Kieran stood at the city gates, his feet planted in the thick dust of a place that looked like it belonged to no one. The gates were grand—ancient, made of dark iron—etched with symbols that made his skin prickle. The city was a maze of towering structures, built from stone as black as night, and the air hummed with the quiet buzzing of voices, each one hidden behind a veil of anonymity.
Varneth.
It was a city built on secrets.
It had been decades since a king ruled, and even the nobles who still clung to power wore masks—literal and figurative. The only law here was survival, and Kieran had no illusions about what that meant.
"You shouldn't have come here, Voidborne."
The words came from nowhere—just a whisper in the wind. But Kieran didn't flinch.
He had been training for this moment.
He entered.
The First Encounter
It didn't take long before he attracted attention.
The city was alive, but not in the way Kieran was used to. People were shadows—moving in and out of the corners of his vision, their faces hidden, their voices low and secretive. No one smiled. No one greeted him.
And then a figure approached, a silhouette emerging from the alley like a breath drawn in shadow. She was tall, cloaked in flowing robes that seemed to swallow the light around her. Her eyes, glowing amber like the embers of a fire long spent, fixed on Kieran with cold intensity.
"You're the one who took the first fragment," she said, her voice a low rasp. "I know your face."
Kieran didn't flinch.
"Who are you?"
Her smile was as cold as the air.
"Not important. What's important is that you're here, and I need to know if you're strong enough for what's to come."
Masks and Shadows
The woman didn't offer a name.
She just led Kieran through the winding streets of Varneth, into the depths where even the shadows had secrets.
Here, the air was thick with tension. People watched from behind veils of cloth, their eyes narrowing as Kieran passed. They were like specters—hard to see, impossible to trust.
"What is this place?" Kieran asked.
"A city of masks," the woman replied. "Everyone wears one. And in a city of masks, you never know who's friend and who's foe. It's better that way."
They stopped in front of a door made of iron, weathered and scarred by time.
"You want the second fragment?" she asked. "It's here, but it's not yours yet. Not unless you're willing to prove it."
The Test of Shadows
The door opened into a chamber of pure darkness. There was no light—no flicker of flame, no glow of magic—just the oppressive weight of the shadows pressing in on Kieran's senses.
"What's the test?" Kieran asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"The test is simple. Find the truth."
The door slammed shut behind him, and Kieran was plunged into a world where the shadows themselves moved.
And then, like a whisper caught on the wind, he heard it—a faint laugh, too close, too familiar.
"Silence."
The voice that came from the darkness sounded like his own. His body tensed, but he did not move.
"Find the truth, Kieran. The truth of what you are. The truth of who you are." The voice circled him, taunting.
Kieran gripped the hilt of his blade, but the silence that filled the room was suffocating. It wasn't a physical enemy. It was a test—a test of his mind, his strength.
"I am Kieran Veyron," he said, his voice steady. "And I will not be lost in shadows."
The darkness flickered for a moment, revealing a shard of light—a crystal suspended in the air. It pulsed, and Kieran knew instinctively that it was the second fragment.
But there was no way to reach it—not without facing the shadows, not without understanding the truth of what he had just declared.