The wind howled across the ruins of the Mistshroud Sect, curling between shattered pillars and worn statues like the whispers of ghosts. Adrian stood in the temple courtyard, his cloak fluttering behind him, eyes fixed on a moss-covered altar at the far end.
He had felt it for days now—a strange pull, not of spiritual energy, but something deeper. A resonance.
Storm crouched nearby, ears perked. Even the silver-winged cub sensed it.
Adrian stepped forward and brushed the moss away. Beneath it, faint inscriptions glowed with dormant light. Ancient script, older than the Empire itself.
He traced the lines with his fingers.
Only the bearer of the veil shall walk the final path.
Adrian drew in a slow breath and reached inward. His soul stirred. The Whispering Veil technique—already part of him now—flared to life.
The glyphs reacted immediately.
With a soft rumble, the altar split down the center, revealing a stone staircase descending into the mountain's heart.
