Aerich woke before sunrise.
The cold stone beneath him pressed against his back like a warning. The spiral mark on his chest pulsed faintly, a slow, steady heartbeat of its own. Something had changed overnight. He could feel it—not in the hum, not in the lingering power, but in the weight of the Watchers' presence that seemed to seep through the walls.
He swung his legs off the bed and pressed his hands to his chest. The hunger was quieter now, just a low whisper, coaxing, patient, but insistent.
Aerich didn't like quiet whispers. He'd learned by now that they were the most dangerous.
Sereth appeared at the doorway silently, as if she'd always been there. Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes burned with that same cold fire he'd learned to recognize—expectation.
"You're awake," she said.
"I was awake all night," Aerich muttered, voice tight. "Why didn't you check on me?"
"I had to observe," she replied. "The power was restless. You needed to learn to survive it alone."
He flinched. "Alone?"
Sereth didn't answer.
Breakfast was silent. His mother tried to smile, but the lines around her eyes betrayed exhaustion and worry. The Watchers remained distant, quiet, and unyielding.
Aerich poked at the food on his plate. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed normalcy until now—the taste of bread, the warmth of tea, the soft murmur of someone trying to act like nothing was wrong. But normalcy didn't exist here. Not for him. Not anymore.
And then he saw it.
A shadow moving across the corner of the room.
Not an ordinary shadow. One that flickered unnaturally, almost like it was... alive.
He froze. The spiral throbbed beneath his skin. Hunger, curiosity, and fear mingled into something sharp and impossible to ignore.
Sereth noticed immediately. "It's too early," she whispered. "Step back."
But it was already too late.
The shadow lunged. Fast, silent, precise.
Aerich reacted instinctively. His chest flared, white-threaded with black veins, and he reached out with a force that bent the very air. The shadow twisted in midair—evading, adapting—but he pressed forward, pulling it into him.
It didn't die.
It whispered.
"You think you can control me?"
Aerich staggered. The spiral burned hotter now, surging as if it recognized the voice. It wasn't a creature outside himself—it was something inside. Something old, cunning, and familiar.
He yanked backward, panting.
"Who are you?" he demanded.
The voice laughed softly, echoing in his mind.
I am what you've hidden. What your mother hid from me. What Sereth thinks you are ready to confront.
Aerich froze.
What?
Then realization hit him like a punch. This wasn't a random test. This wasn't an accident. Someone—someone he trusted—had let this thing in.
He turned sharply toward Sereth.
Her expression remained neutral. "You're not ready to know."
"You—" He stumbled over words, disbelief and anger mixing. "You let it in!"
"No," she said softly. "It found its way. I warned you."
"Warned me? You knew it could—" His voice broke.
"The mark reacts to proximity," Sereth said. "To intention. You drew it in yourself."
Aerich's hands shook. "I didn't—"
Yes, you did.
The whisper echoed again, this time almost taunting. You made the first mistake.
He pressed both hands to his chest, the spiral flaring violently. Hunger and power coiled inside him, ready to lash out. The room bent slightly under the pressure of his energy. Candles flickered, shadows warped, and the Watchers shifted uneasily.
"I—don't—understand," he gasped.
"You will," Sereth said quietly. "Eventually."
Hours later, Aerich trained in isolation.
He moved through the exercises Sereth had given him: control, channeling, restraint. But every movement felt wrong. Every strike felt hollow. The whisper remained at the edge of his mind, subtle and insidious.
You can't trust them. They lie. They all lie.
Aerich clenched his fists, sweat running down his face. "Stop," he muttered aloud. "Just—stop."
But it didn't.
He fell to his knees, shaking, the spiral glowing brighter, veins of darkness snaking outward. He could feel the hunger probing again, reacting to the whisper, the deceit.
And then the betrayal hit—not from outside, but from within.
The spiral pulsed violently, answering the whisper. The power surged, and the shadows in the room stretched unnaturally, taking shapes, forming limbs, forming faces. Shapes he recognized: past trainees, failed vessels, victims of the Watchers' secrecy.
He screamed as visions of them flashed before him, eyes empty, mouths screaming silently.
You cannot escape them.
Aerich collapsed, covering his head. His body convulsed as the hunger raged, thrashing against restraint. It wanted release. It wanted acknowledgment.
"You are stronger than them," the whisper said. "But stronger still is the truth they hide."
His mother appeared suddenly, crouching beside him, hands on his shoulders. "Aerich… breathe. Control it."
He shook his head violently. "I can't! It's inside me—it knows me—it knows!"
Her eyes softened. "Yes. That's why you survive. That's why you fight. Because you are not alone."
"Not alone?" he whispered. "I am alone! Sereth lied—she let it in—everyone is hiding something from me!"
His mother's face twisted with fear and sorrow. "The truth is never easy. They try to protect you, even when it hurts."
Aerich screamed again, flaring the spiral, sending the shadows recoiling. The room quaked under the raw force of his energy.
And then Sereth appeared silently behind him, voice calm, authoritative: "Aerich, stop."
He whipped around. "No! You're part of this!"
"I am your guide," she said. "Not your enemy. But even I cannot protect you from everything. That is not my role. That is yours."
He gaped at her. "My role? My role was… to be deceived?"
She stepped closer, hands raised in warning. "Your role is to survive. To learn. To endure. And yes… to face betrayal. Because the moment you trust blindly is the moment the Veil will consume you."
Aerich's chest heaved. The spiral burned hot, a warning and a weapon at once. The whisper hissed in his mind, laughing. You see now, don't you? The world is not what it seems. They all hide. Even her.
"Enough," his mother said, stepping forward. "Aerich, you choose. Control it. Decide. Don't let it control you."
He pressed his hands to his chest. The spiral flared one last time, white-threaded with black, veins expanding and contracting like a living thing. The shadows recoiled, the whisper silenced, at least for the moment.
He opened his eyes, chest heaving, eyes wild with fear and anger. "I see," he whispered. "I see everything now. And I won't… be used."
Sereth nodded slowly. "Good. But remember this: betrayal comes not only from others, but from what you allow inside yourself. And the first betrayal is always the hardest."
Aerich's mother placed her hand on his shoulder, voice soft but firm. "Then remember this, too—you are not alone. Not while I breathe."
Aerich closed his eyes, finally letting himself sink to the floor, chest heaving. The spiral pulsed, the hunger whispering at the edges—but for the first time, he tasted resolve beneath fear.
The first betrayal had been inflicted. But the fight—the real fight—was only beginning.
And Aerich knew, deep down, that nothing would ever be the same again.