"But all who unveil are bound to meet their cost."
---
Three Weeks Ago,
Vault of Refusal.
Date: Day Nocthar, 14th of the Seventh Vaelis Month, 187.
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"What corrodes me, corrodes another.
What fractures me, fractures flesh unbound…"
---
In a dark secluded area deep in the underground floor, a figure hidden in the shadows sat across from a small altar, where the only source of light was a dim old chandelier shining upon it. On the altar, three relic items were arranged in a triangular formation around a red goblet. The items were a small golden signet ring called the Blood-Binding Sigil, Shadow Stone, and black lunar ash.
The red goblet at the center contained a transparent liquid. The transparent liquid was a brewed potion of ember resin, a crushed golden leaf called memory-leaf, and saltwater collected under the full Myrr moon.
The relic items were potent beyond imagination and almost impossible to acquire, purchased at a staggering ten thousand Dosh from the Underground Market. That amount was enough to build a modest fortune.
---
Silas Crowe was a public man of honor, having served in the Kargoth Trade and Infrastructure Authority for years, recognized for his loyalty and sharp mind. To the citizens, he was an embodiment of duty and responsibility. To his family, he was distant but a loving father and husband.
Elizabeth Crowe, his wife, was gentle and supportive and assisted him with practiced elegance. His daughters also adored the rare moments spent with their father, and even his only beloved son Ezekiel, studying abroad, missed his parents with fervor.
Everyone around Silas revered, loved, and respected him. He also would not betray the members of The Highmen because he was well recognized, especially among the high-tier Unveiled of the third floor.
But all who unveil are bound to meet their cost.
He had been struck by the pressing Attrition of memory loss since his progression to the third Veil, and now that he was in the seventh Veil, his memory decay had worsened. Names, faces, and fragments of his past were beginning to slip away like sand.
Whether in public or in private, he could never risk being exposed.
So the only solution lay in the Burdening Ritual.
But on who?
He decided not to choose lightly. He could randomly mark a man who might turn out to be the sole support of his family, or a woman who had children to raise. Any misstep could ruin an innocent life irrevocably.
He considered possible contingencies, and finally concluded that the market would yield a very suitable candidate.
---
Disguised as a commoner with a scarf across his head, Silas wandered the bustling Kargoth market, watching carefully.
His gaze settled on a pale and frail labourer, who was currently being mocked by fellow labourers while hauling wine barrels. Their jeers, laced with fatigue and cruelty, rang across the market stalls.
'Such a life,' Silas thought.
'Even the lowest class breeds adversaries.'
A female vendor's sharp voice cut through the noise, beckoning to the labourers.
"Hey! Come hither, or I shall deduct your wages by half!"
The labourers muttered grumbles but reluctantly resumed their work.
Silas noticed that the pale labourer was left lingering, as if life itself had grown heavy upon him. The barrel on his head had been dropped.
As Silas approached, the labourer's bony fingers unexpectedly gripped his coat.
Then the words hissed through his ears.
"...Please kill me. I want to die... I'm... I'm so miserable..."
Silas froze, dumbfounded, his eyes wide.
That felt… aligned.
It mirrored the very need the Burdening Ritual required. His consent, silent or not, simplified everything.
The labourer looked up at Silas due to his height, with a neutral and unwavering expression. Silas deliberately stepped back, studying the fragile vessel before him.
His fingernail subtly scratched the labourer's arm. Then he freed himself from the grip and withdrew.
The pale labourer looked at the cut on his skin and sharply turned his head toward Silas with a hint of confusion. Silas turned and retreated from the market.
The alignment of this man with the ritual's requirement was unmistakable. The moment confirmed what Silas had suspected.
This labourer would serve as the perfect conduit for the Burden.
'He is already willing,' Silas mused internally.
'His desire simplifies matters.'
---
A few minutes later, he got down from a cart in front of the Authority building, paid the driver off, and descended into the Vault of Refusal.
Adjusting his bow tie, he sipped the pale liquor served upon his arrival, contemplating. Most Unveiled on the third floor were currently absent, and the opportunity to gather the relic items from the Underground Market was open.
That moment in the market, that single plea, had solidified the plan. There would be no turning back.
The labourer would carry his Attrition, and Silas' delicate balance of power, memory, and morality would proceed as intended.
---
Hours later, Silas was cloaked in a dark cape bearing the Highmen emblem. He crouched before a small altar in a secluded dark room.
Activating his Unveiled powers, Silas placed the Blood-Binding Sigil on his middle finger, its cool metal pressing snugly against his skin. Bringing out a small glass pouch, he squeezed the blood inside it into the ring grooves.
---
Somewhere near the Principal Square of Kargoth market, a frail young man was seen trudging through the quiet of the desolate streets. The streets were lit by the mixed blue and white glimmer of the moons.
The young man breathed raggedly, forcing himself to move forward. Bruises covered his body, some from the strain of the day, while some were from the bullying.
However, he suddenly felt a sharp but subtle pain on his arm.
The cut…
It was rapidly closing. Anvil looked down at his arm, his eyes wide.
---
The cloaked man lowered his gaze to the small altar.
Suddenly, his deliberate voice echoed lowly across the room as he invoked in the archaic language.
"What corrodes me,"
"corrodes another."
---
The young feeble man lingered in the quiet of the dimly lit streets, unaware of the strange forces beginning to stir around him.
