The Black Plains stretched endlessly before them—a wasteland of twisting magic, broken ruins, and creatures lurking in the shadows.
The Veiled Order had given them a name: The Black Vault.
A place where the answers to Argolaith's existence might be found.
But finding it was another matter entirely.
They had been traveling for hours, navigating the ever-shifting terrain.
The land itself seemed to breathe, changing beneath their feet—one moment solid, the next a phantom road leading nowhere.
Kaelred sighed heavily, rubbing his temples. "I swear, if this place tries to lead us in circles one more time, I'm burning it all down."
Malakar chuckled. "Oh? I'd love to see that. Please, do try."
Kaelred shot him a glare. "You know what I mean."
Argolaith ignored them, his mind fixed on the Black Vault.
The Veiled Order had made it clear—he wasn't part of the Grand Design.
That meant something.
And he intended to find out what.
