The bells had been the first to vanish. One day, their songs carried across the rooftops; the next, the towers themselves were missing, as though they had never been raised. The city mourned in strange silence, caught between outrage and resignation, each citizen secretly fearing what would vanish next.
Now, it was the bridges.
At dawn, Lyra woke to the sound of screaming. Not the distant clamor of alarm bells, but thousands of voices rising in collective panic. She rushed to the balcony of their narrow lodgings and nearly lost her footing.
The river that cut the city in two still flowed, glittering in the morning light. But its arches of stone, wood, and steel were gone. Every bridge — from the ancient carved viaducts to the newest suspension spans — had disappeared without a trace.
Districts on the far bank stood untouched, but now unreachable. Market boats struggled against the sudden flood of barges trying to ferry people across. Entire neighborhoods waved from across the water, calling out names, weeping as though their loved ones had been stranded on another continent.
Kael joined her at the balcony, his face hard as a blade. "It begins again," he muttered.
Rienne appeared moments later, her crystalline arm wrapped in a fresh bandage, her expression pale and stricken. "It's worse this time. Not a single bridge remains. The Veil isn't erasing pieces anymore — it's striking at the structures that bind us."
The Codex lay on the table behind them, its pages already turning. Glyphs bled across the parchment, dark and urgent: "Severance breeds hunger. The Veil widens."
By midmorning, the harbor district was in chaos. With the bridges gone, all trade had to be funneled through the river docks, and they weren't built for such strain. Boats tipped under the weight of too many passengers. Merchants shouted, demanding space for their wares. Children cried as families were separated on opposite shores.
Lyra and the others pushed through the crowd, the Codex hidden under her cloak. The air smelled of brine, sweat, and desperation.
"This isn't just inconvenience," Rienne said, scanning the tumult. "This is collapse. Without bridges, grain can't reach the north districts. The glassworkers are cut off from their furnaces. Medicine can't reach the hospitals. Within days—"
"—the city starves," Kael finished grimly.
A stone struck the ground at their feet. Shouts rose: "There! The Veilbearers! They bring the curses with them!"
Lyra's stomach dropped. The mob was turning. People shoved closer, faces twisted with fear and fury.
"They keep the Codex!" someone yelled. "The book knows what will vanish! They're the ones feeding it!"
Kael drew his blade with a hiss, but Lyra grabbed his arm. "Don't. Not here."
Guards pushed through the mob, halberds raised. But instead of calming the crowd, they leveled their weapons at Kael and Rienne.
"In the name of the Council," the captain barked, "you are to surrender the Codex and submit to inquiry. Now."
Rienne stiffened. "Inquiry? They mean imprisonment. They'll seal it away where no one can study it."
Lyra clutched the Codex tighter beneath her cloak. The pages shifted, a low rustling like a heartbeat. She didn't need to read the words to know what it was telling her: If you surrender me, the city is lost.
Kael stepped forward, placing himself between Lyra and the guards. "We fight our way clear," he said, low but firm.
Lyra looked at the mob. Mothers clutching infants. Merchants screaming about lost goods. Old men staring with hollow eyes across the river where their families were trapped. Could they spill blood here, among people already broken?
"No," Lyra whispered. "Not here."
She raised her free hand, calling out with as much authority as she could muster. "We will appear before the Council. But the Codex remains with us. If the Council wishes to hear its truth, they can face it themselves."
The captain hesitated. Around them, the mob seethed, waiting for violence. At last, he lowered his halberd. "So be it. You walk under guard."
The Council chambers smelled of incense and iron. Twelve robed figures sat upon their crescent dais, faces hidden behind masks of brass. The chamber doors clanged shut behind the Veilbearers, leaving them in a silence heavy as judgment.
High Councillor Verath leaned forward, his mask a snarling sun. "You arrive under shadow of suspicion. Bridges do not vanish without cause. Tell us, Veilbearers: what have you done?"
Kael bristled. "We have done nothing but fight to keep your people alive."
"Lies," spat another councillor, their mask carved into the shape of a weeping woman. "Every calamity has grown worse since your arrival. Bells, storms of glass, now bridges. You bring chaos with you."
