sun spilled over the high glass windows of Dawncrest Academy, golden light cutting through the lingering mist of the early hour. Gareth's boots echoed softly on the stone corridors as he returned from his solitary walk. The air still hummed faintly, shadows dancing around him as though acknowledging a presence far older than the Academy itself.
His mark pulsed steadily, calmer now, yet alive—Rooted Awareness. The first true mastery of Stage 3 Veilbound Root.
Students murmured as he passed, giving him wide berth. Whispers trailed him, but Gareth barely noticed. His mind was elsewhere, still tasting the power gifted—or bound—to him by the Forgotten God.
By the time he reached the classroom, the room was buzzing with the low chatter of students. The teacher, a tall figure cloaked in deep blue robes, stood at the head of the class, staff resting lightly against the floor. His silver eyes scanned the room, stopping briefly on Gareth.
"Quiet," he commanded, and the murmurs fell instantly. "Today, we discuss the foundation of your Veilbound Power: Veilbound Root. Every practitioner begins here. Understand it well, for it determines the shape of all your future growth."
Gareth settled into his seat, fists resting lightly on the desk, the warmth of sunlight glinting off the faint glow of his mark.
The teacher began, voice calm but precise:
"Stage 1 – Sparked Touch. The first awakening of Veilbound energy. The spark in your veins, a whisper of power you may barely perceive. All begins here, though it is fleeting."
He waved his hand, and a small flame hovered above his palm, flickering and shifting like a living thing. The students leaned forward, some taking notes, others wide-eyed.
"Stage 2 – Faint Manifestation. Energy begins to show externally. Simple movements, minor effects. Many falter here, overwhelmed by what they cannot yet control."
A shard of stone floated lightly into the air, suspended, trembling with faint light. Gareth's mark twitched subtly at the demonstration, recognition flickering in his mind.
"Stage 3 – Rooted Awareness. Here, the practitioner gains control over internal energy, stabilizing it and sensing Veil forces around them. This stage is crucial. Without awareness, your powers are erratic, dangerous… and sometimes lethal to yourself."
Gareth's chest tightened. This was him. The Forgotten God's contract had pushed him to this very stage. The shadows around him seemed to shift slightly, as if nodding in approval.
"Stage 4 – Stabilized Pulse. Energy control strengthens, allowing influence over the environment. This stage is often a turning point; a practitioner begins to leave a mark on the world around them, for better or worse."
The teacher's hands traced runes in the air, and faint pulses of energy spread along the classroom walls.
"Stage 5 – Veil Resonance. The practitioner begins attuning to other Veil forms. Interaction with the elements, relics, or even echoes of ancient powers becomes possible. Few mortals ever reach this stage without guidance from forces beyond themselves."
Gareth's mind flickered back to the Forbidden Ruins. The relics, the whispers, the shards of divine energy he had sensed—this was what the teacher spoke of.
"Stage 6 – Rooted Mastery. Full control over Veilbound Root. The practitioner may initiate higher-stage techniques, combine with Dualism Spectrum, or manipulate the very quintessences themselves. Rare… dangerous… godlike in potential."
A hush fell over the class. Even the most confident students shifted in their seats, feeling the weight of centuries of power compressed into these six stages. Gareth's mark glowed faintly stronger, the pulse steady, powerful, anchored.
The teacher's eyes swept the room. "Do not mistake stage 3 as the limit. It is merely the beginning. Those who grasp it will find themselves at a crossroads—paths leading to greatness, or ruin. Power untempered is a curse. Power mastered… is destiny."
Gareth's mind wandered. The contract, the God's voice, the pulse of the Veil in his veins… he was no longer the same boy who had walked into the Academy yesterday.
From across the room, Kael's eyes narrowed, catching the subtle change—the calm, the stability, the faint divine resonance lingering around Gareth. A flicker of unease crossed his face, quickly masked by composure.
Lyra, leaning against the back wall, grinned faintly. "Look at you," she whispered to herself, noticing the subtle aura of control. "All grown up and dangerous already."
Gareth ignored her teasing. His thoughts were already elsewhere—toward the ruins, the echoes of the Gods, the power now firmly Rooted within him.
The teacher's final words lingered in the air:
"Mastery begins with awareness. Never forget: the Veil listens, and the Veil remembers. You are now awake. Choose carefully what you do with what you have gained."
Gareth left the classroom with quiet determination. The sun rose higher, casting long shadows across the courtyard. The world felt… different. Larger. Older. Far older than any mortal history could hold.
And in the quiet of his mind, the voice of the Forgotten God whispered once more:
"You are no longer a boy of the Academy. You are the beginning of something greater… or the herald of something terrible."
Gareth clenched his fists. A faint ember of excitement flickered in his chest.
The courtyard was quieter than usual, golden light catching on the white-stone arches of the Academy. Gareth leaned against the shadow of a column, mind still heavy with the echo of the god's voice. His mark pulsed faintly beneath his sleeve, steady and calm.
"You've been brooding again."
The voice came lazy, amused. Lyra dropped down from the arch above, boots clattering against the stone as she landed gracefully in front of him. A smirk tugged at her lips, eyes gleaming with mischief.
