Kael woke before the first light, though the city outside was still wrapped in quiet darkness. He lay there for a long moment, listening to the slow, strained breathing of his mother in the next room. Each inhale of hers sounded fragile, as if it could break under the weight of her own frailty. A thin curtain swayed gently with each draft that slipped through the cracked window, casting shadows across the worn floor. The room smelled faintly of herbs, old blankets, and the lingering tang of antiseptic from last night's rushed trip to the clinic. Everything felt heavier today. The air. His heartbeat. His thoughts.
Seventeen.
The number settled in his chest like a stone, immovable and cold. It had been waiting for him for months, creeping closer day by day, whispering that the world would demand everything from him today. Seventeen years old — the age when children entered the Veilworld, when the world began in earnest, or ended without warning.
He finally pushed himself up and sat on the edge of the bed, letting his legs dangle over the side. His palms were cold, despite the warmth of the early morning. He could feel his pulse rattling in his temples, a strange rhythm that echoed the fear coiled in his stomach. He stood, each movement deliberate and careful, and walked to the small basin in the corner. The water sputtered faintly from the tap, cold and harsh. He splashed it across his face, then leaned over the foggy mirror, staring at his reflection. Dark circles had begun to form beneath his eyes, his hair was messy and unkempt, but his eyes — his eyes looked steady. Focused. Determined.
Today, he would face the Veiled Gate.
---
The city of Arcadia — a sprawling mass of stone, glass, and neon — had already begun to stir. People crowded the streets, moving in a single direction toward the plaza that housed the towering Veilgate. Lamps flickered along the road, revealing young faces tense with nerves, excitement, or quiet, gnawing fear. Some families walked beside their children, whispering encouragements or prayers. Some teens moved in small groups, joking nervously, trying to mask the dread of what awaited them.
Kael walked alone. He didn't need companions; he didn't need laughter or whispers. He had his thoughts, and that was enough. The streets were familiar — cracked pavements, overflowing trash bins, the smell of grilled food from early vendors — but now every detail seemed sharper, heavier, charged with the significance of the day.
He passed closed market stalls, the wooden shutters rattling in the wind, and the old bridge spanning a small canal, creaking faintly. Each familiar step was a quiet affirmation: he would reach the Gate, and he would not turn away.
The plaza opened before him like a mouth, vast and intimidating. At its center rose the Veiled Gate, towering and incomprehensible. The arch of dark stone hummed faintly with light that seemed to pulse like veins beneath skin. Reality itself rippled around it, bending subtly as if the world were holding its breath. Officials and guards stood in disciplined lines, their posture rigid, their eyes sharp, scrutinizing every entrant with cold precision.
Groups of new entrants whispered among themselves, their voices carrying over the open space.
"That is the Gate," one boy said, voice tight with awe. "Once you enter, you face whatever is inside."
"They say the weak die instantly," another whispered.
"Even the simplest spirits can kill if you panic," a girl added, her eyes wide and pale.
Kael ignored them, stepping into the registration line. Officials moved efficiently, checking identities, ages, and histories. He felt their eyes skim over him, seeing him but not seeing him, weighing his presence.
"Name," an official said without looking up.
"Kael Ardyn," he replied, voice calm despite the tightening in his chest.
"Age."
"Seventeen. Today."
The official glanced at him briefly, then nodded. "Main batch. Proceed."
Kael followed the instructions silently, moving past dozens of other entrants. Some talked loudly about the spirits they hoped to bond with. Some boasted of training, of rich tutors, or family wealth that would cushion them in the Veilworld. Others — silent, fists clenched — simply awaited their fate. Kael kept his eyes on the Gate, his mind already calculating possibilities, outcomes, even failures.
He thought of his mother, lying sick at home. He thought of the money he would need to save her, the herbs or medicine only accessible in the Veilworld. He thought of the treasures and dangers waiting inside. Failure was not an option.
A horn sounded across the plaza. Officials straightened, voices sharp as they called the entrants to attention.
"Candidates, prepare yourselves," one shouted. "When the Gate pulses, enter in groups of ten. Do not resist the pull of the Veil. Remain calm once inside."
The ground trembled faintly. A ripple of light ran across the surface of the Gate, like a heartbeat of the world itself.
