Suren leaned back against the boat's railing, the steady rocking of the waves doing little to ease the ache in his body. The town doctors had done what they could the night before—bandages now wrapped his arms, legs, and torso, hidden beneath a hooded cloak and a loose black tunic. His boots, laced with rope up to his shins, creaked softly as he shifted to get comfortable.
Across from him sat Zefrin, legs folded, bare feet resting on the wooden boards. He wore only a pair of tattered pants—the rest of his clothing long since devoured by the rats that once gnawed at his flesh in the dark cellar he'd been trapped in for all those years. Now, with the open sea around them, the faint scars of old bites catching the pale light.
A low rumble broke the silence.
"Ughhh," Suren groaned, pressing a hand to his stomach. "I'm starving. How long till we hit the Veil, Zef?"
Zefrin hastily stood, squinting at the horizon. "I think… I think that's the Veil."
Far in the distance, the ocean darkened. A barrier of fog stretched endlessly across the water — thick and heavy, yet faintly alive. It wasn't colorless; threads of deep blue shimmered within it, rippling like slow lightning under the surface.
Zefrin lowered himself back down, exhaling softly. "Now we sit and wait until we reach it."
Suren leaned over the side of the boat, catching a glimpse of his reflection. For a second, he didn't recognize the face staring back — eyes dulled by exhaustion, skin marked with fresh bandages beneath the cloak.
He reached for the anchor, testing the water with its edge. The cold stung his fingertips. Then, gripping the chain tight, he lifted the weight and tossed it overboard.
The anchor struck the surface with a heavy splash, ripples breaking against the boat's hull as Suren steadied himself, eyes fixed once more on the Veil ahead.
Without warning, the boat lurched forward. The still water twisted into motion, dragging them faster and faster toward the dark shimmer ahead. The fog pulsed faintly, deep blue light glinting off the waves.
Suren gripped the edge of the boat, heart racing. "Zef! What's happening?!"
Zefrin's gaze sharpened on the swirling sea. "I don't know… maybe it's something the Veil does." He steadied himself, eyes narrowing as if searching for meaning in the churning water. "They used to talk about it—back when I was locked away. The Guards said the Veil moves on its own… that it calls to those who approach."
His voice trailed off, almost to himself. "But I never thought it would be this strong."
The current surged again, pulling them into the mist, where sea and sky faded into a single shadowed blur.
Zefrin gritted his teeth as the fog closed in. "Brace yourself, boy!" he shouted over the roar of the current. "Whatever happens—survive, no matter wha—"
His words slurred, fading into silence. His body slumped forward, eyelids sinking under an unseen weight.
Suren tried to reach for him, but the haze thickened, swallowing sound, sight, and thought. His own vision blurred, limbs heavy. The last thing he felt was the pull of the current and the cold breath of the Veil before everything went dark.
The boat they sat upon skidded and came to a halt stopping them, suren and zefrins bodies both slept soundly in the boat and they were brought into what the veil offers.
Suren awoke—not in the world he knew, but within a dream. A dense forest stretched around him, the air thick with mist and the sharp chorus of cicadas. The wind whispered through the canopy, carrying with it the rustle of unseen movement.
He could feel eyes on him—many of them. Some belonged to beasts, others… to humans.
Looking down, he realized his clothes had changed. The heavy black cloak and tunic were gone, replaced by a light brown garb fit for travel. Rough leather boots pressed into damp soil, and at his hip hung a long sword—its handle wrapped in fraying rope, resting quietly in its sheath, as if waiting for a reason to be drawn.
A few meters ahead, a man stepped out from behind a tree. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a thick black beard that framed a wary expression.
"Hey, boy," he called, voice low but firm. "What're you doing standing around in our territory?" His eyes narrowed, scanning Suren up and down. "You some kind of scout?"
He scoffed under his breath, almost to himself. "Strange… they'd send a kid for that."
Suren's eyes darted around, confusion twisting his gut. He scanned the treeline — every shadow, every patch of brush — searching for movement, for any hint of life, human or otherwise.
With each slow turn of his head, the feeling grew — that he was being watched.
Then instinct took over. He stepped back once, twice… and bolted.
"What the hell is this? Why does it feel so real?" he thought, heart pounding as his feet tore through the undergrowth.
The tall man didn't chase — instead, he thrust out a hand, voice booming through the trees.
"Are you gonna answer me, damn it?!"
When Suren didn't stop, the man's expression hardened. He raised his arm high, a sharp signal cutting through the jungle air.
Two men burst from the brush at his gesture, shorter but broad-shouldered, sprinting in Suren's direction without hesitation.
Suren tore through the forest, vaulting over roots and boulders, breath quick and steady. Is this the veil testing us? he wondered, weaving between trees. Maybe Zefrin's trapped in his own dream too.
