Black sand crunched under Kairos Vale's shoes as he took his first careful steps. Each grain shimmered like crushed obsidian. The air smelled of rain that would never fall—sharp, metallic, and old.
He glanced over his shoulder. The doorway that had brought him here was gone, replaced by a faint shimmer in the air no wider than a hair. No way back. At least not now.
Kairos pressed a palm to his chest where the hidden word had glowed. Nothing. Only a steady heartbeat, quick and nervous. "Veilwalker," he whispered, as if saying it aloud might unlock a clue.
The ground pulsed.
He froze, looking down. Light flickered beneath the sand, tracing veins of blue deeper than stone. With every beat of his heart, the veins answered, thrum for thrum, until it felt like the world was borrowing his pulse.
"Okay… that's new."
A low roar drifted across the plain. Something vast moved beyond the jagged ruins, too far to see but close enough to feel in his bones. A heavy wing beat? A shifting mountain? He could not tell.
Kairos turned in a slow circle, choosing a direction at random. Tall spires jutted like broken teeth on the horizon. Closer by, a ridge of shattered stone offered elevation and maybe shelter. He headed for it, sand slipping with every stride.
Minutes or hours—time felt slippery—passed before he reached the ridge. Up close, the stone looked melted, like glass caught mid ripple. He climbed, fingers finding handholds where none should exist. At the crest he caught a glimpse of the landscape beyond and forgot to breathe.
A forest of crystal stretched to the horizon, lit from within by shifting colors. Rivers of light flowed through it like veins, weaving between trees that sang in soft, bell like tones when the wind touched them. Above, twin moons, one broken, one whole, shared the sky with ribbons of aurora.
Half awe, half terror, Kairos whispered, "None of my sketches did this justice."
Move.
The word arrived in his mind, not his ears, like a memory surfacing without permission. He whirled around, expecting someone, anyone.
Empty ridge. Endless plain.
He rubbed his arms, fighting a chill. "Great. Voices in my head. Classic."
No. Not in your head. In the Veyl.
This time the words had shape—echoes of a voice neither male nor female, old as sorrow.
Kairos swallowed. "Who are you?"
Silence answered, but the veins of light beneath the sand brightened, pointing toward the crystal forest.
He weighed his options. Stay on the ridge and freeze? Or follow the light and risk whatever else? Not much of a choice.
"Fine. Lead the way."
He scrambled down the far side of the ridge and crossed the dark swale toward the crystal trees. As he approached, he realized the forest was alive in more ways than sight. The air thrummed with music—low chords and quiet chimes mixing like a choir without words. Each note tugged at a memory. His first day at school. The smell of charcoal in Grandma's kitchen. The moment lightning struck the observatory roof.
He pressed on, the music weaving around him. The trees were translucent, trunks spiraling up before branching into glassy leaves that tinkled against one another. Light pulsed through the trunks in steady rhythm with his heart, then slowed to its own tempo, inviting him deeper.
A clearing opened ahead. In its center lay a pool as still as polished obsidian, perfectly round, reflecting both moons.
Kairos stepped to the edge. His reflection gazed back—dark hair tousled, hoodie torn at the shoulder, eyes wide and wondering. Then the surface rippled, and another image replaced his own.
A boy, younger, sketched by candlelight. Same nose, same eyes, but the clothes were different: simple tunic, woven belt, no technology in sight. The boy lifted his gaze, and for a moment their eyes locked through the water. A shock of recognition jolted Kairos.
"My… past life?"
The reflection nodded.
Kairos knelt. "Can you hear me?"
Remember, the water whispered.
Images burst behind his eyes. A tower of bone and crystal. Six thrones occupying a circle, one shattered and empty. A roar of despair so vast it cracked the sky. He stumbled, hands plunging into the pool, but instead of water he felt cold wind and saw swirling stars.
Remember.
He was falling through memories not his own. Standing before a dragon with molten eyes. Walking through a city built on clouds. Holding a sword that hummed with grief. Thousands of lives flickered by, each gone in a blink yet leaving an ache in his chest.
"Stop!" The word tore out of him, ragged.
The visions ceased. The pool hardened back to glassy calm. Kairos collapsed onto the crystal grass, chest heaving.
He understood only this: every Veilwalker carried echoes of lives before, and those lives contained power—dangerous, unsteady, overwhelming. If he was not careful, he would drown in them.
The forest fell silent. Even the leaves stilled.
Crunch.
A footstep.
Kairos shot to his feet. Beyond the pool, a figure emerged from the tree line. Cloak of ember red. Armor etched with scale patterns. A sword of blackened crystal strapped across the back.
The stranger lowered her hood. Dark skin glowed in the moonlight; amber eyes studied him like a puzzle. "First rule here, travel light and never touch memory pools."
Kairos blinked. "Noted."
She crossed her arms. "Second rule, do not wander alone. The Hollowborn smell fresh fear."
"Hollowborn?" he echoed.
"Corrupted souls. They hunt Veilwalkers for fun." She tilted her head. "Name?"
"Kairos."
The woman's gaze flicked to the pool, then back. "I am Captain Seris of the Ember Blades. You are either brave or stupid. Possibly both." She offered a hand. Kairos took it.
Her grip was firm, grounding. Heat—actual warmth—flowed into him, settling the shaking in his limbs.
"Third rule," Seris said, releasing him, "never stay still for too long. This forest collects lingering memories." She gestured toward the trees, where faint faces now floated inside the trunks, eyes closed as if dreaming. "Some lingerers never wake."
Kairos shivered. "Can you help me get home?"
Seris sheathed her sword. "Maybe. But first, get you somewhere safe." She pointed toward the ridge he had crossed. "That way lies a Hollow hive. This way," she turned deeper into the forest, "is my camp. You choose."
Kairos weighed fear of the unknown against dread of the known. He followed her.
---
They moved through glowing undergrowth until the trees thinned around a circle of stone monoliths. A campfire crackled, surrounded by soldiers wearing the same ember red cloaks. Helmets came off, revealing weary, curious faces.
Seris spoke. "Found a new Veilwalker. Alive."
A murmur spread. Some looked relieved, others wary.
A young soldier, freckles dusting his nose, stepped forward. "Did you really cross alone?"
Kairos nodded. "By accident."
Freckles whistled. "Luckier than most."
Seris beckoned Kairos to the fire. "Sit. Warm up. Then I will explain how to stay alive in Aetheros." She paused. "And why the Hollowborn want you."
He lowered onto a stone, palms to the flames. For the first time since the lightning strike, warmth seeped into his skin. Questions crowded his mind, but exhaustion won. He closed his eyes.
Just a moment, he thought.
Wake.
The mental voice jolted him upright. Around the campfire every face had turned toward the dark between the trees. The musical chime of crystal leaves had gone mute.
Seris drew her sword. "Hollowborn."
Shapes broke from the shadows—humanoids wreathed in black mist, faces shifting like smoke, eyes empty yet hungry. They moved without sound, closing fast.
Seris flashed Kairos a grim smile. "Lesson one starts now."
Kairos stood, heart pounding. The veins of light beneath the ground flared through the camp. He felt them answer his fear, his determination, his desperate hope to live.
Memory stirred.
A fire, a loss, regret so sharp it was blade and burn together.
Flames burst in his open hand, hot and bright.
The Hollowborn stopped.
So did the soldiers.
Even Seris raised an eyebrow. "Well then," she said, voice low and impressed. "Looks like the Veil remembers you too."