Mist pressed close as they walked, thick enough to bead cold on Kaelen's lashes. The rope bridges were gone now—replaced by narrow walkways carved directly into the cliffside, slick with moss and just wide enough for a single person.
Somewhere below, water roared unseen.
The Knotted Veil moved without hesitation, their smoke-lanterns swaying. The air grew sharper the deeper they went, carrying a faint tang of iron—like the taste of bitten lips. Kaelen's fingers brushed the hilt of his dagger more than once, though he wasn't sure whether he feared an attack… or an invitation.
They emerged into a hollow in the cliffs, the ground littered with fragments of pale bone. At the far end, a structure loomed—half temple, half ossuary, its walls latticed with skulls so old their features had faded into the stone. A single archway yawned in its center, and from it poured a steady ribbon of gray smoke that curled into the mist.
The Knotted Veil halted as one.
Iryndra stepped forward, mask tilting toward Kaelen.
"This is where you speak carefully… or not at all."
Before he could answer, the smoke shifted. It coiled upon itself, thickening into the shape of a figure. No footsteps. No sound. Just a presence, sliding forward until it stood before him.
The Bone Mask wore a face of white porcelain cracked through the middle, a web of black thread pulling the halves together. The eyes behind it glinted with something cold and ancient—like a storm watching from a distance, waiting for the right cliff to break.
When it spoke, the voice was a whisper dragged across stone.
"Vessel."
The shard beneath Kaelen's skin burned so sharply he almost staggered.
"You carry what was taken," the Bone Mask continued, tilting its head. "Give it… or keep it. Both have a price."
Kaelen's fingers twitched at his sleeve. Every instinct told him this was the point where choices stopped being reversible.
The Bone Mask leaned closer.
"Choose, thief. And choose quickly—before the mist learns your name."