The night of Midgar's capital always carried a pulse of hidden life, like veins of shadow threading beneath the cobblestone streets. To ordinary eyes, it was merely a city preparing for slumber. But Kael had long since learned that the silence after dusk was when the truth began to stir.
Wrapped in a hooded cloak, he stood on the lip of a rooftop overlooking the merchant's quarter. The lamps burned low; most of the stalls were shuttered. But Kael's gaze wasn't fixed on the surface. His senses reached lower, probing. The world bent subtly around him as if his perception stretched into the unseen—the Veil, as he'd named it. A liminal space where shadows whispered secrets.
"Three of them. Basement level. Armed but undisciplined." His voice was calm, almost clinical.
Behind him, a ripple stirred. From the dark, three silhouettes rose: soldiers wrought of black flame and formless armor, their eyes glowing faintly violet. Shadows, loyal and patient. Each awaited his command without word or breath.
Kael's lips curved into the faintest smile. "We begin."
He slipped down the side of the building, his cloak melting into the alley gloom. The merchant's quarter was a labyrinth of forgotten doors and hidden staircases. Kael traced his fingers across the brickwork until he found the faint groove, barely visible, leading downward.
The secret entrance was well concealed—an iron hatch beneath rotting crates. He willed one of his shadows forward. Silent, it lifted the obstruction with ease. A rush of stale air carried up. The scent of burnt parchment and iron.
He entered.
The tunnel was narrow, walls lined with moss and forgotten murals. Lanterns flickered at intervals, barely keeping the dark at bay. For Kael, the dimness was an ally. The shadows bent toward him, welcoming, familiar. His summons followed like living armor.
Halfway through, voices bled into the silence. Men speaking in low tones. Kael halted, listening.
"—shipment delayed. The cult won't like this.""Then we tell them the guard patrols have doubled. What else could we do?""The Veiled Truth doesn't tolerate excuses. You know that."
Kael's eyes narrowed. The Veiled Truth—the same name that had appeared in his mother's notes. Pieces sliding into place.
He reached the chamber. A circular room dug deep into stone, its ceiling braced by old beams. Candles burned in clusters, illuminating sigils scratched into the walls. At the center, three men gathered around a crate draped in cloth.
Kael did not rush. He let his presence bleed into the room, shadows curling across the floor like black mist. One of the men stiffened.
"What—what is that?"
The candles flickered. Kael stepped forward, hood low, voice steady.
"You speak for the Veiled Truth?"
The leader, a scarred man with hawk-like eyes, spat. "Who are you to ask?" He drew his blade, confidence masking unease.
Kael extended a hand. From the darkness behind, his shadows surged—three armored figures materializing with silent menace. Their eyes glowed.
"I am the one who listens when the world refuses to speak," Kael replied, tone soft, dangerous. "Now answer."
The scarred man faltered. "We—we're only handlers. We don't know much!"
"Unacceptable." Kael's gaze sharpened. "Your tongues carry value. I will peel truth from them, one way or another."
The men lunged. Poor choice.
Kael whispered a command. His shadows moved like liquid death. One intercepted a sword swing, its inky arm solidifying into a shield of obsidian-black steel. Another pinned a man against the wall, blade of shadow at his throat. The third sent a surge of tendrils to bind the scarred leader's arms and legs.
Kael advanced slowly, eyes glowing faintly violet beneath the hood. He raised a finger, pointing at the crate.
"What lies beneath?"
The leader gritted his teeth. "You'll never—"
A flick of Kael's hand, and the tendrils tightened. The man gasped, choking. Kael's tone remained calm, detached.
"You mistake me for someone who values patience."
At last, fear cracked the leader's defiance. "A relic! Something the cult calls the Eye of Dusk. We—we were told only to deliver it north!"
Kael's thoughts sharpened. The Eye of Dusk. The name radiated weight, power, danger. A piece of a larger puzzle.
"And its purpose?"
"We don't know!" the leader coughed. "Swear it. We were only carriers!"
Kael studied him in silence. Shadows whispered around the chamber, tugging at his decision. He considered the man's trembling form, then slowly released the tendrils.
"Live, then. Carry word back. Tell your masters a new shadow walks Midgar."
The man slumped to the floor, gasping. His companions lay unconscious, bound by Kael's summons.
Kael turned to the crate.
He drew back the cloth.
Inside rested a sphere no larger than a fist, black as night, yet its surface rippled like liquid glass. Within, faint patterns swirled—geometries that hurt to look at directly, as though they shifted with each glance.
Kael felt the Veil pulse. The shadows within him quivered, almost reverent. He reached out, fingers brushing the orb.
The instant contact sparked, reality bending.
Visions crashed into him. A throne of black stone surrounded by endless armies of shade. A voice, vast and ancient, whispering in a tongue he half-understood. Return what was lost. Restore the dominion.
Kael staggered, clutching the crate for balance. His breath quickened.
Then silence. The orb dimmed, inert once more.
Kael straightened, heartbeat steadying. The Eye of Dusk… it was no mere relic. It was a fragment of something greater. Perhaps a key to the very origin of his power.
He covered it carefully and signaled his shadows. Two melted back into the darkness, carrying the unconscious men with them—disposals for later. One remained at his side.
Kael glanced once more at the scarred leader, who still cowered.
"Run," Kael commanded. "Run, and remember: the Shadow Monarch sees all."
The man fled without hesitation.
Back on the rooftops, Kael breathed in the night air. Below, the city lay oblivious to the storm brewing beneath its skin. He clutched the relic, its presence heavy in his cloak.
Every instinct screamed that his discovery tonight was no accident. The cult moved with purpose. The relic's vision was a summons.
And Kael, for the first time since awakening, felt something new: the brush of destiny, whispering that his path would collide with powers far beyond Midgar's petty politics.
The Eye of Dusk pulsed faintly once more.
Kael's lips curved into a razor-thin smile.
"Then let the shadows rise."
And with that, he melted back into the night.