The darkness swallowed them whole.
Not like a corridor.
Not like a tunnel.
And not like the silent cell that tried to erase him.
This dark had texture—a living depth that shifted around Evin and Rell as they crossed the threshold. Rell gasped, clutching Evin tighter as the floor disappeared from beneath their feet. Or maybe the concept of a floor simply stopped applying.
"E-Evin—where are we—what did you—"
"I don't know," Evin whispered.
And he didn't.
He hadn't opened a door.
He hadn't summoned anything.
The Veil had moved for him.
The shadows folded inward, shifting like a great curtain being lowered in slow motion. The darkness wasn't empty—Evin sensed layers upon layers brushing against his awareness. Not touches. Not voices.
Impressions.
Moments.
Remains.
Rell clung to him, trembling. "I—I can't see anything."
"Don't try to," Evin said softly. "It's not… real."
"Then why can I feel it?"
Evin didn't answer.
Because he felt it too.
A pressure around his chest—almost like arms. Not squeezing. Supporting. Keeping him from collapsing under his own weight. Each breath came easier as the shadows steadied him. They didn't carry him. But they wouldn't let him fall.
The Veil understood his limits even when he did not.
"Is this… you?" Rell whispered.
"No."
Then, softer:
"Not exactly."
A shape formed in the distance—vague, flickering. Like a memory trying to take form. Evin's breath hitched.
It was small.
Child-sized.
Standing still.
Watching.
Rell stiffened. "E-Evin—someone's there—"
"I know…"
The shape stood with arms hanging at its sides, head tilted slightly—no face, just shadow. But Evin sensed what it carried:
Fear.
Pain.
Abandonment.
A remnant.
One of many.
"Don't move," Evin whispered.
The remnant didn't approach. It simply stood, shivering, flickering faintly like a dying lantern. Evin's heart ached.
Rell whispered, voice cracking, "Is that… what's left of someone?"
Evin nodded slowly. "Someone they burned."
The child-shape trembled.
Evin took a slow, careful breath. "We're not here to hurt you."
The shadow twitched, barely.
Not in fear.
In recognition.
Evin felt it—like a tiny thread of connection. A memory without words. A life snuffed too early, too viciously. He reached out his hand—not physically, but through the Veil, letting his awareness extend gently.
The remnant flickered again… then vanished into the dark.
Rell sagged with relief. "Gods… I thought—"
Evin shook his head. "They're not here to hurt us. They're just… here."
"Why?"
"Because they have nowhere else to go."
The darkness shifted again—not angrily, not threateningly. It felt like a hall that reformed around them, shaping itself according to Evin's thoughts. This place wasn't a prison.
It was a refuge.
A broken one.
Then—
BRUMMMMM.
A distant vibration rolled through the Veil, shaking the shadows like fabric caught in wind. Evin stumbled, nearly falling, and Rell grabbed him again.
"What was that?!"
Evin steadied himself. The Veil around him rippled in response—protective, tense. That tremor wasn't internal.
It came from outside.
From the real world.
The Church was breaking into the Veil.
No—that wasn't right.
They couldn't enter this place.
They were forcing him out.
Evin gasped as his ribs tightened, the Veil pulling him backward like a tide retreating from shore. The shadows thinned, the space compressing until cracks of reality flickered through the darkness like lightning.
Rell's fingers dug into Evin's arm. "What's happening?!"
"They're trying to rip me out," Evin managed through clenched teeth.
Rell's eyes widened. "Then let go! We'll stay hidden—"
"No."
Evin shook his head weakly.
"They'll kill everyone looking for us."
Because Crimson protocol wasn't just about the anomaly.
It was about erasing anything it touched.
Rell swallowed hard. "So what do we do?"
The Veil tightened around Evin—not pulling him back this time, but bracing him. Supporting him like multiple unseen hands pressed against his back.
It wasn't sending him out alone.
It was going with him.
Evin forced himself upright, leaning heavily on Rell. "We face them."
Rell stared at him like he had lost his mind. "Evin—we barely survived last time!"
"I know."
"We don't even know where they are!"
"I know."
Rell grabbed him by the shoulders. "You can't fight the Church!"
Evin smiled slightly.
"Who said anything about fighting?"
The Veil surged.
The darkness cracked open into blinding white light.
Evin and Rell were thrown forward—
the shadows ripping away—
the remnants recoiling—
the world snapping violently into place—
And Evin collapsed onto stone, air punching from his lungs.
He gasped, blinking fiercely as vision returned in fragments.
Not a dormitory.
Not a chamber.
A hall.
Long.
Marble.
Flooded with torchlight and armored guards forming a semicircle around him.
Inquisitors.
Knights.
Observers.
Sanctifiers.
All gathered.
All waiting.
All terrified.
Evin pushed himself onto his elbows.
Rell scrambled to his side.
The Inquisitor from the correction chamber stepped forward, expression cold.
"You cannot hide in shadow, Evin Veylan," he said. "We will find you in every corner of creation."
Evin drew in a shaking breath.
The Veil rose behind him like a silent tide—dozens of faint silhouettes aligning themselves, not to attack, not to threaten, but simply to stand with him.
Evin lifted his chin.
"I didn't hide."
He met the Inquisitor's gaze.
"I chose where to stand."
Gasps rippled through the hall as the shadows behind Evin coalesced into clear, undeniable form.
Not ghosts.
Not possession.
Not madness.
Witnesses.
And all of them were looking at the Church.
The Inquisitor's mask of certainty finally cracked.
"This is… impossible."
Evin stood, trembling but upright.
"No," he said quietly, voice steady despite the fear tearing through him.
"This is what you made."