The first step into the Veil burned like frost and fire together. Lyria's breath caught in her throat as the air thickened, heavy with whispers. The world behind her—sky, sun, mortal ground—shattered into fragments of light, dissolving into a darkness so vast it seemed alive.
The Veil was not a place meant for the living. It breathed and watched, a sentient expanse of shadow that pulsed like the lungs of eternity. Her wings dimmed the moment she entered; the feathers that once shimmered like molten silver turned dull, their light consumed by the void.
Each beat of her heart echoed like thunder in that silence. Each pulse of her magic felt like a scream.
Find him.
Her voice, though only a whisper in her mind, stirred the mist. It shifted—forming shapes, faces, moments. Echoes of Kael. His shadow. His touch. His rage. His pain.
Then came the pull—gentle at first, like gravity calling her toward an unseen core. Lyria didn't fight it. She followed.
