Toby drifted in darkness, as if cradled in a dream, the pain numbed and distant. For a fleeting moment, he thought he was asleep safe, untouched by the battle he'd just endured.
But reality struck harder than Guzmar's warpick.
A deafening thud tore through the ruined town, the ground cracking beneath the weight of a broken body. Dust and ash billowed upward as Toby's battered form hit the earth like a fallen star. Moments later, the blade of Siegfried came whistling from above, embedding itself beside him, its steel hissing as it pierced the scorched dirt. It stood there silent, still, mourning.
Rain began to fall.
A quiet, cleansing rain that gently washed over the shattered remains of Salthbridge. Fires hissed and died. Smoke curled into the grey sky. The streets, now empty, were painted in ash and blood.
Toby lay there, unmoving, breath shallow and uneven. His body broken, his mind somewhere distant. The world turned without him. Day bled into night, night into Day over and over as if time had forgotten him.
And then, amidst the haze of pain and unconscious drift, a hand reached out. Gentle. Warm. It gripped his arm not to pull him back into the storm, but to lead him away from it.
He couldn't see who it belonged to. Couldn't move. Could barely think. But he felt it. Through the blur of agony and silence, he felt it: he was not alone.
The stone beneath him felt soft as feathers in his dulled state. Even Siegfried, once his voice of guidance, couldn't reach him now.
The path before them was fading but not gone. Not yet.
From time to time, Toby felt the brush of cool water against his lips. At moments, a warmth would trail down his throat soup, maybe? Broth? He couldn't tell. His senses were distant and muddled, drifting between pain and numbness, light and dark. There was someone… someone feeding him, caring for his battered body.
But who?
Was it friend… or foe?
The question haunted the edge of his scattered thoughts. Alone and helpless, it should've terrified him. Yet, somewhere deep inside, he let go of the fear. It no longer mattered. Nothing did not in this limbo where time dissolved and names lost meaning.
Beyond the confines of the dim room where Toby lay, there stood a small shelter one of the few spared by fire or destruction. Inside, a man sat at his bedside, legs crossed, eyes half-lidded with curiosity. His gaze drifted to the still boy lying before him.
"My, my… three weeks, and still not a flutter of the eyes," the man mused, brushing a finger under his chin. "You've certainly been through hell, haven't you?"
He smiled, a slow, eerie grin curling up as he set a small lacquered box on the table. Fingers danced over the surface, tapping a strange rhythm.
"Let's help you along, shall we?" he said, voice lowering to a hushed whisper. "My beloved Reiliza~"
A pink-black glow shimmered faintly in the room as the lid opened. From it, the man drew forth a scalpel its blade translucent, veined with dark violet and crimson light. He lifted it in the air, admiring the wicked gleam it gave off.
"What an amazing specimen," he whispered in awe, eyes gleaming. Slowly, he reached up and drew the white curtain across the room. Its soft flutter was followed by one last murmured phrase, soaked in devotion and anticipation.
"This is for you, my love… Watch closely now, as I perform my magic~~"
The curtain fell still. Only shadows danced behind it.
Soft footsteps echoed behind the curtain, delicate and precise. The creak of an opening door followed, then the dull thud of something being placed on the wooden table heavy, deliberate. Porcelain clattered as dishes shifted from the impact, their fragile edges brushing against one another.
Behind the curtain, the man worked with almost ritualistic grace. Each movement was slow, purposeful borderline reverent. With every motion, a twisted smile crept across his face: wide, knowing, and disturbingly satisfied. It was the kind of grin only an artist gives their masterpiece.
"What a feisty little fellow," he murmured, pressing the scalpel to the side and wiping his gloved hands clean. "Even now… your Veil clings to life. Admirable. Or is it the Hollow?" He tilted his head, examining Toby's expressionless face. "Hard to say."
He sighed, removing his blood-specked apron and hanging it with care. "I'm done here for now."
He stepped through the curtain, the soft flutter parting to reveal the room's second occupant.
A young girl stood near the stove, no older than fifteen or sixteen. Her long black hair spilled like ink over her shoulders, the ends brushing a dress masterfully tied and sewn by expert hands. The garment hugged her frame elegant yet dark with subtle gothic patterns woven into the fabric. Black and white striped thigh-highs drew attention to her toned legs, and glossy black heels clicked faintly on the floor with every shift in weight. Her pointed elven ears stood sharp and alert, adorned with small silver cuffs and chains. Her face was pale, beautiful, and adorned with accessories that matched her gothic attire dark eyeshadow, a lip ring, and an expression that showed more thought than her youthful appearance should allow.