The first group stepped forward and vanished into the shimmering threshold. Then the second, the third. Kael's group — the sixth — waited, shuffling slightly, hearts hammering in unison.
When the signal came, Kael stepped forward. Each step closer made the air heavier, thicker, as if he were walking through water, or thick honey. The space between him and the Gate seemed to pulse, pulling him with a subtle, irresistible force.
When he reached the threshold, the Veil's pull intensified, an invisible tug that coiled around his chest and limbs. The world twisted violently around him.
There was no sound. No sky. No ground.
Just a moment of nothing.
Then everything snapped back into place.
---
Kael staggered slightly, catching himself with the sword he hadn't yet truly tested. He looked around. He was in a vast open field beneath a gray, endless sky. Mist rolled lazily across tall, unkempt grass. Trees stretched in the distance, their shapes warped by the strange atmosphere. Everything hummed with power — a low, vibrating pulse that resonated deep in his chest, brushing against the edges of his consciousness.
He was alone.
The Veilworld scattered new entrants randomly; his group was gone, whisked elsewhere by the mysterious currents of the Gate.
A soft chime echoed faintly through the mist. In front of him, a faint glow coalesced, forming the shape of a weapon. A sword. Basic iron. Simple, unremarkable — only enough to help a newcomer survive the first few moments. Kael's fingers closed around the hilt, the metal cold and slightly rough, and his palms were slick with sweat.
A rustle came from behind him.
He froze.
The sound came again, heavier this time. A low growl rolled across the field, reverberating in his chest, sending adrenaline thrumming through his veins. His eyes darted slowly, every nerve screaming.
Then he saw it.
A lion, larger than any he had ever imagined, stood less than twenty steps away. Its mane burned with steady orange flames that flickered without heat. Fire dripped from its jaws, sizzling as it struck the ground. Muscles rippled under skin that seemed almost ethereal, glowing faintly with the same energy as the Gate itself.
Kael felt his chest tighten. His lungs burned. Every instinct screamed at him to flee, to run before he even thought. He knew, from whispered tales and forbidden manuals, that this creature could kill a beginner in a single swipe. One wrong movement, one falter, and he would be reduced to ashes before anyone knew he had entered.
The lion growled again, louder this time. The ground seemed to shiver beneath its weight. Its eyes, molten gold, fixed on him. Kael could feel the fire in them not just as light but as a physical presence, a pressure on his very soul.
He snapped out of his frozen state.
He ran.
Feet pounding the grass, arms pumping, sword clutched loosely but ready. He did not swing, did not hesitate, did not look back. His lungs tore for air, muscles screamed in protest, but he ignored it. Survival demanded only one thing right now: forward.
The lion's roar chased him, echoing across the misty field, a sound that could shake even the most disciplined warrior. Kael darted between patches of thick grass, over fallen logs, avoiding any noise that might draw the creature closer. Every step felt surreal — the air heavy, the ground uneven, yet he forced himself to move, forcing his mind to focus only on the next footfall, the next breath.
He remembered his training. Observation. Strategy. Timing. Even with a basic weapon, he could survive if he stayed calm. Panic would be death. He repeated the mantra in his mind like a lifeline.
Ahead, a faint glimmer of a trail caught his eye. It was subtle — a soft blue light undulating above the grass, almost imperceptible. He veered toward it, heart hammering, hoping it led to safety, to guidance, to anything that would keep him alive.
The lion's growl was closer now, the flames in its mane licking higher, casting shadows that danced across the mist. Kael's feet pounded the soft earth, but his mind was working faster than his body. He memorized the terrain, counting steps, noting distances, predicting where obstacles would appear. Every instinct sharpened to a razor's edge.
Finally, the lion's roar receded slightly. Kael dared a glance over his shoulder. It had not abandoned him, but it had slowed, perhaps distracted, perhaps assessing. He allowed himself a single, shallow breath before focusing forward again.
The Veilworld was harsh. Merciless. But Kael's resolve was fiercer. He would survive. He had no other choice. For his mother. For the life he had been denied until now. For the tiny hope that perhaps, somewhere within this strange, dangerous world, he could seize salvation.
And Kael ran on, into the mist, into the unknown, sword clutched tightly, every sense alive, every heartbeat a reminder that he was still alive.
The Gate had opened, and so had his true journey.