The orb did not sleep.
Even when Kael sealed it within layers of shadow and cloth, he felt its rhythm. A pulse not unlike a heartbeat, but colder, resonant, as though it drummed inside the marrow of the world itself. The Eye of Dusk did not belong to Midgar, nor to this age. It was an echo from something older—something vast.
Kael sat cross-legged in his hidden refuge beneath the city, a hollow cavern of black stone walls carved by his own summons. Candles guttered in the stagnant air, shadows writhing in the corners like patient hounds.
Before him, the orb rested. Its surface was calm, but the Veil whispered incessantly. He shut his eyes, sifting through the tide of voices. Snippets emerged—fragments of a forgotten tongue, battle chants of long-dead armies, the cold laughter of kings who ruled from thrones of darkness.
Then, a thread clear as glass:
"The Eye remembers what the world has buried. Seek the other fragments, or drown in the coming eclipse."
Kael opened his eyes. His breath was steady, but the weight in his chest pressed harder.
Fragments. Plural. The orb was only one piece.
And if he could sense it, then others surely could as well.
He was not wrong.
Elsewhere in the city, deep within a cathedral abandoned to rot, cloaked figures gathered. Their leader, a woman with silver hair bound in braids, stood before an altar etched with sacrilegious runes. Her voice carried a low, measured cadence.
"The shipment has been interrupted."
Murmurs rippled among the gathered cultists.
She lifted a hand, silencing them. "A shadow stole what is ours. Not a man, not a beast—a will woven of night itself. Reports speak of an eye that glowed violet, and legions that answered him."
The cultists shifted uneasily.
The woman's lips curved faintly. "The Monarch has awoken."
She pressed a dagger to the altar. The stone drank the blade's edge, swallowing it whole. From the fissure that spread, faint black mist rose.
"Then we will meet him. And he will either kneel to the Veiled Truth… or be consumed."
Morning crept over Midgar with pale light. Merchants unfurled their wares, children ran barefoot through alleys, and the ordinary rhythm resumed. Yet beneath the mundane hum, Kael felt a dissonance.
Shadows thickened unnaturally in corners where the sun should have chased them away. Whispers tugged at his ears even among the crowded market. He knew the Eye's aura had not gone unnoticed.
He concealed himself in a plain black cloak, walking the merchant's square as a passerby. But his senses remained taut, stretched across the Veil.
That was when he saw them.
Three cloaked figures moving through the crowd with uncanny precision. They did not look around. They did not haggle or pause. They moved like knives toward an unseen target.
Kael's hand drifted to his cloak. One gesture would summon his shadows. But striking in the open would draw notice—attention he did not yet want.
Instead, he followed.
The figures wove deeper into the quarter, then slipped into a deserted side alley. Kael shadowed their steps, but when he turned the corner—
Empty.
The alley stretched bare.
Kael's instincts screamed. He spun.
Figures descended from the walls like spiders, knives glinting. Cloaks fell away, revealing pale skin etched with markings that writhed like living ink. Eyes glowed faintly crimson.
Not men. Vessels.
"Return the Eye." Their voices overlapped, a dissonant harmony.
Kael raised his hood, shadows writhing at his heels. "You think to demand of me?" His tone carried ice.
The vessels leapt.
Kael whispered a command. The ground split open, birthing three of his summons—dark knights of shifting armor. Steel met steel, shadows clashing against blades glowing with corrupted light. Sparks carved arcs through the narrow alley.
Kael moved with precision. A vessel lunged; Kael sidestepped, palm brushing the man's chest. A ripple of darkness burst outward, flinging the attacker into a wall. Bones cracked audibly.
Another vessel tried to flank, but Kael's shadow rose like a curtain, absorbing the strike before retaliating with a blade of pure void. The vessel shrieked as the cut severed not flesh, but spirit, unraveling him into smoke.
But these enemies were not without teeth. One vessel thrust his dagger forward, and the blade extended unnaturally, as if the shadow itself carried it. It pierced one of Kael's summons through the chest. The knight dissolved instantly.
Kael's eyes narrowed. Adaptive magic. Parasites in human flesh. Dangerous.
He drew upon the Veil, letting it surge through his veins. His own shadow deepened, stretching across the alley until it swallowed the vessels' footing. They froze mid-step, struggling as the black mire dragged at their limbs.
Kael stepped forward, voice low and resonant. "You are pawns of the Veiled Truth. Tell me of the Eye's purpose, or I will reduce you to silence eternal."
One vessel hissed, lips cracking with dark ichor. "You cannot keep what you do not understand. The Eye calls to its master. You are but the echo of a throne long shattered."
Their bodies convulsed. Markings blazed. Kael recognized the ritual—self-obliteration.
"Damn it—"
A blinding flash tore through the alley. When the smoke cleared, only ash remained.
Kael stood unmoving, jaw clenched. His summons dissipated, their work finished.
So the cult was willing to burn its pawns rather than let him claim answers. Which meant the Eye was far more important than even he suspected.
As Kael turned to leave, he felt it.
Another presence.
Not hostile, not cultic. Something else—lurking, watching. Hidden in the shadow of a rooftop above.
Kael did not reveal he'd noticed. He walked calmly out of the alley, cloak drawn tight. But his mind ticked. Whoever watched had the patience not to strike, the skill not to be seen, and the aura of someone who belonged to the night as much as he did.
A rival shadow.
And as Kael vanished into the streets, the unseen observer smirked from above.
"Interesting," Cid murmured to himself, eyes glinting. "Another player in the dark."