The man by contrast looked clinical and refined. His long white leather coat flowed behind him, a fusion of elegance and practicality. Beneath it, a tailored black and grey smoking jacket fit his slender frame perfectly, decorated with brass buttons and fitted pouches. Around his neck hung a delicate chain holding a vintage pocket watch. He looked every bit the eccentric doctor, yet with something darker nestled behind the calm of his eyes.
They made a strange pair. The eerie surgeon and the gothic elf.
And between them, resting motionless on the bed, was the boy who might just decide the fate of everything.
The girl turned her head gently, the soft rustle of her hair brushing against her shoulder as she glanced toward the doctor.
"Mister Faust, are you done already? I just started cooking," she said, her voice so soft and serene it could calm a horde of enraged warriors.
Faust smiled as he removed his long, practical coat, carefully placing it on a nearby rack.
"Do not worry, my dear Lioner," he said, his tone light, confident. "Everything is going according to plan." He held the brim of his hat with one hand, its shadow masking his eyes, while his near-white blond hair peeked from underneath. He took a seat at the wooden table with a sigh of theatrical exhaustion.
"What a misfortune... the boy nearly got himself killed because of me," Faust mused, lighting a cigarette and watching the smoke coil in the air. "Yet I admire that kind of determination. It's not every day you meet someone who dares face Guzmar with only a semi-awakened Wraithwake. Quite the memory."
He blew out a long trail of smoke before peering at Lioner through the veil of haze.
"You seem worried, little one. Did you take a liking to him? You don't even know his name."
"Mister Faust... would you please stop teasing me with such nonsense?" Lioner huffed gently, placing down a wooden spoon. "It's natural to worry about someone after seeing... that. His body looked like it exploded—like a water balloon. I'm surprised he's even still alive... but he won't be for long, right?" she asked, her voice tinged with concern and curiosity.
Faust leaned back in his chair, smoke drifting lazily from his lips and nostrils.
"He'll live. I'm certain of it. That Veil of his... it's tenacious. Even I had difficulty getting through it. He's not like you or me."
Lioner furrowed her brow, stepping closer.
"But he's a Wielder, isn't he? Like you. So what's the difference?"
Faust exhaled again, slower this time, eyes narrowing slightly behind the smoke.
"It's his Veil. Unlike me, who channels power through Reiliza... my supply is limited. She provides it. And unlike the Speakers, who are overflowing with raw Veil and can use the Hollow Tongue freely..." He paused, glancing at the curtained room where Toby lay.
"This boy his supply is extraordinary. Even for a Wielder. And that flicker of Hollow Tongue, that strange regeneration... it's not normal. It might be the Hollow inside him. Or..." Faust's voice lowered, more serious than before,
"...it might be something else entirely."
As time passed, Lioner continued preparing their meal, but the scene of the boy's shattered body lingered vividly in her mind. She couldn't shake the memory the sound, the sight of blood, the way he had been thrown like a doll. Just one strike, and half of him was gone.
Eventually, dinner was ready. She had prepared a beautiful plate of Harte Eyer Gebraten Milch with mushrooms, seasoned boiled eggs, and grilled cheese an aromatic and rich feast, one that spoke of care and experience. A true masterpiece of her hand.
Faust sat promptly at the table, placing his hands together in reverence.
"O you who are above, and you who dwell below, I present to you these gifts you've sent to us. I am grateful for such a feast, and I pray your kindness will guide us to greater good and even greater fortune. Thank you, Lemoreti," he said, finishing with a quiet, thoughtful sigh.
He opened his eyes and looked at the meal.
"It looks beautiful, Lioner," he said, taking his spoon. The first bite was smooth and rich, the eggs perfectly boiled, the grilled cheese seared just enough to melt into the dish. "It tastes incredible... You'd make a wonderful, and might I add, stunning wife," Faust added playfully.
Lioner nearly choked on her bite, her cheeks flaring pink as she looked away, suddenly lost in a haze of embarrassment. She said nothing in response only focused on her food, pretending she hadn't heard. The silence between them now filled not with awkwardness, but with warmth.
