Morning broke across the forest in a haze of gold. Shafts of sunlight pierced through the canopy, scattering across moss and fern, but Kaelen found no warmth in it. He sat on a fallen log at the edge of the clearing, his sword resting across his knees. The blade was clean, but his thoughts were anything but.
Ariselle's absence lingered like a wound. He had spent years training to resist the pull of the Realm Beyond, the seductive whispers of fire and power. Yet one woman, with eyes like a storm held at bay, had undone him more thoroughly than any shadow-creature ever could.
"Be careful," he had said. Useless words. Coward's words.
He ran a hand through his dark hair, cursing under his breath. He should have told her more—warned her, or begged her to stay away. Instead, he had let her walk back across the threads, alone.
The forest was too quiet.
Kaelen rose, senses sharpening. He had lived his entire life listening for silence like this, the kind that wasn't natural. Somewhere beyond the trees, the veil trembled. It hadn't been more than a few hours since the last rift had closed, and already the threads were stirring again.
He moved swiftly, blade ready, following the tug in his blood that always led him to the tear. But what he found wasn't a monster.
It was a whisper.
Not sound exactly, but a pressure in his skull, words he couldn't quite grasp. He stumbled, gripping a tree for balance. The world around him blurred at the edges, and through the blur he saw—
Ariselle.
Not in the flesh, but as though he glimpsed her through the veil itself. She stood in a grand hall of white stone, firelight dancing on the walls. A council chamber. Behind her, shadowy figures loomed—her kin, the Keepers of Flame, judging her with eyes like molten gold.
Ariselle's lips moved. He couldn't hear the words, but he felt the weight of them. A plea. A defense.
And then pain struck, sharp as a blade through his skull. The vision shattered, and Kaelen was back in the forest, gasping for air. The trees pressed close, their silence heavier than before.
She was in danger.
He didn't think, didn't plan. He simply ran—back to the old stone ruin that served as his refuge. The one place he had prepared for crossing.
The ruin was nothing more than broken walls and a collapsed tower, but beneath it lay the circle—etched by his father's hand, fueled by bloodline magic Kaelen had sworn never to use. His curse. His key.
He stood before it, heart pounding. To cross the threads was forbidden, dangerous, perhaps fatal. But the image of Ariselle surrounded by fire and judgment burned in his mind, and he knew with certainty that she had risked everything for him.
And he could not—would not—let her stand alone.
He knelt, pressing his palm to the circle. The old runes flared in silver light, threads humming above like plucked strings. Pain lanced through his arm, spreading through his chest, but he held on, whispering the words his father had taught him in secret:
"Between worlds, the chain is mine. Break, and let me through."
The air screamed.
The silver threads above the ruin split apart, a seam tearing in the sky. Light poured through, searing bright, pulling at him like a current. Kaelen gritted his teeth, forcing his body forward, letting the threads drag him.
And then—
Fire.
He landed hard on stone, choking on the heat that filled the air. The chamber around him blazed with golden light, its walls soaring high above, etched with sigils that burned against his vision. He was inside the Realm Beyond.
And before him, Ariselle stood frozen in shock, her cloak whipping in the heated air, her eyes wide with something between fear and longing. The council turned toward him, a dozen beings of fire and light, their voices rising in fury.
Kaelen staggered to his feet, sword in hand. "Ariselle!"
Her name was all he could manage before the council's flames roared to life.
And Kaelen realized he had crossed more than just the veil tonight. He had crossed a line that no mortal had ever survived.