The streets of Sira had grown colder under the faint light of dawn. Mist clung to the uneven cobblestones. Alleyways twisted unnaturally, walls narrowing and expanding as if the city itself were breathing.
Prince, in Nasir's body, moved calmly. His mind cataloged every detail: a flicker of movement behind a shutter, the subtle tilt of a rooftop, faint symbols etched into doorframes. The body obeyed instinctively, but the soul—his reasoning, patience, observation—was fully Prince's.
Every step leaves a trace, he thought. Every glance leaves a mark. The city remembers.
The Woman in the Alley
A figure stepped from the shadows: tall, draped in a dark cloak, silver eyes glinting. She regarded him with precision, as if measuring the weight of his presence.
"You've arrived," she said. Calm. Certain.
Prince studied her silently. Not hostile. Not friendly. Calculated.
"I am Prince," he said, testing the words through Nasir's voice. "At least, the consciousness here is mine."
Her lips curved faintly. "You are aware. That is rare."
"Who are you?"
"Names are dangerous here," she replied. "Call me Lyric. You—Prince, or Nasir, as the body is named—have drawn attention. That is not trivial in Sira."
The Veil Watchers
Lyric led him down a narrow alley beside a collapsed building. "Walk. I will show you why your arrival matters."
The alley twisted in impossible ways. Walls bore faint, worn sigils—some warnings, some permissions. The city itself was layered with hidden rules.
She stopped before a nondescript door and pressed a hidden latch. A stairwell opened downward.
"Few know this entrance exists. Fewer know what lies beneath," Lyric said. "The Veil Watchers maintain the city's hidden order. Factions track Veil-bearers. They are why many vanish—voluntarily or otherwise."
Prince nodded. Every detail matched his observations. The city responded to souls, not bodies. His presence had already rippled across unseen threads.
"And you?" he asked. "Are you one of them?"
Lyric's eyes narrowed. "I observe. I record. I intervene only when necessary. The Veils recognize certain souls. You… are exceptional."
Prince processed this silently. Observation first. Understanding second. Action only when necessary.
First Interaction with the Veil
The stairwell opened into a cavernous hall. Walls glimmered faintly with phosphorescent markings. At the center lay a circle etched in stone, threads of light twisting above it.
Lyric gestured. "Step inside if you wish. The Veil will respond. But remember—the body is just a vessel. Your soul carries the weight of what you awaken."
Prince stepped forward. The instant his feet touched the circle, he felt it: subtle, deliberate, testing.
He extended his hands. Silver lines of energy formed, tracing patterns only his mind could interpret. The vessel obeyed; the soul drove it.
The hall remained silent. The Veil's faint hum acknowledged him.
Lyric's voice echoed softly: "The path opens, but it is yours to walk. Many will try to guide it. Few will let you choose freely."
Prince's calm face betrayed nothing, but inside, calculation and curiosity stirred. The city had revealed a fraction of its truth.
And he would uncover the rest—slowly, deliberately, with patience befitting a mind that had survived death itself.