Once dinner was finished, Lioner lay down on the couch, Which after some adjustments worked as a second bed. Faust, meanwhile, placed his hat over his face and leaned back into a soft chair, choosing to rest without a blanket or pillow, having given those to Lioner and the unconscious Toby. The night passed in quiet calm, as had the others over the past three weeks.
But within Toby's mind, the peace was far from present.
The once-beautiful plains an endless stretch of green fields were now drowned in relentless rain and battered by harsh winds, reflecting the chaos storming through his soul.
Siegfried stood alone in this inner tempest, watching helplessly as Toby's thoughts spiraled in torment.
"I always hated the rain," Siegfried murmured, his spectral figure drenched in the storm. "But I understand now, Toby… I should have done more. Reached you deeper than just with words…"
The wind howled louder, but suddenly, a faint glow broke through the darkened sky a subtle shimmer that pierced the veil of endless clouds.
Toby's eyes creaked open, vision blurry, his limbs heavy. He groaned, holding his head in his hands.
"Where… Where am I?" he whispered hoarsely, his voice raw and dry. Trying to sit up, he immediately collapsed back into the pillow, breathless.
"I'm so weak… Was I captured? Guzmar… Where's Guzmar? No where's Mom? I need to find Mom," he said through grit teeth, forcing himself upright again.
This time, he managed to stand.
Unsteady on his feet, he looked around. The room was dimly lit but full of signs of care: clear packs of water, rolls of bandages, vials, and tools. He stepped toward a mirror mounted on the wall. What stared back at him made his breath hitch.
He was wrapped in blood-stained bandages, and his right arm once obliterated was now whole. Carefully unraveling the bandages, his eyes widened as he uncovered a thick, jagged crimson scar running from his waist to his shoulder. That entire side had been vaporized by Guzmar's strike.
"How… is this possible?" he whispered, fingers trembling as they traced the scar's path.
Toby's fingers lingered on the deep, jagged scar, feeling the raw, unnatural texture of healed flesh. His breath shook as disbelief twisted in his throat.
"What…?" he whispered, voice hollow.
Suddenly, the curtain flung open with a rustle, and in stepped a tall, pale man draped in a long coat, his sharp features shadowed by the wide brim of his hat.
"Be welcome back among the living," the man said with a grin, his voice casual and cold as he let out a short laugh. "How do you feel? You've been out fo-"
Before he could finish, Toby lunged forward, grabbing the front of the man's shirt with shaking hands.
"Who are you?! What did you do to me?! Where is Guzmar?!" he shouted, the confusion and fear twisting his face.
Faust barely flinched. He had expected it.
"Calm down, will you? I'm a doctor. I saved your life," Faust explained coolly.
Toby's eyes narrowed, his grip trembling with rage and desperation.
"A doctor?! No doctor can fix death! You're no doctor—you're something else!" he snapped, eyes burning.
Faust sighed and gently knocked Toby's weak hands away from his coat before lighting a cigarette with a practiced flick. Smoke curled from his lips as he spoke again, voice patient but tired.
"Listen carefully. I am Doctor Gojan Geur Faust the Eighth, of a long, proud line of medical geniuses. And yes, I saved your life. You can believe that or not, but I stitched you back together, quite literally. You were dead—or close enough."
He took a long drag, then exhaled slowly.
"I know it's hard to accept. But try. Because here's the truth: the villagers of Salthbridge escaped thanks to you. You bought them time. A lot of it. You fought Guzmar and lived. That alone should tell you something."
Toby, stunned into silence, finally took a breath and looked around the room. Bandages, tools, faint traces of dried blood signs of long, grueling care.
He didn't know what to believe yet. But one thing was certain he was alive. Somehow.
Faust remained kneeling, head bowed low, his usually sly and confident demeanor softened by genuine remorse. The sharp lines of his face were shadowed under his hat, and for a moment, he looked like a man much older, burdened by guilt that words alone couldn't lift.
"You've been out for three weeks," he repeated softly, almost like a confession. "Two weeks and five days of that... I spent fixing your body. And even then, I couldn't have done it without the help of your Hollow. Whatever that thing is, it refused to let you die. Veil, regeneration it worked against every law of nature I know. It's what let me stitch you together."
He clenched his fists slightly. "And I'm glad you're fine. Truly. But I am sorry. I'm really, really sorry." His voice cracked just a little as he said it.
Toby stared, surprised by the sincerity. The man who'd entered like a shadow, arrogant and odd, was now kneeling in shame.
