The darkness that followed was not merely the absence of light—it was presence. It clung to the air, thick and suffocating, a silence that pressed against Way'Lee's very soul.
She did not move. Could not move.
Her own face stared back at her from across the room, the doppelgänger's hollow gaze locked onto her with an intensity beyond mortal comprehension. Then, without a sound, it smiled—a slow, creeping distortion of her own features, a mockery of everything she was.
Way'Lee's fingers twitched toward the dagger beneath her pillow. A weapon meant for assassins, not for the thing before her.
The doppelgänger cocked its head. Then, as if hearing some silent command, it whispered in her voice:
"Wake up."
And the world shattered.
Through the Rift
Way'Lee gasped as she fell—not from her bed, but through something unseen. The walls of her chambers collapsed into darkness, dissolving into a vast, endless void. She landed hard on cold stone, breath ragged, disoriented.
The palace was gone.
Instead, she stood in the ruins of a forgotten place—broken spires clawing at a swirling, storm-ridden sky. The air crackled with energy, a presence both ancient and restless. The world itself hummed, as if reality here was fragile, held together by frayed threads of existence.
A whisper curled around her, unseen but undeniable.
"This is the threshold."
Way'Lee turned sharply, scanning the ruined landscape. Shadows twisted at the edges of her vision, but nothing revealed itself.
She knew, however, that she was being watched.
The Prison of the Shadow King
The realization struck her like a blade—this was not just some nightmare or vision. She had crossed the Veil.
Master Orven had once spoken of such places. Ancient prisons, built not with stone and iron, but with the fabric of reality itself. Places meant to contain beings that could not be slain.
She swallowed hard. If this was the threshold of the Shadow King's prison, then the Veil was weaker than she had feared.
And if she had crossed over…
Something else could cross back.
The Rising Dread
A sound broke through the howling winds. Not a voice, not a whisper—a footstep.
Slow. Deliberate.
Way'Lee turned, heart pounding.
From the shadows between ruined pillars, a figure emerged. Not the shifting, amorphous specter she had glimpsed before, but something far worse.
A man.
Or what had once been a man.
He was draped in tattered remnants of regal robes, his features obscured by a shifting mass of black mist. But his eyes—cold and depthless—held the weight of centuries. They locked onto her, and for the first time since stepping into this forsaken place, Way'Lee felt small.
"You should not be here."
The voice was deep, resonant, carrying the echoes of a thousand lost souls. It did not speak with anger or malice.
It spoke with certainty.
Way'Lee clenched her fists. "And yet, here I stand."
The figure tilted its head. "You mistake courage for wisdom."
Darkness coiled around him, thickening, shifting. Faces formed within the black mist—contorted, wailing, pleading.
"You have already lost, Way'Lee."
She refused to believe that.
Gritting her teeth, she took a step forward. "If I am in your prison, then tell me—why do you sound so afraid?"
The Shadow King did not move. Did not blink.
Then, for the first time… he smiled.
"Because the door is already open."
A force like a tidal wave slammed into her, pulling her backwards. The world collapsed around her, shadows swallowing everything.
She had only enough time to hear his final whisper:
"And I am not the only one who waits beyond the Veil."
Return to a Changed World
Way'Lee gasped awake, her body convulsing as she snapped back into her chambers. The torches blazed to life, casting long, flickering shadows across the walls.
She was back.
But something was wrong.
The air was thicker, the silence heavier. The Veil had weakened—she could feel it.
Way'Lee pressed a trembling hand to her chest, steadying her breath.
The Shadow King was right.
This was only the beginning.
And something else had crossed over with her.