The distortion widened with a soundless bloom—no thunder, no explosion, just the quiet tearing of something not meant to be touched. A thin rift opened in the air, splitting reality along a curve like a blade slicing through silk. Ether churned inward, spiraling into the breach as if the world itself were exhaling.
Sierra's bow was raised before she had even realized she'd moved. Thalanor's blade hummed with condensed silver ether, its edge vibrating with the tension of a spell prepared to detonate.
Aeryn didn't summon a weapon.
He stood utterly still.
Because the presence stepping through was not one of hostility.
But neither was it familiar.
It was… older.
A silhouette emerged—tall, slender, draped in layers of shifting light that refracted like fragments of broken glass. The being's form was vaguely humanoid, yet its proportions were subtly wrong: arms too long, limbs too elegant, presence too immense to belong to anything born in Elyndor.
Its face was covered by a mask of obsidian smoothness, etched with faint markings that pulsed like dying stars.
Sierra whispered under her breath, "Aeryn… what is that?"
Thalanor's body tensed like drawn wire. "That is no spirit. No astral echo. That is a veilwalker."
Aeryn's thoughts sharpened instantly.
Veilwalker.
A term buried in half-forgotten myth—beings that drifted between worlds before the Veil sealed the planes from one another. They did not belong to realms. They belonged to the space between them.
"Aeryn Vaelorian."
The veilwalker's voice was layered—three tones speaking at once. One deep. One soft. One that sounded like chimes echoing through water.
Aeryn felt its words ripple through his bones rather than his ears.
Thalanor stepped in front of him instinctively. "Identify your purpose!"
The veilwalker tilted its head. Light splintered from its mask.
"This conversation is not for you."
A second pulse radiated outward.
Thalanor gritted his teeth and slid back three steps, boots carving lines in the dirt. Sierra staggered as well, catching herself on Aeryn's shoulder.
The pulse hadn't been an attack.
Just a separation.
A boundary.
Aeryn stepped forward.
"I can hear you more clearly now."
The veilwalker's head inclined slightly. "The Thread recognizes the Host."
The Thread.
There it was again.
Aeryn's breath slowed. "You're the one who whispered to me in the forest."
"I am the fragment that remains connected," the veilwalker answered. "Though 'I' is too limited a word. I am not one being, but the echo of many."
Sierra murmured behind him, "Aeryn… are you sure you're safe?"
He didn't reply, not because he ignored her, but because he didn't feel endangered. The veilwalker radiated an aura not of malice, nor of benevolence—only inevitability. It was the presence of something that existed beyond the concepts of harm or help.
Aeryn asked, "What do you want from me?"
The veilwalker answered with no hesitation.
"To prepare you."
"For what?"
"For the return of the one who severed you."
Aeryn froze.
The world seemed to still around the word severed.
Sierra's grip tightened on her bowstring. Thalanor's expression became unreadable.
Aeryn kept his voice steady. "Explain."
The veilwalker raised a hand. The gesture was slow—graceful in a way that seemed almost ritualistic. Light flowed from its fingertips, forming threads of shimmering ether that drifted toward Aeryn like strands of living silk.
Aeryn didn't move.
The threads touched his chest.
The world shattered into visions.
—A throne of stone suspended in a void without stars.
—A figure seated upon it, features blurred, posture heavy with exhaustion.
—A blade of pure concept slicing through a luminous tether connecting that figure to—
—him.
Aeryn himself.
He saw a younger version of himself—infant form, yet not the body he inhabited now. He saw the tether snap. He saw the burst of raw power disperse into the void. He saw the figure whisper something—
He couldn't hear the words.
The vision dissolved.
Aeryn inhaled sharply, cold air scraping his throat.
Sierra reached him first. "Aeryn! What happened?"
Thalanor stood ready to intervene, blade lifted, gaze darting between Aeryn and the veilwalker.
Aeryn steadied himself before answering.
"I saw… a severing. Someone cut a connection between me and—something else. Or someone else."
The veilwalker lowered its hand.
"That moment is your origin. The truth you seek resides within the Thread, but the Thread was severed before you awakened. Only fragments remain."
Aeryn frowned. "Then what is the System?"
"An anchor," the veilwalker replied. "A stabilizer forged from your own essence and the remains of the Thread that survived."
Aeryn's pulse quickened.
The System wasn't something implanted into him.
It was something forged from him.
"Why was the Thread severed?" Aeryn asked.
The veilwalker's mask tilted slightly, the markings pulsing like a heartbeat.
"Because your existence endangered the one who created you."
Sierra stiffened. "Created…? Aeryn, what—?"
But Aeryn felt something click in his mind. A puzzle piece sliding into place—not fully understood, but no longer entirely hidden.
He addressed the veilwalker again. "Who severed it?"
