The world was gray. Gray stone, gray dust, and the ever-shifting, silent gray of the Slumbering Veil. It was a cold blanket that smothered the dead city, and it was the only home Kaelen had ever known.
His stomach was a tight knot of pain. Two days. Two days since his last handful of stale nutrient paste. The hunger was a constant companion, but today it was a sharp-toothed animal gnawing at his insides. He moved through the broken skeleton of an old transit station, his steps silent, his eyes scanning for anything—a dropped can, a rogue fungus, a forgotten packet of calories. Anything.
Scritch. Scrape.
The sound froze him mid-step. That wasn't the wind. It was the sound of claws on stone.
Because of you, the thought came, bitter and familiar. It's always because of you.
His Curse. The Anchor. He was a beacon in the silence, a signal fire for the horrors that swam in the Veil. They were always drawn to him.
He pressed against a crumbling wall, peering through a crack. There it was. A Shade-Stalker. It was all jagged shadow and sharp angles, moving with a skittering, unnatural gait. A single, milky-white eye opened and closed on its hunched back, scanning, searching.
For him.
His heart hammered against his ribs. He had nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.
The Stalker's head stopped twitching. The milky eye fixed on the crack. On him.
It let out a sound like grinding teeth and charged.
Panic, cold and sharp, flooded his veins. He scrambled backward, his worn boots slipping on debris. There was no weapon. There was never a weapon. Only the desperate, clawing will to live.
He thrust out a hand, a wordless plea. He willed the shadows in the corner to move, to protect him.
The darkness shuddered and obeyed.
Black tendrils of mist, drawn from the very air, lashed out. They were clumsy, wild things, but they shot toward the Stalker, wrapping around one of its many legs.
The creature screeched, more in surprise than pain, and stumbled. The tendrils dissolved into smoke.
It was enough. A moment's distraction. Kaelen turned and ran, bursting out into a wide concourse where the roof had long since collapsed. The Veil was thicker here, swirling around his ankles like a cold, hungry river.
He didn't get far.
The Stalker leaped through the doorway, landing silently behind him. It was faster. It was always faster.
This was it. The hollow ache in his stomach was replaced by a cold, solid anger. He was tired of running. Tired of being prey.
He turned to face the creature, his hands clenched into fists. He focused everything he had—the fear, the anger, the gnawing hunger—and pulled.
The Slumbering Veil itself answered.
The mist around him coalesced, twisting and solidifying into a single, jagged shard of pure darkness. It hovered in the air before him, sharp and deadly and terrifyingly unstable. He felt a wave of dizziness, a draining sensation, as if the shard was feeding on his very life force.
The Shade-Stalker paused, sensing the shift, the new danger.
With a raw, desperate scream, Kaelen threw the shard.
It shot through the air, a sliver of violent night. It struck the Stalker directly in its single eye.
The creature's screech was cut short. It thrashed for a single, silent moment, and then collapsed, its form dissolving into a puddle of swirling shadow that was quickly absorbed back into the Veil.
Silence returned, heavier than before.
Kaelen sank to his knees, gasping. The world swam around him. Black spots danced in his vision. He had nothing left.
And then, the world went white.
A pain like a brand seared the inside of his mind. His vision dissolved into blinding, geometric patterns. Cold, impossible runes etched themselves against the darkness behind his eyes. It was a language he did not know, but understood perfectly.
{Eclipse Covenant Initialized}
{User Designation: Kaelen}
{Aspect: Umbral}
{Manifestation: Sovereign of the Waking Dark - Awakened}
{Rank: F}
{Curse: The Anchor - Active}
The voice was not a sound. It was data. It was law. It was the absolute truth of the universe imposed upon his soul.
Just as suddenly as it came, it was gone.
The runes faded. The pain receded, leaving only a profound, echoing emptiness and the cold certainty of what had just happened.
He had been Claimed.
Before he could even begin to process it, a new sound cut through the silence. Not claws on stone. Not the whisper of the Veil.
It was the heavy, rhythmic crunch of booted feet on gravel. And it was coming from all around.
A voice, clear and sharp as a shard of glass, rang out, shattering the silence.
"By the Wall of Havenfall, identify yourself!"
Kaelen looked up, his vision still blurry. Figures emerged from the mist, surrounding him. They wore polished, functional armor etched with faintly glowing glyphs. They held weapons that hummed with contained power. They were nothing like the ragged, desperate scavengers he sometimes glimpsed.
And at their head was a woman.
She was arrestingly beautiful, a figure of both elegance and formidable power. She seemed to be in her early forties, her beauty matured into a captivating and commanding presence. Her body was a perfect hourglass, with a narrow waist that curved into generous, shapely hips and a full, ample bust that her practical armor accentuated rather than concealed. She moved with a lethal, graceful confidence that spoke of a lifetime of training and authority.
Her face was strikingly beautiful, with high cheekbones, full lips, and eyes the color of winter frost—sharp, intelligent, and missing nothing. Her hair, the color of polished silver, was swept back in an intricate braid that highlighted the elegant line of her neck. She carried an aura of absolute, unshakable control.
Her piercing gaze scanned the area—the dissipating Umbral energy, the faint residue of the dead Nightmare, the ragged, kneeling boy—in a single, assessing glance. There was no fear in her eyes, only a cold, intense curiosity.
"An Awakened," she stated, her voice a low, commanding alto that left no room for doubt. "Feral. And an Aspect I have not seen before."
She looked from the empty space where the nightmare died back to him. Her expression was unreadable, a mask of pure pragmatism. She took a single step forward, her movement effortlessly graceful, and stopped before him.
"Boy," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. "On your feet. You're coming with us."