The Veil of the Umbral Sovereign: Chapter 2
~The Midnight Echo Stirs~
The night after the raid on the Crimson Shroud should have been quiet.
It wasn't.
Ebonreach vibrated with an unease that only those attuned to the unseen could feel—a tremor that ran not through the ground but through the shadow of every structure, every alley, every breath of fog drifting between lantern posts.
Lorian Vale stood atop the bell tower of Arkwyn Academy, the city's moonlit spires stretching beneath him like jagged teeth.
The Heartshard Sigil lay in his gloved hands, pulsing with a soft, rhythmic thrum.
Like a heartbeat.
He had assumed the relic was a ritual prop—symbolic at best, bothersome at worst. But its steady pulse, warm despite the cold night, made him reconsider everything with a flicker of curiosity.
"What exactly are you?" he whispered.
The Sigil responded with a faint pulse, as if acknowledging the question.
Lorian smiled.
"Excellent."
A Sovereign thrived on the unknown.
A whisper cut through the wind. Seren emerged from the shadows behind him, her violet eyes reflecting the relic's glow.
"Master Sovereign," she said softly, "the others have gathered."
He turned. Within the tower chamber below, the remaining Duskwalkers waited—each cloaked, each poised, each a living testament to the persona Lorian had built with dramatic flourish.
But tonight, they looked tense.
Duskwalker Four stepped forward. "We have interrogated the captured cultists, my Sovereign. Their minds are fractured… but they all speak of the same thing."
"And that is?" Lorian asked.
"The Midnight Echo," Four whispered.
Another invention of his.
He had created the term during a monologue he'd crafted for dramatic effect two months ago. Something about "the echo of forgotten darkness whispering at the edge of power." It had sounded very Sovereign-like.
He never expected anyone to repeat it.
Lorian folded his arms. "Explain."
"It is a prophecy within the Crimson Shroud," Seren answered. "A convergence. They claim that when the Heartshard Sigil awakens, the Echo sings. And when the Echo sings… the Obsidian Crown answers."
The Obsidian Crown again.
The thing he invented.
The thing that was somehow becoming real.
Intriguing.
One Duskwalker knelt in urgency. "Master Sovereign, we fear this power may be beyond us."
Lorian let silence hang for three perfectly weighted seconds.
Then he stepped forward, cloak swirling like ink.
"The shadows whisper long before they scream," he said calmly. "We will reach them before they speak at all."
His confidence washed over the room like a command from fate itself.
The Duskwalkers straightened, renewed.
Seren approached him, hesitating. "There is more. We found… something else."
She handed him a torn parchment. At its center was an ink-black sigil shaped like an eye with a crown above it. But the ink shimmered, shifting subtly, as if alive.
Lorian frowned.
He hadn't created that symbol.
This was new.
He turned the page slightly. The sigil blinked.
Not metaphorically.
It blinked.
The Duskwalkers all gasped, stepping back.
Lorian, however, only raised an eyebrow.
"A living seal," he noted softly. "Curious."
The seal blinked again—once, twice—and then the ink bled outward, forming letters in an ancient script. Seren inhaled sharply.
"Master…" she whispered. "It's forming a message."
The words warped into legibility, dripping like fresh ink:
THE CROWN SEES YOU.
Lorian felt Seren's fear. Felt the Duskwalkers' tension spike.
Perfect.
Every Sovereign needed a worthy antagonist. And if the world insisted on providing one…
He would accept the invitation.
That night, Lorian walked alone through the abandoned district known as The Hollows—a labyrinth of dead streets swallowed by mist. He had traced the parchment's ink trail to this place. It pulsed faintly in the direction of a collapsed orphanage.
He stepped inside.
Wood creaked beneath his boots. The air tasted metallic.
At the center of what once was a dining hall, shadows pooled unnaturally—thick, heavy, writhing like liquid.
Lorian approached.
The darkness shivered, then rose like smoke forming a humanoid silhouette.
"You should not have touched the Sigil," it whispered, voice like splintered stone. "You awaken echoes not meant for mortal hands."
Lorian placed a hand on his hip casually.
"And yet," he said, "here I stand."
The shadow figure's hollow eyes narrowed. "You do not understand the stories you write."
"And you," Lorian replied, "underestimate the power of good literary structure."
The shadow hissed, clearly unprepared for that answer.
Lorian continued smoothly, "Tell me about the Crown."
The darkness twisted violently. "The Crown does not bow. It does not bargain. It merely watches."
"Watches what?" Lorian asked.
"You," it rasped. "Because you have changed the script."
The shadows rippled.
"The Sovereign was never meant to exist."
Lorian's smile grew beneath his hood.
"Then consider me a delightful accident."
The shadow lunged, but before it reached him—
A violet flare exploded through the hall.
Seren dropped from the ceiling in a flash of dark light, driving her blade into the ground and splitting the shadow apart.
"Master Sovereign!" she breathed. "Are you unharmed?"
The shadow mass shrieked, reforming.
Lorian extended a hand, stopping Seren from attacking again.
"No," he said, voice calm. "Let it speak."
The creature trembled, barely holding shape.
"You were written into a story that was never yours," it hissed. "The Crown will correct the mistake."
"Then let the Crown come," Lorian said softly, dangerously. "I find corrections… distasteful."
The monster shattered into smoke.
A final whisper lingered:
"The Echo has begun."
Seren turned to him, breath unsteady. "Master… what does this mean?"
Lorian looked at the floating particles of fading darkness, then at the Sigil pulsing at his side.
"It means," he said, cloak sweeping behind him as he turned, "that our story is more real than expected."
He stepped into the broken doorway, moonlight outlining him in silver.
"And now," he continued, "we write the next chapter before the Crown writes it for us."
Seren followed, loyal and silently burning with purpose.
In the distance, beyond the city's slumbering skyline, a bell tolled once—an omen, a warning, a beginning.
The Umbral Sovereign walked toward it without hesitation.
For he did not fear the coming darkness.
He authored it.
End of Chapter 2
---
If you're enjoying the story, want to read more, and want to support me in creating more, you can check out my
Patreon here: patreon.com/Foods777
Every bit of support means a lot and helps me keep writing!