Episode 37: The Whispering Veil
The rain returned to Arcland, but this time it didn't feel like cleansing.
Kael stood atop the spire of the Phoenix Citadel, the headquarters now granted to the Reclaimers after their official induction by the High Council. Wind howled around him, sending his crimson cloak snapping like a banner of war. Below, the city stirred with movement—workers rebuilding shattered districts, refugees arriving from border villages, and knights patrolling like restless spirits.
His thoughts were a storm.
The revelation from Archmage Veyrion haunted him: "A gate has been found."
Not just any gate—a Veil Gate. The very thing Arcland had sealed away centuries ago when the realms first fractured. A gate between their world and something far worse.
A knock at the spire's doorway snapped him from his trance.
It was Seraphine, her silver hair wet from the rain but her eyes as sharp as ever.
"You haven't slept," she said softly.
"Could say the same to you," Kael replied, offering her a wry smile. "Any news from the scouts?"
She nodded grimly. "A rift appeared in the eastern wetlands two nights ago. Locals say the fog sings to them—whispers their secrets, tempts them to cross."
Kael's expression hardened.
"We leave at dawn," he said.
---
The Reclaimers' War Council
The main hall of the Phoenix Citadel buzzed with tension. Maps of Arcland were spread across the long obsidian table, markers showing the shifting tides of the realm. Refugee camps. Beast activity. Mana fluctuations.
Around the table stood the core of the Reclaimers:
Sylvhar, ever watchful, his nature-born magic now entwined with cursed energy he had yet to master.
Auren, silent but fierce, scars now crawling up his arm like veins of iron from his last berserker state.
Vaeronth, flames dimmed but focused, his inner demon quelled for now.
Lyssia, recently returned from the Fairy Realm, with dire news about realm-border instability.
Thalgron of the Titans, newly allied, standing like a mountain of resolve.
Kael looked over his companions—his family forged in fire.
"There's no doubt," he said. "The Veil Gate in the eastern wetlands is active. If we don't seal it now, we risk another breach like the Obsidian Heart. Worse, we don't know what might come through."
"But what if it's not a breach?" Vaeronth asked, crossing his arms. "What if it's a summoning?"
A cold hush fell over the room.
"The Covenant of Abyss has been silent too long," Seraphine added. "This could be them—testing us again."
Kael's hand hovered over the map.
"We head out in three units," he said. "Lyssia and Sylvhar scout the veil. Vaeronth and Thalgron protect the perimeter. I'll go with Seraphine and Auren—we'll investigate the source."
"And if the Gate is opening?" Auren asked.
Kael's voice was iron.
"Then we close it. Or die trying."
---
Into the Veil
The journey eastward was bleak. Forests that once teemed with life now drooped under the weight of a creeping fog. Birds flew in erratic patterns. Mana beasts fled inland. The land itself felt wrong.
On the fourth day, the team reached the Wailing Wetlands—an eerie expanse of black water, thin trees, and thick mist.
At the center stood the Gate.
It wasn't a door in the traditional sense. It was a tear in reality—a swirling oval of violet light framed by floating runes older than language. Whispering voices leaked from it, unintelligible but heavy with emotion. Grief. Anger. Hunger.
Seraphine's wings pulsed with divine energy. "I've seen this before. In the Archives of the Celestials… it's a gateway to the World Between Worlds—where discarded realities go to die."
Auren drew his greatsword, flames licking the edges. "We're not alone."
From the mist emerged wraiths—not mere ghosts, but distorted echoes of lives lost to other timelines. Warriors who once were. Mages who died screaming. Kings who failed their realms.
And they were angry.
Kael stepped forward, summoning his Chrono Blade—a sword forged in time itself. "We fight. Don't listen to their voices. They'll try to show you truths that never happened—alternate pasts."
The battle began.
Steel clashed with shadow. Seraphine unleashed holy sigils that burned the wraiths into mist. Auren's berserker aura ignited the fog itself. Kael danced between echoes of his own dead self—versions of him that never survived.
One of the wraiths whispered in his ear: "You abandoned us…"
He struck it down.
---
At the Threshold
With the last wraith fallen, the Gate pulsed violently.
Kael approached it, blood dripping from his wounds, Seraphine barely standing, Auren wounded but grinning like the lunatic he was.
"We need to seal it now," Kael said.
"But how?" Seraphine gasped. "We don't have an Anchor Rune…"
Kael stared into the Gate—and it stared back.
And then…
It spoke.
"You are not bound by fate, Kael of the Fractured Flame… You are the one who severed the Obsidian Thread. Enter… and see the truth that lies beneath this world."
Kael felt the pull. Not just magical—personal. This Gate knew him. Knew his origin.
He turned to Seraphine.
"Take Auren. Get back to the citadel."
"You can't be serious—!" she started.
"I have to know what this thing wants," Kael said. "If I don't… we'll never be ready for what comes next."
And with that, he stepped into the Veil.