The morning came, but the mist refused to lift.
Elira stood in her garden, staring at the trees. Something had changed. The air buzzed—low, constant, like the sound of distant thunder waiting for a storm that never came.
Kael was awake now, fully. He'd slept fitfully after their conversation, dreaming things he wouldn't speak aloud. She'd heard him call out again in that strange language. Words too ancient for her tongue, but they left her mouth tingling whenever she tried to repeat them.
He stepped outside now, barefoot on the cold earth, his body lean and corded with strength, despite the bruises and fading wounds. The silver in his veins had dimmed—but not disappeared.
"I felt it again," he said softly.
Elira looked at him. "The Veil?"
He nodded. "A tear. Small. East of here. It won't stay that way for long."
Elira shivered. "What happens when it opens?"
He turned to her. "The things that dwell beyond it... hunger. They've forgotten the taste of flesh and fear. If it opens wide enough, they'll remember."
She swallowed. "You said you were one of the Guardians."
"I was," he replied. "There were twelve of us once. Chosen to patrol the boundary. One for each star-gate. But the last time I crossed, we were ambushed. Someone had shown them the path from the inside."
"You think one of your own betrayed you?"
Kael's jaw tightened. "I know they did."
The wind shifted then, and the garden suddenly fell silent. No birds. No insects. Even the trees stilled, as if listening.
Elira stepped back. "Kael... do you feel that?"
He nodded, slowly.
From the forest's edge came a low hum, growing louder. The mist thickened—and then moved, coiling like a living thing. Shapes emerged—vague, hunched, and wrong. Their edges frayed like shadows peeled from the night.
One of them stepped into the clearing. Tall. Hollow-eyed. Its face was a cracked mirror, shifting constantly between Elira's face and Kael's.
Her blood ran cold.
Kael shoved her behind him. "Get inside. Now."
"No. You're still recovering—"
"I said go!"
She hesitated—but the creature hissed, and that sound alone pushed her to obey. From inside the doorway, she watched Kael lift his hand. Runes bloomed across his forearm, burning blue. A blade of pure light shimmered into existence in his grip—curved and ancient.
The creature lunged.
Kael moved like liquid flame. The blade tore through the mist-beast, and it screamed—not in pain, but in recognition. Like it knew him. The others scattered, vanishing into the mist.
Silence returned.
Kael lowered the blade. It flickered once, then vanished.
Elira rushed to him. "You're hurt."
"It's nothing."
She touched his arm anyway. His skin was fevered, veins burning bright.
"What were they?"
"Fragments," he said. "Born of broken stars and mortal nightmares. They slip through tears when the Veil thins."
"Why now?" she whispered. "Why here?"
Kael's gaze locked onto hers. "Because they smell the Tether."
Elira froze.
"You're not just connected to the Veil," he said. "You anchor it. You were born under the Rift Moon—weren't you?"
She nodded slowly. "My grandmother used to say that. She said it was a sign I'd walk between worlds."
Kael's expression darkened. "She was right."
The sun struggled to pierce the mist above them. In its pale light, Kael looked both human and not—scarred and powerful, yet vulnerable in ways he couldn't voice.
"I need to take you to the Threshold," he said quietly. "To the place where the Veil first cracked. It's the only way to stop this."
Elira looked at her cottage. Her plants. Her quiet life.
Then at him.
At the thread of destiny tightening between them.
She didn't speak. She simply nodded.
And somewhere, far away, something watched.
And smiled.