He clenched his fist mid-stride, jaw tight. I can't let Lafin down… or Zefrin. He's someone I can trust — someone who'll help me reach my goal.
The memory of Zefrin's voice echoed in his head, firm and unwavering.
"No matter what… don't give up."
Suren pressed on, fueled by the words.
Suren swung from branch to branch, the forest whipping past him in a blur. Keep moving. Don't stop. Don't let them see you. With a final leap, he crashed through the last wall of trees, skidding toward a massive wooden palisade looming ahead. Rain-darkened logs rose like silent sentinels, guards perched atop with bows strung, eyes sharp. Great… just what I needed.
He drew his sword while lunging through the air and plunged the tip of his long sword into a crack in the wall, using it as an anchor. A kick and a push, and he hoisted himself upward, stabbing the blade into another notch. One step at a time… slow, steady, precise. Near the top, he pressed flat against the wood, peeking over the edge. The guards' gazes wandered. Now's my chance.
With a practiced flick, he sheathed his sword and vaulted over the wall—but misjudged slightly, heading straight into a wagon piled high with hay. Ugh… crap.The soft hay swallowed the impact, and he rolled to a crouch, heart hammering, pulse racing.
He stayed low, eyes scanning the busy town. Traders called, children darted between carts, smoke curled lazily from chimneys. Blend in. Don't let them notice you. Just another face in the crowd. Adjusting his stance, he gripped the hilt of his sword beneath his cloak and brushed the hay off.
aAlright… time to figure out what's really going on here.
Before him stretched a town hidden deep within the forest, its structures built from heavy oak and moss-covered stone. Smoke curled gently from chimneys, the scent of roasted meat and damp pine mingling in the air. Lanterns hung from beams and rope lines, swaying lightly with the breeze, and the sound of chatter, hammers, and clinking mugs filled the air.
It was alive. Too alive.
He stepped forward slowly, eyes darting across faces — tradesmen in leather aprons, hunters with pelts slung over their shoulders, children weaving between wagons. But beneath the bustle, there was an edge. Every glance that fell on him lingered a moment too long, eyes narrowing at his foreign cloak and rope-tied sword.
This doesn't feel like any place I've seen before… yet, it's familiar somehow.
A small boy tugged at his sleeve, eyes wide. "Mister, you're bleeding."
Suren looked down — a faint streak of red marked his wrist where a branch had grazed him. "I'll live," he said softly, forcing a small smile.
Before the boy could ask another question, a horn blared from deep within the town. The sound was low and heavy, cutting through the noise of the square. Instantly, the crowd stilled. Murmurs rippled through the people as heads turned toward the northern gate.
A man shouted, "They've crossed the ridge! Get everyone inside!"
Suren's eyes shot to the treeline beyond the walls — the faint flicker of torches swaying through the mist.
He tightened his grip on the rope around his sword's hilt.
"Looks like I ran straight into something worse…"
Suren ran through the town and into an alley, he pressed his hands against the wall and scrambled upward, finding purchase on cracks and ledges. Within moments, he was on top, crouching to catch his breath and take in the town below.
Suren's eyes snapped to the town's front gates as they creaked open. Soldiers streamed through, clad in the same armor and bearing the same green oval emblem on their shields as the archers he'd seen atop the wall. Between them, they marched a group of captives—villagers from elsewhere, bound and beaten, their fear plain in their eyes.
I wonder if those men in the forest thought I belonged to this town… Suren wasn't sure who was friend or foe, or what exactly was happening. He carefully dropped from the rooftop and slipped onto a side street, keeping a safe distance from the path the soldiers marched the captives along.
The scene felt impossibly real. Suren pinched himself, bit his tongue—anything to break the illusion—but nothing stirred him awake. Every ache, every scrape from the forest, throbbed as sharply as if he were still falling.
Sunlight pierced through the foliage, warm rays washing over Suren's skin as he made his way down the bustling streets. It felt incredible—his hometown was perpetually gray, even in summer, and he rarely got to feel the sun like this.
He reached for the small pouch strapped to his pants. I wonder if I have anything besides my sword…
Rough fingers brushed over thirteen silver coins and four gold. Jackpot. A grin spread across his face, warm and genuine. He slid the coins back into the pouch, tucking the small treasure safely away, all while weaving between merchants, children, and carts, careful to keep moving through the lively streets
A gentle warmth washed over him. He had never wandered through town streets like this before. In Silver Shore, he had only known ridicule for the way he acted, and it had left a sour taste in his mouth—one of the reasons he had always preferred the quiet of the forests back home.
As he wandered, taking in the sights and sounds around him, one stall caught his eye. Its roof was draped in deep purple cloth, a black curtain hanging at the entrance, and a soft lantern glowed from within, casting a welcoming light that beckoned him closer.
