The river was born from the mountains like any other—clear, cold, and swift—but Kael quickly learned it was not like any river he had known.
By midday, the water had darkened from silver to a shadowy blue. By nightfall, it was black, yet still reflecting the moon's pale light as if it were glass. The banks grew strange, too: stones smoothed into perfect spheres, roots twisted into shapes that resembled faces, and fish that swam beneath the surface with eyes like molten coins.
The Flame in his chest grew restless. It did not speak, but it pulsed in a steady rhythm, faster with each step eastward, as though counting down to something.
The Signs of Unmaking
The deeper Kael followed the river, the more wrong the world became.
A flock of birds passed overhead—but each wingbeat left a faint afterimage hanging in the air, like an echo that refused to fade.
A deer crossed his path with antlers that grew and shed themselves in seconds, then grew again.
Even the air felt thicker, as though he was walking underwater.
Once, he stopped to drink from the river, but the water refused to ripple when touched. Instead, it clung to his hand like oil before finally breaking free in droplets that drifted upward instead of falling.
The Village That Shouldn't Be
On the third day, he saw smoke.
It rose in a perfect column, unmoving despite the wind.
Following it, Kael came to a village along the riverbank—though he knew there should be no settlements this far east. The houses were simple, but there was something wrong about their symmetry: each had the same number of windows, the same crooked doorframe, the same single lantern hanging from the eaves.
The villagers moved slowly, their faces pale and smooth, like clay left unpainted. They did not speak, only watched him with eyes that reflected too much light.
A child approached him, holding a wooden toy in the shape of a bird.
It was warm to the touch—far too warm—and when Kael glanced away for half a heartbeat, it had changed shape into a small, perfect carving of his own face.
He dropped it. It didn't fall.
The Woman by the River
At the far end of the village, where the river widened into an unnatural stillness, she waited.
Tall, robed in black water that moved as though it were alive, her face hidden beneath a veil.
"You've come," she said, and though her voice was soft, it carried like a bell through the heavy air.
Kael's hand went to the bone knife at his belt. "You've crossed the Veil before."
She tilted her head, as if considering the truth of that. "Once. And once is enough to know the price. Yet you… you carry the Flame. That means you will cross, no matter what I say."
"Then tell me where the Veil-Breaker is."
She laughed—low, musical, and not entirely human.
"The Veil-Breaker is not a man. It is an idea. And ideas… cannot be killed with steel."
The Bargain
The water behind her began to rise, forming a wall without a splash. Within it, Kael saw flickers of the other side—fields of bone-white grass under skies lit by veins of fire, rivers running uphill, towers growing like living things.
"I can take you across," she said. "But every crossing leaves a mark, and the more marks you bear, the less you remain yourself."
Kael's jaw tightened. "What do you want in return?"
Her veil shifted, and for the first time he saw a sliver of her face—skin like cracked porcelain, and eyes that held too many reflections.
"Your name," she said. "Give me your name, and I will take you through."
The Flame flared hot, warning him.
The choice hung in the still air:
Give his name and cross now… or try to find another way before the Veil fully tore.