Cole's breathing grew labored, his charred fingers tracing arcane patterns in the air that briefly shimmered gold before dissolving. "The Shadowlands..." he rasped, the name carrying weight like a crypt seal breaking. "Not some backwater coven. Our citadel straddles three planes—material, ethereal, and..." A wracking cough interrupted. "...the nameless void."
Kael's grip tightened on his staff. The dying mage's words painted visions of obsidian towers piercing storm-wracked skies, of libraries containing forbidden knowledge predating human civilization. Shadowlands' agents reportedly infiltrated royal courts across three continents, their influence extending through necropolitical networks even imperial spies feared to touch.
"The Veil..." Cole convulsed suddenly, black ichor seeping from his nostrils. The artifact in question—Twilight's Veil—emerged in his description as no mere relic, but a living paradox: simultaneously a key to primordial magic and a parasitic entity that had consumed seven previous owners. Its moonlight radiance could heal mortal wounds or unravel souls, depending on the lunar phase when activated.
Kael noted Cole's deliberate omissions. The mage mentioned discovering "blood rituals" and "false prophets" within Shadowlands' inner sanctum, yet carefully avoided specifying whether his theft stemmed from moral outrage or personal ambition. This ambiguity coiled through their conversation like smoke—intriguing yet ultimately shapeless.
When Cole warned of Shadowlands' reach, his remaining eye reflected genuine dread. "Saint-tier mages... barely qualify as initiates there." The revelation chilled Kael—Saint Magus being a title reserved for those who'd rewritten reality itself. That such power might constitute mere entry-level status in this organization hinted at cosmic horrors lurking in its upper echelons.
The dying confession concluded with practical advice buried beneath layers of ominous prophecy. Cole's trembling hand pressed a shadow-forged locket into Kael's palm—its interior hollowed to hold a single drop of mercury-like substance that defied gravity. "Lumenfrost," he gasped. "Veil's counteragent... when moonlight turns crimson..."
Dawn's first light found Kael alone amidst the ruins, the locket's cold weight contradicting its liquid contents. Distant church bells mingled with Cole's final words echoing in his mind—a warning about "dormant watchers" and "equinox reckonings." The youth turned the artifact in sunlight, noting how its surface absorbed illumination without reflection, like a tear in reality itself.
He departed with more questions than answers. What defined "conflict" in Shadowlands' eyes? Would brewing a potion with Lumenfrost constitute provocation? And most pressingly—how many other Cole-trapped souls had Twilight's Veil claimed before landing in his possession?
The road ahead shimmered with danger's allure. Kael touched his reagent pouch, mentally inventorying components that might detect spiritual surveillance. For now, caution outweighed curiosity—but as every alchemist knew, reactive elements inevitably find their catalysts.
Cole's trembling fingers unsealed the scroll, its edges crumbling like ancient parchment. "Sage of Jadehaven..." Blood speckled the vellum as he pressed it into Kael's palm. The youth felt the spiritual sigil thrum against his skin—a threefold encryption only Cole's designated heir could unravel.
The dying mage's breath rattled. "That cursed city... sanctuary and prison both." His charcoal-rimmed eyes drifted toward southern constellations. Jadehaven's reputation preceded it—a citadel where alchemical vapors tinted moonrise emerald, where master enchanters traded secrets for drops of phoenix tears.
When Kael voiced suspicion about Twilight's Veil's whereabouts, Cole's laughter erupted as bloody coughs. "Travis searched rivers and crypts..." A skeletal hand rose to cracked lips. "...never thought to check the vault beneath his nose."
The revelation unfolded grotesquely—Cole's tongue protruding unnaturally as he produced a platinum band glistening with oral fluids. The spatial ring's dimensional matrix shimmered despite bodily contaminants, its preservation spells outliving their creator. Kael's diagnostic cantrip revealed layered protections: bloodline locks, lunar-phase triggers, even a contingency anti-swallow ward.
Within the extradimensional space floated the artifact—a luminous orb radiating paradoxical warmth. Twilight's Veil pulsed like captured starlight, its surface swirling with nebula patterns that defied ocular focus. The proximity headache struck instantly, a psychic backlash suggesting why Cole had resorted to such crude hiding methods.
"Burden... and promise..." Cole's final words dissolved into terminal convulsions. His corpse began disintegrating before fully collapsing—soulburn residue reducing flesh to iridescent ash.
Kael stood alone clutching twin inheritances. The scroll's encryption prickled his palm in rhythm with the orb's pulsations, twin mysteries binding him to Jadehaven's shadowed legacy. Dawn's first rays ignited Twilight's Veil into prismatic fury, its light etching permanent afterimages behind his eyelids.
Somewhere southward, Sage awaited. Somewhere within, the artifact stirred.
The artifact's surface rippled under Kael's touch like moonlit quicksilver. Cole's fading gaze tracked the swirling patterns—memories of countless sleepless nights studying its mysteries reflected in his clouding eyes. "Accelerates nocturnal meditation... confirmed that much." Blood flecked his chin as he gestured weakly. "But the Veil hungers deeper."
Kael rotated the orb, noting how its inner glow dimmed and brightened in rhythm with his pulse. The warmth permeating his palms carried an unsettling sentience, as if the artifact were conducting its own examination.
"Three owners before me..." Cole's voice frayed at the edges. "All Saint-tier. All..." A terminal shudder interrupted. "...consumed."
The revelation landed between them like a death knell. Kael's grip tightened involuntarily, the orb's light flaring crimson in response. Cole's ruined face twisted in something resembling triumph.
"Now you understand." The dying mage collapsed backward, his body beginning its final dissolution. "Burden... and..."
Kael didn't wait for the sentence to complete. The containment barrier's telltale hum had shifted pitch—someone would investigate within hours. He pocketed the artifact, its sudden weight disproportionate to its size.
Twilight's Veil pulsed against his thigh as he navigated rubble-strewn alleys. The promised meditation boost already manifested as sharpened senses—moonlight revealed previously invisible cracks in masonry, distant guard patrols' footfalls resonated like drumbeats. Yet with enhanced perception came intrusive whispers—half-formed images of a silver-haired figure beckoning from glacial depths.
By the time he reached the docks, the artifact's surface had cooled to obsidian blackness. Kael stared at his distorted reflection in its depths, the afterimage of Cole's warning smile superimposed over his features. Somewhere beneath Jadehaven's emerald spires, Sage awaited this cursed inheritance.
The first ferry horn blared as false dawn lightened the eastern horizon. Kael boarded without looking back, the Veil's renewed warmth seeping through layers of fabric—a predator's patient purr against his skin.