The night air was damp with the scent of rain. Clouds crawled across the sky, smothering the moon. Perfect cover.
Kael crouched in silence on the gabled roof across from the Vellor estate. From here, the entire courtyard spread beneath him like a map. Guards moved in rigid rotations. Lanterns swayed. The wagon, its tarpaulin heavy with rain, had been dragged into the inner yard.
And Selene Varadis stood at its side.
Her silver hair caught the faint lamplight, making her seem carved from moonlight itself. She issued no orders, but the guards obeyed her silence as if it were law. Each crate was carried into the manor's belly, deeper into its hidden chambers.
Kael's eyes narrowed. The resonance of the Eye thrummed faintly from within those crates. Fragments. He was certain of it now.
He whispered.
"Arise."
From his shadow, three shades slipped forth—scouts, formless and weightless. They melted into the night, seeping through cracks in the wall, slipping between the boots of guards, vanishing into the estate like smoke.
Kael closed his eyes briefly. Through them, he saw.
Corridors lined with velvet. Staircases winding into hidden basements. Torches sputtering against damp stone. And there—the chamber. Runes etched into every wall, glowing faintly crimson. The crates stacked in neat rows, humming faintly with power.
But not just crates.
Kael's vision sharpened. At the far end of the chamber, upon a pedestal, another relic. Smaller than the Eye of Dusk, a shard of obsidian etched with veins of living silver. The fragment pulsed once, and Kael's shadows recoiled instinctively.
Yes. Another piece.
Kael's lips curved faintly. Tonight, it becomes mine.
The estate was alive with watchful eyes. Guards circled in pairs. Runes shimmered faintly along the gates. Selene remained in the courtyard, her blade strapped at her hip, her gaze never leaving the procession.
Kael slipped from the rooftop, descending into the alley's embrace. His cloak melted into the dark. By the time he reached the manor's wall, he was nothing more than a ripple in the night.
A servant exited through a side door, carrying a basket of linen. Kael's hand shot out, pulling the man into shadow. There was no scream, only silence. When the cloak settled again, a perfect replica of the servant stepped forth—Kael's summon wearing borrowed flesh.
Kael himself followed in silence, the servant-double ahead of him. Guards nodded, deceived by routine. Kael's shadow brushed against their boots as he passed. None noticed.
Inside, the estate pulsed with subdued activity. Nobles whispered in drawing rooms. Cultists, disguised as attendants, moved quietly. Kael trailed the crates deeper, his presence a shadow within shadows.
The basement was colder, the air thick with the tang of iron and incense. Kael descended the stairwell unseen, his boots making no sound.
At the bottom, the chamber yawned before him.
The relic shard pulsed faintly from its pedestal, its glow painting the walls with eerie silver light. Selene Varadis stood beside it now, her hand brushing the runes, lips moving in a quiet incantation. Around her, five cultists knelt in prayer, their bodies tattooed with crimson sigils.
Kael pressed himself into the corner, watching.
Selene's voice was calm, melodic. "Fragments of dusk, drawn together by the hand of the Veil. Soon the whole will awaken, and with it—"
Her words cut short.
She turned sharply, eyes narrowing at the shadows near the stairwell.
Kael stilled. She couldn't see him—not truly. But her instincts were sharp. Too sharp.
"You may as well step out," she said softly. Her tone carried confidence, as though she were speaking to the darkness itself.
Kael remained silent.
Her eyes glinted. "No? Then watch closely. Watch what you'll never claim."
She lifted the relic fragment. The chamber flared with light.
The sigils on the cultists ignited, burning into their flesh. They screamed, but did not resist. Their bodies collapsed into ash, feeding the runes on the wall. The shard pulsed brighter, drinking the sacrifice.
Kael's jaw tightened. A ritual to bind it.
If she succeeded, the fragment would be locked in the Cult's grasp.
Unacceptable.
Kael moved.
His hand swept outward, and the shadows exploded from his cloak, swallowing the chamber in violet flame. The torches guttered and died. The runes sputtered.
Selene spun, her blade in her hand instantly, its edge blazing with crimson.
"So it is you," she whispered. Her lips curved faintly. "The Monarch himself."
Kael's summons erupted from the floor—three knights clad in obsidian armor, their swords gleaming. They struck at once, blades whistling toward Selene.
She parried with unnatural grace, her blade weaving arcs of crimson fire. Sparks flew. Each clash shook the chamber, runes cracking under the force.
Kael advanced, violet eyes burning. His voice was calm, unhurried. "That fragment does not belong to you."
Selene smirked, even as her blade locked against one of his knights. "And yet you crawl to it, just as we do. Do you even know what you're claiming?"
Her eyes narrowed, voice sharp as steel. "Fragments cannot be controlled. They can only consume."
She slashed, a crimson arc splitting the air, forcing Kael's knights back. She seized the shard, holding it aloft. Its silver veins flared violently, filling the chamber with blinding light.
Kael's shadows recoiled, shrieking. The air itself rippled, threatening to tear.
And in that chaos, Selene vanished.
When the light dimmed, Kael stood alone in the chamber. The cultists were gone. The runes had collapsed, scorched into the walls.
Only ash remained where the crates had been.
The shard was gone.
Kael exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening. Not anger. Not frustration. But calculation. Selene had claimed this piece. She had shown him her ritual. She had revealed her strength.
And in doing so, she had made herself the target of his hunt.
He turned, shadows flowing back into him.
"Run as far as you like, Hand of the Veil," Kael murmured. His voice was calm, steady, inevitable. "You will not outrun the Sovereign."
The chamber fell into silence, broken only by the faint, steady pulse of the Eye of Dusk against his chest.
It had grown warmer, as if it too had taken note of its rival fragment.
Kael's smile was razor-thin.
The game was only beginning.