The cathedral's ruins breathed.
Not with life—with memory. The shattered stained glass shimmered with phantom light, casting fractured colors across the broken pews. The air smelled of old incense and older blood.
And the whispers—
They had changed.
No longer just the Hollow Crown's hungry murmurs, now they carried the metallic echo of the Veilbound's presence, a silver aftertaste clinging to every word.
They are coming.
They will unmake you.
Unless you unmake them first.
Lucian flexed his claws, watching shadows writhe between his fingers. The Corruption in his veins had settled into a low, constant burn—32% and holding, the System's warnings a dull pulse at the back of his skull.
Vaelros stood at the cathedral's broken altar, his back to Lucian, his posture unnaturally still. The blackened veins from his escape through the void had receded, but the skin there remained cracked, like porcelain glued back together.
"You owe me answers," Lucian said, his voice rough.
Vaelros didn't turn. "I owe you nothing."
"That Witcher called you traitor."
A pause. Then, soft as a knife sliding between ribs: "They would know."
Lucian stepped closer. The shadows at his feet coiled, restless. "What did you do?"
Vaelros finally turned. His crimson eyes were darker now, the amusement drained away, leaving something raw beneath. "I did what you did, little king. I refused to kneel."
The admission hung between them, heavy as a noose.
Then—
A sound. Distant, but unmistakable.
The scrape of silver on stone.
The Veilbound were coming.
Vaelros' gaze snapped toward the cathedral's gaping entrance. His smirk returned, but it was brittle now. "Ah. Faster than I expected."
Lucian's shadows twisted, responding to his surge of adrenaline. "We run."
"No." Vaelros' voice was calm. "Not this time."
The vampire reached into his coat and withdrew something Lucian hadn't seen before—a dagger, its blade carved from a single shard of black glass, its hilt wrapped in thorns. Shadows bled from its edge, hissing where they touched the air.
Lucian's System flared in recognition:
[Artifact Detected: Thorn of the Hollow Apostate]
[Origin: Forged from the remains of a fallen Veilbound]
[Effect: ???]
Vaelros met Lucian's stare. "This is where we part ways, little king."
Lucian snarled. "You're leaving?"
"I'm buying time." Vaelros flipped the dagger, catching it by the blade. A thin line of blood welled where the edge kissed his palm. "The Veilbound don't just hunt vampires. They hunt knowledge. And you, Lucian, are a living heresy." His smile turned sharp. "That makes you valuable."
The scraping sound grew louder. Closer.
Lucian's Corruption pulsed in response, the whispers rising to a fever pitch.
Run.
Fight.
Kill.
He forced them down. "What aren't you telling me?"
Vaelros tilted his head. "What makes you think I'd start now?"
A shadow passed over the cathedral's entrance.
The Witcher stepped into the light.
Not the same one from before—this one wore no mask. Their face was bare, gaunt, their eyes twin pools of liquid silver. Their armor was simpler, less ornate, but the power radiating from them was no less potent.
A lesser Veilbound. But no less deadly.
They raised a hand. Symbols flickered to life in the air around them—jagged runes that made Lucian's vision blur just by looking at them.
[Veilbound Rite Detected: Purge]
[Effect: 85% chance of System Collapse if contact is made]
Vaelros sighed. "How dramatic."
Then he moved.
One moment he stood beside Lucian. The next, he was inside the Veilbound's guard, the black-glass dagger plunging toward their throat.
The Veilbound twisted, but not fast enough. The dagger grazed their shoulder—and where it touched, their silver dimmed, the runes stuttering like a failing light.
The Veilbound hissed, their voice human this time, laced with pain. "Apostate."
Vaelros grinned. "Guilty."
Lucian didn't wait. He lunged, his shadow-claws slashing toward the Veilbound's exposed back—
The Veilbound flickered, their form dissolving into mist just before the strike connected. They reappeared at the cathedral's entrance, their silver eyes burning with cold fury.
"You cannot outrun the Veil," they spat.
Vaelros twirled the dagger. "But we can distract it."
He glanced at Lucian. A single, weighted look.
Go.
Lucian hesitated.
Then the whispers screamed—
And he ran.
Behind him, the sounds of battle erupted—the clash of silver and shadow, the hiss of dissolving magic, Vaelros' laughter ringing through the ruins like a funeral bell.
The System's message burned as Lucian fled:
[Warning: Veilbound Pursuit Imminent]
[Recommended Action: Seek Sanctuary]
[Nearest Safe Zone: ???]
Lucian snarled. "Useless."
The Corruption in his veins writhed, the whispers rising again—
But this time, they weren't just the Hollow Crown's.
This time, they carried a new voice.
A woman's voice.
Clear. Cold.
"Lucian."
He skidded to a halt.
A figure stood in the ruins ahead, silhouetted against the bleeding sky.
Not a Veilbound.
Not a vampire.
A woman in a tattered coat, her eyes a familiar, haunting brown.
Lucian's breath caught.
Impossible.
The woman smiled, and the world bent around her.
"You don't recognize me?" she murmured. "After everything you took from me?"
Lucian's blood turned to ice.
Because he did recognize her.
From the night he died.
From the night he rose.
The last face he'd seen as a human.
The hunter who had killed him.
[To Be Continued…]