Gareth didn't flinch. "I wasn't brooding. I was thinking."
"Thinking, brooding—same thing when it comes to you," she said, circling him like a cat sizing up prey. "You sit there, staring off into the distance, looking like you just wrestled a god."
His eyes flicked toward her. "Maybe I did."
Lyra stopped mid-step, arching a brow. "You always say things like that with the straightest face. It's unsettling, you know."
"Good," Gareth said simply.
Lyra chuckled, leaning back against the column beside him. "You've changed. A few weeks ago you were this quiet shadow boy, all scowls and guilt. Now you're… different. Heavier. Like you're carrying something big."
Gareth stayed silent, watching the sunlight spill across the academy lawns.
Lyra nudged him with her elbow. "Don't tell me you've gone and made some secret deal already. That would be so like you."
He glanced at her sidelong, lips twitching faintly. "And if I did?"
She whistled low. "Then I'd either keep my distance… or make sure I'm close enough to see what happens when you blow everything up." Her grin widened. "Guess which one I'll pick?"
Gareth shook his head, but there was the barest flicker of a smile at the edge of his mouth.
Lyra caught it instantly, gasping dramatically. "Wait—was that… a smile? From you? Saints above, mark the day down in history!"
"Don't get used to it," Gareth muttered, turning to walk away.
Lyra fell into step beside him, still smirking. "Too late. I think I'll make it my mission to drag more of those out of you. Someone's got to make sure you don't drown in your own gloom."
Her laughter echoed through the courtyard, light against the weight of Gareth's silence. But this time, he didn't mind it. Not at all.
As Gareth and Lyra crossed the courtyard, the low murmur of students filled the air. Whispers followed him the way they always did — but this time, sharper, edged with unease.
"Walking calamity…"
"…trouble follows him everywhere…"
"…why's she even hanging around him?"
Lyra rolled her eyes at the comments, leaning closer to Gareth with a grin. "You hear them, right? Every single one? Honestly, you should start charging rent for living in their heads."
Before Gareth could reply, a voice cut through the noise — smooth, cool, deliberate.
"Or maybe they're right to be cautious."
Both turned. Kael leaned against a marble pillar not far away, arms folded, his sharp eyes fixed on Gareth. He had a calmness to him, but there was something else in his gaze — not fear, not admiration, but calculation.
Lyra groaned. "Oh great. The Academy's own storm cloud."
Kael ignored her. "You've been… different, Gareth. Stronger. Too strong for someone who only just awakened his Veilbound Root. And yet every time, chaos seems to follow wherever you go. Makes me wonder—" his gaze narrowed, "—what exactly you're hiding."
The courtyard went quieter, ears tuning in.
Gareth met his stare without blinking. "Wonder all you want. I'm not here to explain myself to you."
Kael's jaw tightened, but he gave a small, humorless smile. "One day, you won't have the choice."
Lyra slipped between them, waving her hands dramatically. "Oh please. The two of you glaring at each other like caged beasts is exhausting. Kael, go polish your pride somewhere else."
Kael's gaze lingered on Gareth a moment longer before he turned and walked off, his cape brushing against the stone. The crowd's whispers followed in his wake.
Lyra clicked her tongue. "He's going to be insufferable, you know."
"He already is," Gareth said quietly.
But even as he tried to dismiss it, Gareth's mind gnawed at Kael's words. Too strong, too fast. What exactly was he becoming? And how long before someone else started asking the same questions?
The night was still. Gareth sat alone at the edge of the Academy's gardens, the celebrations long faded into silence. His thoughts circled endlessly — the eclipse, Shalkeer's words, the promise of more to come.
He clenched his fist. If I keep waiting, I'll always be a step behind.
The markings on his arm — faint, hidden under bandages — burned. Slowly, deliberately, he whispered the name he had once bound himself to:
"...Umbrael. Devourer of Suns."
The shadows around him bent inward. The air grew heavy, thick like molten tar. Then, from the darkness, a figure coalesced — tall, robed in broken starlight, its face hidden behind a veil of flame and ash. Its voice crawled across the ground like a living echo.
"You call, little rootbound… and I answer."
Gareth swallowed, his voice steady despite the fear crawling inside him. "I need answers. The eclipse — when is the next one?"
Umbrael's hidden face tilted, as if amused. "Ah… impatient, aren't you? Very well. The sky bends to me, after all. I feel the rhythm of the orbs. Six more dances remain before the world is unmade. The next eclipse will fall… sooner than your kind dares believe."
Silence fell. Gareth's fists trembled and then clenched, his eyes burning with a mixture of fear and defiance.
"Then go," he commanded. His voice cracked once, but steadied as he pushed the words out. "Find the Academy's secret vault… wherever it is. Search it. Bring me answers."
The god's laughter rolled out, low and grinding, like stone splitting under fire. Shadows rippled outward with every sound.
"As you command…" Umbrael said, bowing slightly. Then, with a tone that was almost reverent — or perhaps mocking — it added:
"Yes, Young Master."
The shadows collapsed in on themselves, and Umbrael was gone.
Gareth was left standing alone, his heart hammering, his hands still shaking — not just from fear… but from the realization that he had just sent a forgotten god to do his bidding.