"The raiders were here because of me," Faust admitted. "You just got caught in the middle. You almost died for a mistake that had nothing to do with you. I lowered my head so you could see how deeply I regret it. If I could have acted faster... none of this would've happened."
Toby's expression twisted with conflicted emotions. Pain, confusion, even the echo of fear. But above all, there was something else and that was understanding.
"That's... that's fine," Toby said quietly, then louder, trying to force some levity into his shaky voice. "It's my bad too. I started the fight, after all! I ran in headfirst. That's on me."
Faust's head twitched, not looking up yet.
"Please lift your head," Toby added, his voice firmer. "I forgive you."
There was a pause. The rain outside still fell softly, and the faint scent of herbs and blood still clung to the room but in that moment, something shifted. Forgiveness filled the silence. Not perfectly, but enough.
As Faust lifted his head, a slim figure stood behind him. Dressed in sleepwear, her long black hair floated gently in the night air.
"Faust...?" the girl's soft voice echoed.
"Ah! Yes!" Faust sprang up, gesturing grandly with one arm. "Let me introduce you—Lioner Femel, my assistant and helper! She's an elf!" He slid to her side with theatrical flair. "Behold her unnatural beauty!"
Her messy face, barely awake, was fully exposed—dribble at the corner of her mouth and all. "Wah?" she muttered, groggy and confused.
Toby blinked, still a bit disoriented. "I'm Toby... Nice to meet you, Loenel and Waust."
SMACK.
Faust collapsed to the floor as Lioner smacked him across the head, now fully awake.
"Lioner! LIONER! Is it now Leonel?!" she shouted, cheeks flushed in flustered rage.
Toby rubbed the back of his head and clapped his hands together. "Lioner! I'm sorry, I won't mess it up again!" he said quickly, looking off to the side with a sheepish grin.
Faust got up from the ground, brushing off the dust with a tired exhale. "Well, now that's behind us… let's talk about something important." He straightened up, eyes a bit more focused now. "Toby, what do you know about the Veil and what it means to be a Wielder?"
Toby blinked, thinking for a moment. "Not much, really," he admitted honestly. "Just what Guzmar told me. And I don't think he had that much more to say, honestly…"
He looked around the room before settling into a seat, still trying to piece together the bigger picture. "You mentioned earlier you're also a Wielder, right? Mister Faust?"
Faust nodded with a casual shrug. "That's right. But the truth is, I'm not strong. Not like you. My Veil is weak, and my connection to my Hollow isn't anything impressive. But you…" He pointed at Toby, his expression sharpening with purpose. "You have something powerful. Even though Guzmar overpowered you, your Hollow was trying everything to keep you alive. That's rare. That means something."
Faust moved to sit down across from him, placing his gloved hands on the table. "Let me help you, Toby. I know someone someone who can teach you how to really control your Veil. To use it properly. If you let them guide you, if you train, you could unlock strength you can't even imagine right now."
"I would like that... but I just can't feel Siegfried like I used to. It's like he's not there anymore," Toby said, his voice low and uncertain. He clenched his fists tightly. "I know I heard his voice before I woke up… but now, it's just silence. I failed him. He taught me everything I know about swordsmanship. And I still lost to Guzmar. I wouldn't blame him if he didn't want anything to do with me. He probably thinks choosing me was a mistake."
Faust looked at him for a long moment before shaking his head slowly. "Toby, Hollows—and those of us who carry them are often seen as monsters, cursed beings who wield power too great for mortals. But there is no such thing as a Hollow being disappointed in their host. We Forsaken are chosen, not by accident, but with purpose. If Siegfried is silent, there's a reason. Maybe it's part of your growth… or his."
He leaned forward, voice steady and warm. "Don't forget either Siegfried, or the Veil itself, kept you alive for three weeks. That alone says something. He didn't choose wrong. You were chosen for a reason, Toby. And I believe… you're just beginning to see why."
Lioner let out a quiet sigh from the couch, her voice barely above a whisper. "If that were true…"
Faust glanced toward her, then turned back to Toby. "That reminds me—Lioner is a Speaker. Her bond with the Veil is strong. She has the potential to cast powerful spells and more… but she doesn't know how. I promised her I'd find someone who could teach her." He smiled softly. "And I believe you'll need a teacher too, someone who can guide you properly. I know someone who could help both of you. But the journey won't be easy it's a long road, and you'll have to leave tomorrow."
Toby furrowed his brows. "What about you, Faust? What do you mean just us? Aren't you coming with us?"
