The light outside the gorge had started to fade by the time Aric and Maelis emerged. The air had grown thicker, heavier, as if the very world was holding its breath. The satchel—now safely tucked beneath Aric's cloak—felt both like a burden and a promise, though he couldn't yet make sense of either.
Aric glanced at Maelis, who gave him a look that could only be described as half-concern, half-curiosity. They hadn't spoken since the trial, but Aric could feel the questions bubbling beneath his friend's silence. Maelis was sharp, and though the woods and the strange creature had unsettled him, the trial left its mark on Aric in ways that were still settling.
"Something's wrong," Maelis finally said, breaking the silence.
Aric stopped, his hand instinctively going to the Emberblade at his side. "What do you mean?"
"Not the woods," Maelis said, scanning the horizon where the last light of day was beginning to vanish. "The air... it's too quiet. We've been walking for hours, and I haven't seen a single animal. No birds. Not even insects. It feels like we're being watched."
Aric frowned. He felt it too. The trees, once heavy with the sound of wind and life, now stood motionless, like forgotten statues. His senses were on edge, every step weighed with the unease that had clung to him ever since the trial.
"Let's move," Aric said, keeping his voice low. He glanced toward the darkening path ahead, his eyes narrowing. There was something waiting. Something that was getting closer.
They pressed forward, the shadow of the trees stretching long into the night, the path barely visible underfoot. The distant stars above gave little comfort, their light dimmed by the thickening clouds.
Hours passed, and the silence deepened.
Suddenly, Aric felt it—a shift in the air. A crackle of static, as if the world itself was caught in a fleeting moment between two realities. The Emberblade hummed, and for the briefest instant, Aric thought he saw a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye.
"Maelis," he whispered urgently, his hand tightening around the sword's hilt.
The sound of footsteps. Soft at first, then sharper, closer. A figure—cloaked, draped in shadows—emerged from the trees ahead, moving silently but with intent.
"I've been waiting," the figure's voice was cool, distant, like the wind itself. Female.
Aric instinctively stepped forward, raising the Emberblade. "Who are you?"
The figure didn't respond immediately. Instead, the air around her seemed to bend and warp, a dark energy curling around her form like tendrils of smoke. The shape of her face was partially obscured by a mask—a hollow, featureless silver plate.
"I am the Veil," she said, her voice now colder, sharper. "And I have come for the Emberblade."
Aric's blood ran cold. The Veil? He had heard whispers about them—the ones who once wielded power, only to lose their humanity, devoured by their own lust for control. They were legends. Stories told around campfires, feared and spoken of in hushed tones. But to see one... to stand face to face with one...
"You... are one of them," Aric said slowly.
The figure tilted her head, a low chuckle escaping from beneath the mask. "I am more than one of them. I am what remains when a soul is broken."
Maelis stepped forward, sword drawn. "We won't let you take the blade."
The figure's eyes—pale as the moon—focused on Maelis for a moment. Then, with a wave of her hand, a gust of wind swept toward him, knocking him back. He stumbled, but regained his footing quickly, glaring at her.
"Your fight is not with me, warrior," she said, her voice like a whisper in a storm. "It is with the fire that he carries. The Emberblade answers to only one master, and it will burn you all to ash before it allows another to claim its flame."
Aric's grip on the sword tightened. He wasn't afraid of her words, but the weight of what she said rang true. The Emberblade was no ordinary weapon—it had its own will, its own purpose. And something told him that if she were allowed to take it, that purpose would be forever twisted.
"You're too late," Aric said, his voice steady. "I've already chosen."
The figure stepped closer, her silhouette melding with the shadows, her presence overwhelming. "Then let us see if the blade's choice was wise."
Without warning, she lunged forward, swift as a shadow, her movements impossible to track. Aric barely had time to react, raising the Emberblade in time to block a strike that would have cleaved him in two. The force behind her blow sent shockwaves through his arms, and he staggered, barely holding his ground.
Maelis was already back on his feet, charging forward to assist. He swung his sword with precision, aiming for her side, but she deflected it with a flick of her wrist, her mask reflecting the faint light of the Emberblade.
"You are nothing but pawns in this game," she hissed, her voice full of disdain.
Aric growled, pressing forward, bringing the sword down in a powerful arc. This time, the blade struck true.
The Veil staggered back, eyes flashing with an unnatural light. For a moment, the mask seemed to crack, revealing a glimpse of something beneath—a face that was not human at all, but something far darker, a void where a soul once resided.
"You should not have done that," she whispered, more to herself than to him.
Aric raised the blade again, but before he could strike, the figure dissolved into smoke, vanishing in an instant, leaving only the eerie silence in her wake.
Aric stood still, his heart pounding, breath coming in short bursts.
"We need to go," he said quietly, his gaze lingering on the space where she had stood moments before. "The Veil is coming."
Maelis nodded. "And we're not ready."
"No," Aric agreed, a fierce determination building in his chest. "But we will be."
With that, they turned and began their march forward once again—toward whatever lay ahead, and toward the fire that would burn brighter than any shadow could ever hope to chase.