He wove through the crowd, slipping between villagers, and approached the stall. With a careful hand, he drew back the black curtain—and found himself facing a woman cloaked in deep red. Suren guessed she was in her late twenties. Her hands rested lightly on a wooden table, a neatly arranged deck of cards before her, the lantern casting warm light over her calm, watchful expression.
The woman's soft voice drifted through the air, calm and melodic. "Would you like a reading, young one?"
Suren blinked, caught off guard. "Uh… what do you mean, a reading?"
Her lips curved into a faint smile. "Just take a seat and see."
"Alright… I guess." Suren hesitated for a moment, then stepped forward and sat on the small stool across from her.
The woman began laying three cards across the table, then gathered the remaining deck into a neat stack and set it aside. "So," she said softly, eyes flicking up to meet his, "what's your name?"
Even if this isn't the real world… better give her the fake surname lafin gave me, just in case.
Suren straightened his posture and met her gaze. "It's Suren. Suren Yorim."
Her hand drifted over the three cards before stopping and selecting a single card. "Mmm… quite a fine name," she murmured.
Suren leaned forward as she turned the card over, placing it face-up on the table. Etched across its surface was the image of a skull marked with a bullseye, and beneath it, a single word stood out in bold lettering—Hunt.
Suren's eyes widened in shock. The card had struck at the very core of him—it knew. It knew what I cherish most. The thrill of the hunt. No matter the cost, no matter the wounds, he lived for it. Even when he came back bloodied and empty-handed, he still called it a good hunt.
But a good hunt didn't mean it was over. Not for him. Suren would return again and again, tracking the same foe until he learned its every move, every weakness—until the hunt was finally complete.
The woman's eyes softened as she noticed his expression. A faint smile tugged at her lips, calm and knowing.
"You recognize it," she said quietly, fingertips brushing the edge of the card. "The hunt calls to you—it always has, hasn't it?"
Suren hesitated, still staring at the skull and bullseye. How could she know that?
She leaned back slightly, voice lowering to a murmur. "Some truths don't need to be spoken. They live in the eyes of those who've already answered them."
She lifted the second card, turning it over in her palm so its face remained hidden. "And now," she said softly, "for the second card."
With a deliberate motion, she revealed it. The image showed a bulletin board covered in blank sheets—save for one. On that single paper was the face of the bearded man Suren had seen when he first awoke. Below it, bold letters spelled out one word: Kill.
Hunt… and kill. Suren's chest tightened. The same man… is this some kind of test from the Dreamveil? A trial to see if I'm strong enough to escape? His hands curled slightly on his knees. No… I don't want to kill anyone. Especially not someone who seems innocent.
"Good lord, kid… some future you've got," she said, though her voice carried a trace of sorrow. "I don't think I've ever seen anyone draw a card named Kill before."
Suren forced a small smile, a nervous chuckle slipping out. "Yeah… I wonder what it means," he muttered under his breath.
The woman's gaze softened, her tone turning quiet and distant. "Only time itself can answer that question."
A chill crept down Suren's spine at her words, a knot forming in his stomach. "Just… hurry and reveal the last one," he said quickly. The thought of having to kill someone innocent twisted his gut, leaving him uneasy and faintly sick.
The woman blinked, surprised by his sudden urgency. "Oh… of course. As you wish."
She turned the final card over. On its face was the image of a boy rising from a bed, eyes wide with awakening. Beneath it, a single word gleamed—Escape.
Suren's thoughts churned. So… I have to kill this man to escape? The idea gnawed at him. He didn't even know who the man was—where he was, or what he'd done. Hunting animals had been his life for years, but this… this was different. Taking a human life felt like crossing a line he wasn't sure he could bear. Still, if the man were a criminal—someone deserving—it might be different. But not knowing… that was what made the weight settle heavy on his chest.
He pushed his chair back and rose abruptly, striding toward the curtain. With one swift motion, he lifted it, letting a spill of sunlight cut across the tent. "Thank you for the reading, miss," he said, forcing his voice steady. "But I should get going."
Reaching into the pouch at his hip, he heard the soft jingle of coins as his fingers brushed against them. He pulled out three silver coins and flicked them gently toward her.
The woman caught them with both hands, eyes widening slightly. "Oh… thank you, dear. May your future be prosperous."
Suren stepped out of the tent, the sunlight washing over him once more—but it no longer felt warm. The weight of what he might have to do pressed against his chest, dulling everything around him.
I need to find a board like the one on that card… he thought, scanning the bustling street. Maybe his face is posted somewhere—as a criminal, hopefully. Or someone in town might know him.
With that, Suren took a steadying breath and set off down the road. His search for answers had begun