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Veil Of Ash

Adunola_Florence
7
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Chapter 1 - The Whispers

It started with a voice no one else could hear.

Corin Althar had lived seventeen years in the cracks of the capital city, too invisible to be a threat, too strange to be forgotten. The monks at the orphanage had called him "quiet-blooded," said it like a curse. He was a boy who listened too hard and spoke too little. A boy who heard whispers in the wind and shadows in the stone.

He never told them the truth.

That the whispers whispered back.

Tonight, the voice returned while he was mucking the last of the stables. The horses had gone uneasy before dusk, ears twitching, hooves restless on the stone floor. Even the birds had fallen silent. A heavy quiet stretched through the air like a shroud, thick and waiting.

Then it came. A breath on the back of his neck. A voice in the hollow space between heartbeats.

"You are not ready."

Corin froze. His hand stilled mid-stroke along the mare's flank. She reared with a frightened snort, nearly kicking him in the chest.

He whispered without thinking, "Not ready for what?"

"But you must come."

He spun around. No one was there. Only the rows of stalls, the creaking rafters, and the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears.

He gritted his teeth. "I'm tired of riddles."

The voice didn't answer. But the ground beneath him did.

A low rumble. A pulse through the earth. Subtle at first, then stronger.

Corin staggered, grabbing the wooden beam beside him for balance. The horses screamed. Outside, a shout rang out from the guard tower, followed by the sharp clang of a bell.

Not the hour bell.

The warning bell.

Three chimes. A pause. Repeat.

Corin bolted out of the stables and onto the narrow stone path that led into the city. People spilled from their homes and market stalls, heads tilted skyward, faces pale in the moonlight. He followed their gaze, and stopped cold.

The moon had turned red.

Blood-red. Sharp and gleaming like an open wound.

And above it, five trails of fire raced across the sky, each a comet blazing in a different direction, carving glowing scars into the heavens.

No one spoke.

Even the drunkards in the alley fell silent.

Corin's breath caught as something stirred within him, deep in the marrow of his bones. A soundless calling.

A whisper that wasn't quite a voice but not his own thought either.

He waits for you.

He backed away slowly, nearly stumbling over a loose stone. Every instinct told him to run. Hide. Pretend none of this was happening.

But his feet moved forward.

Drawn not by curiosity, but by inevitability.

---

The streets by morning were thick with rumors. The sky was wrong. The stars were gone. The moon was still crimson, refusing to set. People spoke of omens, curses, ancient prophecies stirred awake. The temples reopened old vaults. The mages sealed their towers.

Corin didn't speak to anyone.

He couldn't. Not after the dream.

He had seen fire. A field of black stone. A tower with no doors and a crown hovering in the air, bleeding violet light. A voice had whispered his name again and again, until it wasn't a whisper but a scream.

Corin. Corin. Corin.

He rubbed his arms furiously as he washed in the trough behind the stables, hoping to scrub the dream away.

And that was when he saw it.

On the inside of his left wrist, beneath damp skin and grime, a faint mark shimmered like ink in moonlight. A perfect circle, open in the center, surrounded by shifting symbols that moved even when he held still.

He touched it.

It pulsed beneath his fingers like a second heartbeat.

The whispers surged in his ears.

"The Hollow King wakes."

"And so does his heir."

Corin stepped back, breath ragged.

"No," he whispered.

But the wind carried the answer:

Yes.