The veilwalker remained silent.
Aeryn pushed. "Tell me."
Its answer came slowly.
"The one who severed you will return to reclaim what was lost. And when they do, the worlds will bend. The Veil will thin. The realms will shift."
Sierra's breath caught. "Is this a prophecy?"
The veilwalker inclined its head. "Not prophecy. Memory."
The weight of that word sank into the earth like stone.
Aeryn forced himself to remain composed. "Then tell me what I must do."
"Survive," the veilwalker answered simply. "Grow. Awaken what was taken from you. Restore the Thread. Only then will you stand before the one who severed it."
"Stand before them as what?" Aeryn asked quietly.
The veilwalker paused.
"As equal. Or as enemy."
The distinction hit like a blade between ribs.
Thalanor stepped forward again, no longer able to remain silent. "Why reveal this now? Why involve him at all? If your intent is not to harm, then why appear through a breach that endangers the realm?"
The veilwalker's head turned toward him.
"Because this realm is already endangered."
A gust tore across the river, rippling the water into violent waves despite the calm sky. The veilwalker's presence grew heavier, though not oppressively—just intensely.
"The anomaly you call a serpent was a probe," it said. "A test from another seeking the remnants of the Thread."
Sierra whispered, "So it wasn't hunting randomly… it was looking specifically for Aeryn."
"Yes."
Aeryn took a slow breath. "And what is this other entity?"
"A shadow of the severing," the veilwalker said. "A fragment of will left behind. A remnant that seeks to reattach itself through you."
Aeryn's brows lowered. "Reattach…?"
"To regain form," the veilwalker said. "And to overwrite yours."
Sierra's eyes widened, horror overtaking her calm.
Thalanor's blade shimmered brighter. "Then we must warn Silvaranth. If an entity like that moves—"
The veilwalker raised its hand again.
"There is no warning that matters. The only shield against the remnant is the restoration of the Thread."
Aeryn's voice softened. "How do I restore it?"
"Gather the fragments. There are five."
He exhaled sharply.
Five.
"Where are they?" he asked.
The veilwalker's answer was as vague as it was heavy.
"In the fractures of the world."
Aeryn could have grown frustrated. But he didn't. Answers too clear would only have been lies. Ancient beings never gave clarity—they gave direction.
"And you," Aeryn said. "What is your role in this?"
The veilwalker's mask flickered with faint light. "I am the first fragment."
Aeryn blinked once. "You."
"Yes."
The veilwalker reached out again, placing a palm near Aeryn's chest—not touching, but close enough that Aeryn felt the warmth of its essence.
A pulse radiated outward.
[System Notification: Thread Fragment Detected]
[Integration Possible]
[Warning: Integration may destabilize Host temporarily.]
[Proceed? Y/N]
Aeryn didn't hesitate.
"Proceed."
Sierra's cry caught in her throat. "Aeryn—!"
Thalanor stepped forward. "You fool—!"
But the decision had already been made.
The veilwalker pressed its hand against Aeryn's chest.
Light burst outward.
It was not blinding, nor painful. It was pure—like the first breath he ever took upon awakening into this world.
The light spiraled around him, forming rings of sigils inscribed with characters he instinctively recognized—characters he had never learned, yet understood.
He felt something enter him.
Something long missing.
Something that had waited for him.
The veilwalker's voice resonated through the brilliance.
"This is the first step."
Aeryn's vision swam with warmth. He felt the Thread—soft, trembling, incomplete—reconnect by a single strand.
[Thread Integration: 1/5 Complete]
[System Stability Increasing]
[System Evolution In Progress]
His knees nearly buckled, but he stayed standing.
Sierra rushed to his side immediately, steadying him. "Aeryn! Are you hurt?"
He shook his head. "I'm… alright."
The veilwalker stepped back, its light dimming as though its purpose here had concluded.
"You will not see me again," it said. "Not until the full Thread awakens."
"Wait," Aeryn said. "Tell me your name."
The veilwalker's mask shimmered once.
"I cast aside my name when the worlds divided. But you may call me what the Thread called me."
A pause.
"Echo."
The distortion behind the being reawakened, swirling into a vortex of spiraling ether.
Echo stepped into it.
The rift sealed behind him with a whispering sigh.
Silence flooded the riverbank.
Thalanor exhaled slowly, tension unwinding from his shoulders. Sierra stared at the empty air where the veilwalker had stood.
Aeryn felt his heartbeat steady.
But something new pulsed in his chest—a faint hum. A thread reconnecting. A piece of himself returned.
Sierra touched his arm gently. "Aeryn… what happened to you?"
Aeryn looked toward the horizon, the river reflecting the fading distortion of Echo's departure.
"I took back what belonged to me."
His eyes sharpened.
"And now we find the rest."