The chamber pulsed with aftershocks of lightning and ash.
Syaoran's heart pounded like a war drum in his chest. Veins still shimmered faintly with pale blue light beneath his skin, slowly fading as his breathing steadied. He stared at his own hands—no burns, no cracks, not even a tremble.
The lightning had obeyed him.
Not like before, when it lashed out blindly in rage. This time… it had listened.
It had chosen him.
Across the cracked stone floor, Kira stood silent, eyes fixed on him. The fire on her cloak had died, but her blade was still in her hand.
"You should have told me," she said.
Syaoran rose to his feet slowly. "Told you what? That I had no idea what I am?"
"You're not just a mage, Syaoran. You're Veilborn. That priest wasn't attacking me. He was guarding you. Hunting you."
"I'm not special," he said. "I was just a boy in a bakery."
Kira's voice grew sharper. "No, you were never just a boy. You were a weapon waiting to wake up."
He stepped toward the pedestal, where the Eye still floated above it, now dimmer—flickering.
"What does it mean?" he asked. "The Eye of Ilarum. Why did it react to me?"
Kira hesitated, then lowered her sword.
"The Eye is one of seven Seals," she said quietly. "Locks, placed by the skyborn long ago to contain the power of the ancient gods. When the Cult of Ilarum seeks to unseal them, they use blood rituals and Voidfire. But… the Seals are alive. And they only truly awaken to the presence of a Veilborn."
Syaoran looked back at her. "How many others like me are there?"
"Not enough," she said. "And too many of them already belong to the cult."
---
Kira led him deeper into the tunnels, past collapsed halls and echoing caverns, until they reached another door—this one etched with seven runes, each glowing faintly in a different color: red, blue, green, silver, gold, white, and violet.
She placed a hand on the door and whispered in the old tongue. The runes flared, then faded, and the door creaked open.
Inside was a small sanctuary—an old rebel outpost, long abandoned. Banners torn. Walls cracked. But intact.
Safe, for now.
As they set up camp in silence, Kira finally spoke again.
"You need to understand what's coming, Syaoran. The Cult doesn't just want the Seals broken. They want to resurrect Ilarum—the World Maw."
"The old god," he murmured. "The one buried beneath the kingdom."
"They believe it will cleanse the world of weakness. Of kings. Of humans."
"And you think I'm the key to stopping them."
She looked him dead in the eye. "You're not the key. You're the door they want to open."
---
That night, while Kira slept—fitfully, one hand always on her blade—Syaoran sat near the glowing runes outside the sanctuary. He held his hand out
Waited
And again, felt that faint flicker in his veins
Not fire. Not wind. Not even lightning
The Veil
It breathed
And now… so did he