Chapter 12 — Embers Beneath the Veil
POV: Lioren
Location: Veltheim Academy, West Courtyard
The morning mist clung low to the flagstone paths of Veltheim Academy, curling around ancient trees and glowing lanterns like spectral threads. Lioren stood quietly beneath the arched entrance to the West Courtyard, letting the silence steady his breathing. Birds chirped softly overhead, but even their songs sounded distant—as though the world itself was holding its breath.
It had been a week since his return from the ruins beneath Mount Trinari. What was supposed to be a basic elemental field examination had turned into something else entirely—a convergence point hidden beneath the stone, a pool of ancient mana, and a presence that had reached into him and touched the very core of who he was.
The memory of it was sharp, jagged. A brilliant pulse of white, the shattering of something deep within, and the sensation of falling—into light, into darkness, into time itself.
Lioren flexed his fingers, feeling the pulsing energy beneath his skin. His mana core, once stable and familiar, now hummed with duality. One aspect shimmered with bright, structured mana—disciplined and aetheric. The other... darker, more primal, a whisper from beyond.
No one else knew. Not yet. Not even Eira.
A faint crunch of gravel signaled someone approaching. Lioren turned just as Eira Drayven emerged from the mist. She wore the standard Veltheim uniform—deep navy and silver trim—but managed to make it look like armor. A bundle was in her hands, which she tossed toward him without ceremony.
"You missed breakfast again," she said. "I'm not making a habit of this."
Lioren caught it and nodded his thanks. "I lost track of time."
"You've been doing that a lot lately." She crossed her arms and leaned against one of the stone columns. "You're different, Lioren. I can feel it. Your mana… it's off."
He met her gaze but said nothing.
She pressed her lips into a thin line. "I don't need the details. Just… be careful. You might not have changed on the outside, but inside—there's something new."
Before he could respond, the low peal of the academy's main bell echoed across the grounds. Students began to emerge from various halls and dormitories, forming neat lines toward the Upper Forum.
An announcement. Not a common occurrence outside of major events.
Professor Rhal stepped out from a nearby corridor, his expression unreadable. "Lioren. Miss Drayven. You'll want to hear this."
POV: Dean Kaelen Voss
Location: Veltheim Academy, Upper Forum
The forum was filled to capacity. Hundreds of students packed the arc-shaped seating, while instructors stood in solemn silence along the perimeter. Dean Kaelen Voss stood at the center, his long robes fluttering slightly from the mana-charged air around him.
"Silence," he said. His voice, augmented by crystal resonance, cut through the murmurs.
The noise died immediately.
"We have received confirmation from the Council of Bastions," he began. "A landmass previously hidden in the Veiled Expanse has resurfaced. A continent long lost to time and myth."
Murmurs returned in hushed waves. Lioren's heart began to pound.
"It is called Vhaldrass."
The name hit him like a physical blow.
Vhaldrass. He had seen it in the vision at Mount Trinari. Heard the whispering voice call it by name. He had believed it some delusion born of overstress and fractured mana. But now—
It was real.
Kaelen continued. "Vhaldrass's reappearance has disrupted mana flows across the western hemisphere. Three convergence storms have already torn through northern Drosmere. Arcane anomalies are increasing."
Gasps spread through the student body. Convergence storms were rare and deadly. The last one had swallowed a border town whole.
"The Council is forming an expedition team," Kaelen said. "Veltheim Academy will participate. Senior students may volunteer. First selections begin in two weeks."
Lioren's hands clenched at his sides.
Eira leaned closer and whispered, "You're going. Aren't you."
He nodded. He had to.
Something within Vhaldrass was calling him.
POV: Instructor Nial Rhal
Location: Veltheim Academy, Tower of Records
Professor Rhal stood before a sealed cabinet, drawing a glowing sigil in the air. The stone slid aside, revealing old scrolls bound in dragonhide. He pulled one free—the Crest Record of Lost Lands.
He opened it, flipping to a specific page: Vhaldrass.
The glyphs glowed faintly. Written in the Old Tongue. 'Cradle of the Aetherborn. Final bastion before the Fall.'
The prophecy had been buried for a reason.
"So it begins again," Rhal whispered.
POV: Lioren
Location: Veltheim Academy, Mana Training Spire
He couldn't sleep.
The night sky above the spire was filled with stars, but Lioren's mind churned. He stood alone in the training circle, mana crystal nodes glowing faintly at the perimeter.
He extended his hand. Sapphire light coiled from his palm, a beautiful, elegant arc. Aether mana. Refined.
Then, he called on the second aspect.
A pulse of darkness. Not shadow—depth. Power older than language.
It shimmered along his arm, coiling in chaotic, sharp-edged fractals. Pain bit into his skin like ice and fire. He gritted his teeth.
"Control it. Don't suppress it."
He turned sharply.
Instructor Veyra stood at the entrance, her arms folded. She was one of the few combat instructors who had survived the War of the Outer Rings. Rumors said she'd once faced an Ascented.
"You saw it," she said, stepping forward. "At Trinari. Didn't you?"
He said nothing.
She continued, "Whatever it is inside you—if you don't master it, it will destroy you. Or worse… consume others around you."
Lioren lowered his hand. "How do you control something that wasn't meant to be bound?"
Veyra's eyes gleamed. "You make it fear you."
POV: The Watcher
Location: Vhaldrass, Edge of the World
The veil thinned.
A cloaked figure stood atop a broken citadel of black glass, watching the mana flows shimmer like rivers across the reawakened land. Floating ruins drifted in slow orbit above an obsidian canyon. Trees breathed silver mist. Beasts slumbered with runes etched into their hides.
The figure turned. Behind him stood a dozen armored silhouettes—helms shaped like fanged masks, cloaks made of storm-thread.
"The Ember Heir awakens," the Watcher said.
A Dreadmarked warrior stepped forward. "Do we strike now?"
"No. Let him come. Let them all come."
He raised a blade forged of nullsteel, its edge bleeding gravity.
"The game begins anew."