Faust shook his head gently. "No, Toby. After everything that's happened, I need to return to the capital… make amends for the damage I brought upon Salthbridge. Besides," he chuckled lightly, "I'm old and fragile. I'd only slow you two down."
He leaned back in his chair, eyes twinkling. "What do you think? Haven't you ever dreamed of adventures?"
Toby looked down at his hands, still bandaged in places, still trembling slightly from the weight of everything he'd gone through. But at Faust's words, something sparked behind his tired eyes—a flicker of that same fire that had once driven him to stand against Guzmar despite the odds.
"…Yeah," Toby said after a pause. "I always wanted to see more. To go beyond the hills of my village, beyond the forests and the old stone roads. I just… I didn't think it'd happen like this."
Lioner sat up from the couch, brushing her long black hair over one shoulder as she looked at him. "Adventures never come the way we expect," she said softly. "But if we're going anyway… then let's make it count."
Faust smiled, a rare, sincere smile that softened the tired lines of his face. "Good. That's good." He stood and placed a hand over his heart. "Then tomorrow, at dawn, you'll both set off. I'll make sure you have supplies, a map… and a name."
Toby raised an eyebrow. "A name?"
Faust turned toward his desk, rummaging through a pile of scrolls and letters until he pulled out a folded parchment. "Yes. The one who can teach you both. He lives near the Cradle Spine Cliffs. An old wielder, once a war hero… now a ghost story. They call him Velrik the Bound."
Lioner exchanged a glance with Toby. "A ghost story?"
Faust nodded. "But sometimes ghost stories are just truths too strong to die. And if anyone can help you master the Veil… it's him."
Lioner and Toby looked at Faust, their eyes filled with curiosity and a hint of concern.
"Oh, and…" Faust began with a nostalgic smile, "he might be a little grumpy at times, but he really isn't how he acts or looks. He taught me too. Despite my weak connection to the Veil, he showed me how to master my beloved Reiliza~."
Toby blinked, a little stunned by Faust's sudden reveal, while Lioner's eyes widened, clearly not expecting that level of honestly nor the visual of such deep, jagged scars across Faust's chest.
"I… wow," Toby muttered, unsure what else to say. "That's… intense."
Faust chuckled, brushing off the moment with his usual theatrics. "Love always leaves a mark, my boy especially when your beloved is a spirit born of wrath and wisdom." He buttoned the last of his shirt and stretched with a long, satisfied sigh. "But enough dramatics for one evening. Sleep while you can. The road to Cradle Spine is long, and Velrik isn't the type to welcome visitors with cookies and tea."
Lioner gave him a squinted look. "I don't trust a man who doesn't like tea."
"Exactly why you'll get along perfectly," Faust said with a smirk, already leaning back in his worn chair, his hat tipped low over his eyes.
Toby settled back into the bed, still sore but strangely lighter inside. Despite everything, something about this moment the weirdness, the warmth, the silence felt like the calm before the storm… or maybe, the first breath after one.
Toby nodded slowly, still absorbing what Faust had said, the image of those scars lingering in his mind. There was something weighty, sacred even, in the way Faust spoke of Reiliza like the bond between them was more than power, more than utility.
"I didn't know… the Veil could do something like that," Toby muttered, glancing down at his own hands. "It's like it's alive… like it chooses."
Faust gave a soft hum. "Oh, it does. And it changes you, just as you change it. The deeper the bond, the more it becomes part of your essence your soul."
Lioner, still half-curled under the blanket, peeked over the couch arm. "Is that what you want for us? To end up like you… stitched together by magic and memories?"
Faust chuckled, not unkindly. "No, Lioner. I want you to understand what you're carrying inside you. To not fear it. You both have paths to walk, and it's not mine. But if you're going to walk it, you need to be prepared. There's power in knowing who and what you are."
A long silence stretched between them, filled only by the crackling of the small hearth and the whisper of rain still drizzling outside.
Toby looked at Lioner. She was still, her expression thoughtful. "We leave tomorrow then," he said at last, voice calm but resolute.
"Yes," Faust replied. "I've already arranged everything. Supplies, maps, the route. He'll meet you on the edge of the Greybar Woods."
"Do we trust him?" Lioner asked softly.
Faust smiled, a tired, genuine smile. "With my life."
Then he leaned back into the chair once more, hat lowered over his eyes. "Rest now, both of you. You'll need it."