---
In the dark room, the signet ring on the cloaked figure began to emanate a subtle red glow.
Silas' archaic voice continued.
"What fractures me,"
"fractures flesh unbound."
The air thickened around him as the ring flared to life. A radiant crimson light violently erupted from the glowing sigil, casting the entire room in a red glow that pressed against the stone walls.
Silas' eyes darted around vigilantly.
His voice deepened, gentler now, bearing the weight of a godlike authority as he invoked the next lines.
The drop of blood began to flow along the grooves of the ring head.
"As I fade, let another endure."
---
"Argh!"
Anvil suddenly felt a huge pain strike his inner being, somewhere he couldn't place within his body.
It felt as if a heavy load had suddenly been dropped onto his soul.
---
At that moment, the dried drop of blood melted at once, turning slick and dark as it flowed through the carved grooves of the ring's head, threading the intricate designs in a pulsing red shimmer.
At the same time, the air suddenly convulsed, conjuring a violent wind that tore across the room from an unknown source, spinning the remaining relic items and the liquid potion in the goblet into the air in a frantic spiral before they settled down again.
---
In the unlit streets, Anvil was convulsing in pain.
But that was not all. The air around him suddenly felt heavy.
Strange black doves swept in from nowhere, hundreds of birds surrounding him. A strange wild wind rose around him and roared violently, but the dark creatures kept him encircled, shielding him from the storm.
---
In the dark room, Silas' cloak lashed wildly around him, snapping against his thighs with an almost willful force.
The wooden floorboards rippled like disturbed water, rising and falling in shallow waves beneath his boots without breaking.
The walls shed faint reflections of crimson light, as if the stone itself had developed translucent veins.
Above him, the old chandelier twisted on its chain and multiplied in midair with stunning speed before settling back into one.
Meanwhile, the ring on his hand burned brighter, its grooves flowing with liquid red like a living current.
Amidst the chaos, he continued.
"As I forget, let memory shift."
---
The tenebrous creatures lashed wildly, their dark eyes wide against the invisible force. The whole moment screamed of carnage, yet it seemed the residents nearby could not notice it. A lone figure walked past the street, completely unaware of what was unfolding.
Anvil remained at the center of this strange war between the creatures and the wind.
---
The unrest stilled for a moment, as if the room itself was waiting for his next action.
Silas removed the ring, which had dimmed back to its golden hue, and placed it back in the triangular arrangement with the Shadow Stone and black lunar ash. The altar looked complete once more.
He sank back to his sitting position, folding his legs beneath him and sitting on his heels. For a long moment, he hesitated. A flicker of unease threaded through him. Calling the final line now would irrevocably thrust the labourer into his Attrition.
At that moment, he felt as though he himself were the one sentencing the man to death.
He glanced at the darker corner of the room and imagined the frail form of the labourer. Pity brushed against him briefly, but a quiet understanding shrugged it off. The man had requested this fate in his own tortured plea.
Silas' lips moved, almost imperceptibly.
"Let burden walk—"
---
The clash between the swirling black doves and the invisible wind did not stop, only growing wilder. Anvil watched in stunned awe at what was happening.
One of the birds suddenly stopped mid-flight, turning toward the northern direction of Kargoth.
Then the bird abruptly splattered into a dark mist and vanished.
---
At that exact moment, a sudden jolt of disquiet seized Silas' tongue.
His pulse spiked violently, his heart hammering against his ribs. His nose suddenly tickled. He touched it with his finger.
... Blood!
He wanted to speak, but his throat constricted and a harsh cough broke out, followed by a spill of blood that sank into the wooden floorboards. He stared in disbelief at the crimson fluid spreading before him.
Still stunned, he tried invoking the last line again.
"Let burden walk—"
But the words emerged only as a broken whisper. Another cough wracked him as a more blood speckled the floor, forcing him to abandon the invocation. The sound of his heartbeat were thrumming in his ears. More blood were dripping from his nostrils, and his eyes were turning red.
---
Anvil remained stunned at what had just happened.
The strange creatures left as suddenly as they had come. He remained standing there, lingering in silent awe.
---
Silas steadied himself as he stood, pressing his hands against his knees, his body trembling. He…
He had failed to complete the ritual. Some unforeseen force had stopped the Burdening.
But what had gone wrong? He had bought the correct items. He had chosen the perfect place and moment. What could it be?
'Wh… what trickery is this?'
However, a faint sound suddenly drew his attention.
Footsteps, approaching from somewhere outside the room. He suddenly felt a strange presence subtly overcome the room. Silas' eyes immediately snapped toward the altar.
In a flurry of hurried motions, he cleared the relics and goblet, gathering the ashes into a small pouch.
Using his Seventh Veil power, he shadow-stepped through the darkness of the room. With his Fifth Veil power, he sealed his presence within the shadows.
What felt like two seconds later, a figure walked through the door without opening it and stopped exactly where Silas had been performing the ritual. They were wearing a decorative gown adorned with golden accessories and polished high heel boots.
Their face remained hidden in shadow beneath a wide-brim hat with mesh veils. The weight of their presence pressed upon the room like a tangible force. Even their gaze seemed to pierce through the darkness itself.
Silas remained in the shadows, completely still.
For the first time in months, the meticulous calculations, the perfect timing, and the careful plans he had constructed felt fragile.
Then the mysterious person donned in black spoke.
"I am aware of your presence. Step forth."