Thunder rolled over Kaelridge as Thalen stood before Karian's hearth, his cloak soaked from the rain. Steam hissed as he shrugged it off, letting it hang near the fire, water pooling at his boots. The room was warm, firelight licking at old books and ink-scarred maps, and for a moment, it almost felt safe.
Ajax sat cross-legged near the fire, Reva leaning beside the window, arms folded, her Pulse Gate aura still simmering faintly from training. She'd beaten him again—but only barely this time.
Thalen looked older than usual, his beard a bit more grey, the lines at the corners of his eyes deeper. He met Karian's gaze first, then turned to Ajax and Reva.
"I came straight from the central roads," he said quietly. "Another border attack. Five guards dead, one council relay tower burned. The signature was unmistakable."
Karian's jaw tightened. "Spiral casters?"
"No," Thalen said grimly. "Both."
The room tensed.
Ajax leaned forward. "You mean…?"
Thalen nodded. "Hybrid mages. Ones who've figured out how to cast with both Cairn's Spiral and the Valern augmentation system. It's not one or two anymore. They're moving in coordinated groups. Striking hard, vanishing without a trace."
Reva's brow furrowed. "How is that even possible? The Spiral needs focus, feeling. The Valern gates rely on internal flow and force."
"They're not just mixing," Thalen said. "They're synchronizing. Using Spiral conjuring mid-combat while moving through the augmentation cycle. One group in particular… they left behind symbols. A black veil drawn in blood."
Karian's eyes narrowed. "A name?"
Thalen hesitated. "The Crimson Veil."
The name seemed to darken the room, as though even the fire hesitated.
"They're precise," Thalen continued, voice low. "Silent. No witnesses. Only one survivor this time, and he barely made it out. They wore cloaks of black, but when they fought, you could see it—the red glow. Gates and conjuring, working together. Old world and new. And they weren't fumbling. They were trained."
Ajax swallowed. A cold weight pressed into his chest.
"They're not acting like revolutionaries or random mages trying something new," Thalen went on. "They're organized. They're choosing high-value targets. Relay towers, transport hubs, and city records connected to birthlines."
Reva's eyes sharpened. "Birthlines?"
Thalen gave a weary nod. "They're looking for someone. Or… many someones."
Ajax and Karian exchanged a glance, unspoken meaning passing between them.
"They're ghosts," Thalen added. "No names. No origins. Just this—" he pulled from his satchel a parchment, soaked and smudged. But in the middle, still intact, was the sketch of a veil of black, rimmed in crimson ink. "They're making a symbol of it. A warning."
Elsewhere, as the storm boiled over Kaelridge, the Chamber of Elders convened under its great stone dome.
The room was vast and hollow, its ceiling ringed with lanterns whose light never flickered. The rain hammered against stained glass high above, muffled beneath layers of mana rich quartz. The round table at the center of the chamber shimmered faintly with a containment barrier—not for danger, but to keep the voices within from ever reaching outside.
The High Arcanist, Eldric of Velan, stood with hands clasped behind his back, silver-threaded robes swaying slightly as he paced. His voice was calm, but his eyes burned.
"I trust you've all read the report," he said. "Three attacks in ten days. Spiral and augmentation magic used in tandem. Vanishing before reinforcements arrived. Our hounds couldn't even trace any residual mana."
Liora, the elven moonmage from Sylvarra, flicked her long fingers through the air, trailing faint wisps of silver magic. "These mages should not exist. The systems are incompatible by nature. Spiral is emotional—Valern magic is force. Feeling and function cannot blend."
"They have," rumbled Jorra, the dwarf mystic from Stoneshade, his voice deep as gravel. "We can pretend it's theory, or we can face the bloody truth. They've made it real."
Ithana, the feathered scholar from Curium, tilted her head, dark feathers shifting like silk. "We warned the old seats decades ago. The Valern bloodlines would not stay dormant forever. Now they're waking."
Across the table, Thessar of Drakarim—a stoic ogre built like a statue—grunted. "They don't just wake. Someone trains them."
"That's the problem," said Marwen, the human consul of Stormport. "This isn't natural evolution. It's instruction. Purpose. Tactics."
The air in the chamber thickened.
Aric sat at the edge of the circle, simple robes a stark contrast to the ornate regalia of the others. His hands were balled into fists in his lap, knuckles white. "We've known about this potential for years," he said sharply. "And we've done nothing but hide it. Suppress records. Rewrite histories. And now look."
Eldra, the Moonwood elf, spoke for the first time. Her voice was cold and clear. "We did it to protect the people, Aric."
"You did it to protect yourselves," Aric snapped. "You're all terrified of what would happen if they knew. That Valern isn't some 'realm of monsters,' but a civilization. That their magic isn't evil—it's just different. Powerful."
"Enough," Eldric barked. The table fell silent.
Aric stood. His voice rang with conviction. "They deserve the truth. This threat won't vanish because we cower in silence. If the people knew, if we worked together—"
"They would panic," Liora said.
"They would revolt," Jorra added.
"They would draw the eyes of the Darkrai," Eldra finished.
A cold silence fell over the room at that last phrase.
Aric blinked. "The Darkrai?"
Eldric turned, slowly. His face was grave, older somehow. "There are dimensions beyond Cairn. Beyond Valern. We don't speak of the Darkrai. But those who did… vanished. Entire cities, Aric."
He took a step forward, his tone quiet now. "If we expose what lies beneath the Spiral's surface—if we reveal the roots of augmentation—those beyond the veil will notice. And they do not forgive curiosity."
Ithana's feathers ruffled. "They erased Ikaros for less."
"And Atherwyn," muttered Thessar.
Aric's voice cracked. "So we keep lying?"
"We survive," Eldric said, final and cold.
Aric stared at them. One by one, none could meet his gaze. "You're cowards," he whispered. "Every one of you."
He turned and stormed toward the chamber doors. Magic flared, but he passed through the wards—they didn't bind him.
When the doors slammed shut, Eldra exhaled. "He'll speak. He'll expose the truth."
Eldric turned slowly back to the table. "And we can't stop him."
"He's one of us," Thessar muttered.
"No," Eldric said. "He was chosen by the people. Appointed by public trial, unlike the rest of us. That makes him untouchable—at least, politically."
The chamber dimmed slightly as the lanterns above flickered.
"They trust him," Eldra said quietly. "He speaks for them. Not for us."
"And when he speaks," Ithana added, "the Crimson Veil will hear."
Back in Karian's home, the fire had gone low. Reva stirred from her seat, gaze locked on the dying embers.
"They'll come for us," she said softly.
Ajax shook his head. "No. They'll want us."
Thalen turned to him. "You're not wrong."
Karian sat back. "The Crimson Veil doesn't want a war. Not yet. They want an edge. And hybrid mages like you…" He looked at Ajax, then Reva. "You're exactly what they're looking for."
Ajax said nothing. He could still feel the Pulse Gate humming inside him—newly awakened, still clumsy, but real. He remembered how close he had come today. Reva had grinned for the first time in a long while.
He could keep up now. Not perfectly. Not cleanly. But enough to matter.
"They'll come quietly," Thalen warned. "A whisper. A promise. Maybe even a vision of what you could be."
"And if we refuse?" Reva asked.
Thalen met her gaze, weary and quiet. "Then you'll just be another obstacle."