Chapter 2 – The Silent Veil
Morning at Helmwick always began in silence.
Not peace—just the hush before the grind of training.
Mist crawled along the floating walkways as the bells tolled, their echoes scattering through the clouds like warnings. Students filed toward the lower terraces, cloaks fluttering in the thin wind.
He walked among them, head low, still feeling the echo of yesterday's loss of control.
Every step carried whispers.
> "That's him."
"The one who bent the arena."
"Lirian's freak."
The words bit deeper than the cold.
He reached Training Hall Seven, a dome of white-crystal stone ringed by runes that pulsed with contained Yee-ul. Inside waited Lirian and two dozen students—each standing before circular platforms carved with their elemental sigil.
"Today," Lirian said, "you will learn the first discipline of the Veil—the act of separation."
Her gaze swept the room. "Emotion births Yee-ul, but emotion also distorts it. You must learn to let feeling flow through you without losing control. This is called Silent Veiling."
She gestured toward the basin in front of him. "You, begin."
He placed his hands over the water.
The basin quivered, ripples forming before he even summoned a thought.
> Calm.
Calm.
Calm.
The memory of fire flickered behind his eyes. His heartbeat spiked. The water lifted into spirals; the air folded; his hair rose in a static hum.
"Breathe!" Lirian barked. "Center your core!"
He exhaled sharply.
The ripples slowed. The water fell back, leaving only a thin mist above its surface. His Yee-ul pulsed quietly, fading into stillness.
Lirian nodded once. "Better. You are not mastering power—you are mastering yourself."
Around him, other students failed spectacularly—miniature explosions, cracked floors, one boy sobbing as his own shadow came alive. Every misstep reminded him how fragile control truly was.
---
Afternoon – The Library of Essence
Helmwick's library was older than the academy itself. Columns of crystal rose into mist, shelves filled with pulsating glyphs instead of paper. He came here whenever his thoughts grew too loud.
Ilya sat cross-legged on the floor, a faint shimmer of blue energy rippling around her. "You scared half the class," she said without looking up.
"I didn't mean to," he murmured.
"That's the problem. You never mean to."
She opened her eyes—pale as moonlit water. "Yee-ul listens to truth, not lies you tell yourself. You're holding something back."
He hesitated. "If I let it out, I don't know what happens."
"Then find out before someone else does."
Her tone was gentle, but the warning beneath it was sharp.
Somewhere deep inside, he felt the weight of unseen attention—like eyes studying him through the folds of reality.
---
Nightfall
That evening, Helmwick's lights dimmed, and the floating platforms drifted into shadow alignment—a nightly calibration of the runes that kept the academy suspended.
He stood on the balcony outside the dorms, watching the Silver Vale below.
Wind whispered around him, carrying fragments of voice—too soft, too human.
> "You survived the fire…"
"You were chosen…"
"Ascend, little flame."
He spun, searching the empty balcony. Nothing. Only mist curling along the railing.
For a heartbeat, he thought he saw a figure reflected in the window behind him—black silhouette, eyes like faint stars. Then the glass cracked, a thin fracture spreading across its surface before fading away.
He backed away slowly, heart pounding.
Somewhere, deep beneath Helmwick, something ancient stirred—a low resonance echoing through the foundations like a heartbeat beneath stone.
He didn't know it yet, but that vibration marked the first awakening of the Shadow Sovereign's gaze.
---
He returned to bed without sleep, staring at the ceiling while faint blue light pulsed under his skin.
Tomorrow, training would continue.
Tomorrow, he'd try again to control the thing that refused to be caged.
But tonight, as the world breathed around him, he finally understood why the technique was called The Silent Veil.
Because sometimes, silence wasn't calm.
It was the warning before a storm.