"Smoke and Sigils"

The flame faded as quickly as it came.

Caelan collapsed on the ashglass pier, breath ragged, blood hot in his veins. Sparks still danced behind his eyes, like stars refusing to die.

Liora knelt beside him, dagger in one hand, the other pressed against his chest to keep him grounded.

“Caelan,” she hissed, “look at me!”

He opened his eyes.

“Are you possessed?” she asked.

“No,” he gasped. “Not yet.”

The guards had scattered—those who hadn’t run were unconscious, blinded by the light or knocked down in the blast. The explosion hadn’t come from them.

It had come from him.

Or something inside him.

Caelan forced himself up. His shoulder throbbed where the bolt grazed him, but it was manageable.

“I can’t stay in the city,” he said.

“You can’t stay anywhere,” Liora replied, pulling him into the shadows. “Not after that.”

He looked at her. “You said they’d come again. Who?”

She didn’t answer—just handed him a cloak. Dark, hooded, stitched with a hidden sigil near the hem: a serpent biting its tail.

“I’m taking you to someone,” she said. “She knows what you are.”

“I don’t even know what I am.”

Liora paused. Her voice dropped. “That makes two of us.”

🌒 A few hours later...

They rode stolen horses through the forest roads, keeping off the main paths. Caelan’s head pounded—not just from the fight, but from whatever had been awakened inside him. Aetherveil. He hadn’t heard the name spoken aloud yet, but the way the air around him bent… it couldn’t be anything else.

He remembered something—his mother’s hands, once warm against his face. A nursery rhyme.

> “Stars fall to those marked by flame,

Gods sleep beneath forgotten name…”

He never understood it.

Until now.

Liora was silent most of the ride. But Caelan couldn’t stop watching her.

She moved like someone born of violence. But not just violence—precision. And something about the way she looked at him, after the flare of power… it wasn’t hatred.

It was fear.

She was afraid of what he might become.

🏚️ Before dawn, they arrived at a hidden glade.

Nestled in the roots of a crooked blackwood tree was a hut—almost invisible in the fog. Hanging from its roof were talismans, bones, feathers, shards of crystal. Protection charms.

“Witch?” Caelan asked.

“Watcher,” Liora corrected. “They keep the old ways. They remember what others forget.”

Caelan felt the name of the book echo in the back of his mind.

> Veil of the Forgotten...

The door creaked open before they could knock.

Inside stood a woman swathed in faded blue, blindfolded, her arms tattooed with runes that shimmered faintly in the dark. Her voice was ageless.

“You’ve brought him, Serpent.”

Liora bowed her head. “Watcher Myrren.”

The woman turned to Caelan.

“Child of the godsburned blood,” she murmured. “I felt you in my sleep. The flame cries out again.”

“I don’t understand,” Caelan said. “What’s happening to me?”

Myrren’s smile was sad.

“The Veil weakens. The stars remember you, even if the world does not. You are not cursed, Caelan Virel. You are the key.”

“Key to what?”

She reached for a scroll from her mantle. It unfurled in the air, suspended by invisible threads. A map. But not of the realms.

A map of the sky.

> Aetherveil constellations—fractured, burned out, but still pulsing faintly with magic.

“Your bloodline sealed the Veil. But the gods you buried aren’t dead.”

Myrren’s voice fell to a whisper:

> “They are locked inside the stars. And your body… is the door.”

Caelan’s knees nearly gave out.

Liora caught him, steady but quiet.

“Why me?” he breathed.

“Because you survived the burning,” Myrren said. “And because if you don’t find the other marked ones before the Veil shatters…”

She turned to the door.

“…the gods will walk again.”

Suddenly—

> Boom!

The door burst open. Myrren screamed.

Smoke and glass.

Arrows flew.

A figure entered in black armor—sigil of the Syndicate blazing red on his chest.

“Caelan Virel,” the man growled.

> “You weren’t supposed to live.”

Liora stepped in front of Caelan, blades drawn.

Caelan’s pulse surged.

Not again.

Not again.

The flame inside him roared—

And the night exploded.

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