The railyard groaned as if it, too, had been caught in my Arena. Rusted metal screamed against itself. Broken train cars tilted precariously, half-swallowed by ash.
Then came the crack.
Daenerys' shield slammed into the ground, and the nightmare I had crafted split apart like shattered glass. The twisted corridors folded in on themselves. Phantom passengers dissolved into dust. Shadows slithered away, unwilling but forced to obey the light rippling from her shield.
I stumbled back, chest burning, EN still alive in my veins like fire that wouldn't die.
The civilians were gone now, but five Silverveil agents still stood behind her. Their formation had broken—two trembling, one vomiting against a wall, one clutching his blade like it was the only thing keeping him sane. Their commander glared at me, jaw tight, though his eyes wouldn't quite meet mine.
Daenerys lowered her shield. Not all the way—never all the way—but enough to show she didn't intend to strike. Yet.
"You couldn't restrain yourself," she said. Her voice carried no heat. Just weight.
I smirked, though it felt like my skin was cracking. "Restrain? They came with blades drawn. You don't leash a dog and then kick it for barking."
Her cloak shifted in the ash-stained wind. Her eyes, blue and steady, refused to flinch. "You terrified them more than the spirits."
"And yet," I whispered, stepping forward, "they're still breathing."
---
The agents behind her recoiled instinctively. My shadow stretched further than it should, twitching like claws across the ground.
Daenerys didn't move. She was a wall. A shield.
"You're proving them right," she said. "Every time you twist fear, every time you indulge the Corruption, you carve yourself closer to the monsters we fight."
"Good," I snapped. "Let them fear me. Fear kept those civilians alive long enough for your squad to find them. Fear fed me enough to kill what they couldn't. Fear is the only constant in this corpse of a city—and unlike you, I don't pretend otherwise."
The Corruption pulsed in my eyes, cracks glowing faintly violet. I saw one of her agents flinch as the light reflected in his blade.
Daenerys' gaze softened, not with kindness, but with grief. "You're not using fear, Veylen. You're drowning in it."
---
For a second, the whispers in my head weren't foreign. They were mine. Old.
"Push the horror further, Veylen. Don't hold back."
"More fear. That's what sells."
Deadlines. Nights buried in neon light and caffeine. Levels designed to scare players who could always turn the game off.
Here, no one could turn me off.
My hands trembled. I clenched them until nails dug crescent moons into my palms.
"Don't talk like you know me."
"I don't need to know you," Daenerys said. "I only have to see what you're becoming."
---
Her agents found their voices again.
"Commander," one growled, still shaking, "he's unstable. He's Abyss-touched. We should end this now before he—"
Her hand rose. The command died in his throat.
She didn't look away from me. "Stand down. All of you."
They hesitated, but fear of her outweighed fear of me. Slowly, they lowered their blades.
That was her power. Not just her shield. Her authority was carved from something heavier.
Her eyes didn't blink. "I won't fight you, Veylen. Not yet. But every time you make yourself their nightmare, you give the Association another reason to call for your death. When that day comes, I may not be able to shield you."
---
The words cut deeper than I wanted to admit.
For a heartbeat, silence pressed down heavier than ash. Then the whispers rose again, louder, overlapping until they drowned my pulse.
"…she pities you…"
"…she'll betray you…"
"…her fear tastes sweeter than theirs…"
I ground my teeth.
"I don't want your shield," I said, voice cracking into a snarl. "I'll build my own."
Her lips pressed into a thin line. She strapped her shield back into place and turned.
"Then you'll learn what happens," she said, "when a shield meets a labyrinth."
And she left.
---
The agents followed her reluctantly. Two stumbled, their steps unsteady. One spat into the dirt as he passed me, though he didn't dare hold my gaze.
The railyard quieted again. Rust creaked. Ash fell.
> [Corruption: 18% → 19%]
My reflection in the window of a broken carriage grinned wider than I did. Its eyes glowed brighter, teeth sharp enough to cut.
This time, I didn't smash the glass.
---
A voice carried from the shadows. Soft, scratchy, like ink drying on paper.
I turned.
Clara Weissburg leaned against a rusted beam, notebook open, pen scratching without pause. Her face was pale, smudged with soot, but her eyes burned with fascination.
"You really don't care how they see you, do you?" she asked, not looking up.
I tilted my head. "You're still following me?"
"Not following," she corrected. "Witnessing."
Her pen scratched louder. On the page, I caught the headline:
Fear Architect: Nightmare in Human Skin
The words glowed faintly, as though even ink bent to the resonance of fear.
I almost laughed. "Make sure you spell it right."
She did not flinch. Not even when my shadow curled close to her boots. "You terrify them. But you also give them something to cling to. They'll whisper about you in every tavern, every home. And fear spreads faster than hope."
Her eyes flicked up. "That makes you unstoppable. Or it makes you the first monster they burn."
Before I could answer, she closed her notebook with a snap and vanished into the mist.
---
Far away, in a chamber that had never known sunlight, the Umbra Council gathered.
The hall was carved from obsidian veins, walls etched with shifting runes that pulsed like wounds. Each figure sat on a throne of shadow, their presence bending reality around them.
Selene Veyra, Archon of Fear, leaned forward. Pale hands folded, lips curling faintly. "The Architect awakens. Even in infancy, he bends fear itself to his will. The world has not seen this since…" Her words trailed into silence thick enough to choke.
Across the chamber, Kazimir Volk, Archon of Anger, snarled. His voice was thunder, his fists like warhammers slamming into the table of stone. "He is not one of us. He is an infection. He will consume himself—and then us—if we let him grow."
Selene's gaze was calm, too calm. "Or he will consume our enemies. The Abyss Lords stir. If he is truly an Architect, he is not to be wasted."
"Wasted?" Kazimir spat. "He will not bow. He will not bend. Better we burn him before he builds a cage for us all."
A third voice cut through, colder, hidden at the chamber's edge. Eira Nacht of the Night Veil Sect, her face veiled in black silk.
"Perhaps," she whispered, "we should let him build. When the labyrinth is complete, we decide whether to walk inside… or burn it from within."
Silence followed. Heavy. Waiting.
And in that silence, the whispers from Erevos carried, faint but undeniable.
Fear Architect.
---
Back in the railyard, I sat among the rust and ash, shadows twitching at my feet, EN gnawing through my chest.
Monster. Savior. Architect.
It didn't matter which name stuck.
As long as they feared me, I would never be powerless again.