Lyra placed the Codex on the stone table between them. Its cover gleamed faintly in the torchlight. "We don't control it. It warns us. The bridges were already gone before the ink dried."
The Codex stirred, pages rustling, revealing fresh glyphs: "Blame seeks a vessel. Fear builds walls sharper than glass."
Gasps rose from the councillors. A few recoiled. One whispered, "It writes… even now?"
Rienne stepped forward, voice steady despite her trembling hands. "You want someone to blame. But the truth is worse: the Veil itself is collapsing. If we don't act, soon there won't be a city to argue over."
The sun-masked Verath slammed his fist against the table. "And your answer is what? More forbidden machines? More meddling with forces beyond mortal reach? You bring echoes and rifts and now you tell us only you can save us?"
"Not only us," Kael said, glaring. "But without us, you will fall faster."
The chamber erupted in shouts. Some councillors demanded the Codex be seized. Others feared touching it at all. The voices blurred into one another until Lyra thought she might drown in their bickering.
Then the Codex flared with sudden light, its pages flipping open of their own accord. Words burned across the parchment, visible to all: "When bridges fall, so too does trust. Without unity, the river becomes a grave."
Silence followed. Heavy, suffocating silence.
At last, Verath hissed, "Take them away."
The guards moved in, chains ready. Kael raised his blade, but Lyra lifted the Codex high. Its pages shone like molten glass, casting strange shadows against the brass masks.
The air rippled. For an instant, everyone in the chamber glimpsed a future not yet born: the river choked with corpses, bridges of bone spanning its width, the Council chambers empty and shattered.
The guards fell back in terror. The councillors clutched at their masks.
Lyra's voice rang out, stronger than she felt. "If you would chain us, then chain your own survival. We will not surrender the Codex. And if you try, the Veil itself will make you answer."
She turned, sweeping from the chamber before her courage failed. Kael and Rienne flanked her, weapons ready. The guards did not stop them.
Outside, the city trembled on the edge of riot. With the bridges gone, food riots erupted in the northern districts. Ferrymen gouged desperate citizens for passage. Rumors spread that the Veilbearers themselves had fed the bridges to the river.
Lyra, Kael, and Rienne moved through alleys to avoid the mobs. Everywhere they looked, they saw collapse: children wandering alone, market stalls overturned, corpses pulled from the water where ferries had capsized.
Rienne's crystalline arm pulsed with faint light, resonating with the Codex. "It's accelerating," she whispered. "The Veil isn't just fraying at the edges anymore. It's unraveling the city's heart."
Kael scowled, scanning the rooftops. "Then we need a plan before there's nothing left to fight for."
Lyra hugged the Codex close. Its latest words burned into her mind: "Without unity, the river becomes a grave."
Unity. But how could they unite a city that wanted them dead?
They gathered that night in a crumbling warehouse near the river. The city outside roared with unrest, voices echoing across the water like distant thunder.
Kael cleaned his blade in silence. Rienne paced, crystalline fingers tapping sharp rhythms against the wall. Lyra sat cross-legged, the Codex before her, its pages calm for the first time in days.
"They'll never trust us," Kael said at last. "Not while fear rules them. If the Council turns the people against us, they'll hunt us down before we can mend a single fracture."
"So we disappear?" Rienne asked bitterly. "Hide while the Veil swallows the city whole?"
"No." Lyra's voice was quiet, but it stilled them both. "We show them. Not words, not warnings — proof. We take the Codex into the heart of the fracture. We find a way to mend it, and we drag the city back from the brink. Only then will they listen."
Rienne stopped pacing. "If we fail—"
"Then there won't be anyone left to blame us," Lyra said.
Kael sheathed his blade, the sound final as a vow. "So be it. We fight not for their trust, but for their survival."
Rienne's crystalline arm pulsed, resonating with the Codex. "Then we start tomorrow. Before the bridges aren't the only thing lost."
Lyra closed the Codex. For a moment, the silence of the room felt heavy but certain. They had chosen.
Outside, the river roared, its dark waters swallowing the moonlight. The city above teetered on the edge of collapse, but the Veilbearers were no longer waiting for permission.
The bridges might be gone. But they would find a way to build something stronger — or perish trying.