By morning, the soil had grown soft underfoot, loose like sifted ash. Each step left too much behind. The trees thinned as they pressed northeast, not from decay but retreat — as if something ahead had pushed them back long ago and they'd never dared return.
Zhurong kept his eyes on the horizon, lips moving silently. He wasn't speaking. He was counting. Boo noticed.
"Tell me you're not doing what I think you're doing," she said, stepping over a sunken root.
"I've been tracking the pulse intervals," Zhurong muttered. "From the blooms. They're syncing."
Nyxia looked back. "Like a heartbeat?"
Zhurong nodded. "Or a countdown."
They didn't need to discuss the implications.
By midday, the hills broke, giving way to a ravine that hadn't been there on any map — a canyon swallowed by mossy fog and rimmed by twisted stones, smooth as bone. At its center was a structure half-submerged in the earth.
Massive. Dormant. Breathing.
"It's another vault," Nyxia said. "Same design as the one my father was near."
"Except this one's open," Boo noted grimly.
And it was — the huge entrance like a gaping wound, its edges lined in sigils dulled with time, claw marks across them as if something had tried to leave or never fully entered.
Loque tensed. His fur bristled, ears flat.
"There's something inside," Zhurong said.
Nyxia didn't hesitate. "Let's find out what."
The descent was steep, narrow stairs chiseled from stone and time. As they moved downward, light died completely. The only illumination came from Nyxia's mark and Zhurong's flame orbs, casting long shadows on walls that shouldn't have had room to echo.
It wasn't until they reached the lower floor that they realized what they were standing in.
Not just a vault.
A reliquary.
The chamber was vast. Dozens — no, hundreds — of niches carved into the stone, each holding something different. Armor. Books. Bones. Weapons cracked and rusted, strange tokens wrapped in ribbon and hair.
Veil offerings. Sacrifices.
"This wasn't built by cultists," Zhurong whispered. "This was built by the Veil-marked themselves."
"Or what they became," Boo muttered, pistol now fully drawn.
At the far end of the chamber, a throne sat atop a low rise.
Empty.
But the air around it shimmered with pressure — like the atmosphere was folded over it again and again.
Nyxia stepped toward it.
"Nope," Boo said. "Absolutely not."
But Nyxia kept moving.
As she crossed into the center of the vault, something moved above her.
A presence.
Not a person — a weight, a memory still wet with breath.
The throne reacted.
A shimmer passed over it, and in its place stood a reflection.
Nyxia's reflection.
But older. Wounded. Dressed in darker armor threaded with the veins of Veil-blooms. One hand clutched a broken chain.
And she was smiling.
"You came far," it said. Her voice, but not.
Zhurong and Boo froze.
Nyxia faced it, eyes narrowing.
"What is this?"
"Not a vision. Not prophecy. Just… rehearsal."
The reflection raised a hand. Showed the mark. But it had spread — bloomed down the arm, up the neck, spiraling like ink soaked into skin and soul.
"You think you're resisting it," the echo said. "You're not. You're metabolizing it."
Nyxia gritted her teeth. "Why show me this?"
"To prepare you," it said. "So you don't break like the others."
Behind her, Loque growled.
Zhurong took one step closer. "What others?"
The reflection smiled wider.
"Your friends. One by one. And in the end, even your beast will leave you."
Loque snarled louder, but didn't move.
"I won't become this," Nyxia said, voice hard.
"You already are," the echo whispered.
Then the entire vault pulsed — a psychic detonation through the stone. Glyphs lit, briefly. A resonance echoed from every relic.
The chamber screamed.
And the vision shattered.
Nyxia stumbled, caught herself, blade half-drawn.
The throne was empty again.
Boo was pale. "What the hell was that?"
"Future," Zhurong said. "Or a lie that wants to become one."
Nyxia didn't answer. She looked at her hand.
The mark hadn't changed.
But it felt closer now. Like the thing beneath her skin was paying more attention.
She turned to the others.
"We're done here."
They left the reliquary behind.
And though no one spoke it aloud, all three of them knew:
The Veil wasn't just watching anymore.
It was rehearsing.