Gloom settled thick within the Deep-vein passage. Kaelen’s breath plumed, a fleeting ghost in the cold, damp air. His hand brushed against rough-hewn stone, chilled by the pervasive Great Veil that seeped even into these buried spaces. Here, the mist rarely stirred, but its essence, its raw power, pulsed with an unusual vigor.
A memory, sharp and bruising, surfaced. Varrus’s fist. The dull thud of bone against flesh. Kaelen’s jaw tightened, a silent tremor passing through him. He carried the sting of that injustice, a promise etched deeper than any stone.
He stood before the passage's end, a crude wall scarred by picks. Marks of previous delves, long abandoned. Miners had toiled here, their lives spent chasing glimmering whispers within the rock. Four of them had died here, the whispers growing silent with their last breaths.
Death never arrived without a cause.
Kaelen propped his mist-pick against the cold rock. His eyes, keen even in the gloom, scanned the uneven surface. A subtle difference. A peculiar resonance.
Mist-essence gathered here, a heavy presence, unlike anywhere else in the Veil-Quarries. It felt dense, almost viscous, a forgotten pool of raw power. Before his awakening, he might have overlooked it, a chill in the air, nothing more.
Why did the mist concentrate here? Why did it fester?
Stories haunted the deep-Veil passages. Tales of common folk, exposed too long to unrestrained Veil-energy. Flesh rotting from within, minds fraying into madness, bodies dissolving into the mist from which they came. The dead miners, Kaelen knew now, had not simply stumbled.
Their demise was born of this place. This overripe pocket of power. The Veil-Quarries enforcers, steeped in their own greed, wouldn't have noticed. Or perhaps, they simply didn't care.
Kaelen extended a hand, palm flat against the rock. A faint tremor ran through his fingertips. He felt the mist’s flow, its unique current. Here, it was agitated, an angry hum beneath the stone.
A section of the wall felt hollow, a drumskin taut and expectant. He gripped the mist-pick, its heavy head a familiar weight in his hands. He swung, the impact a dull ring in the confined space. Sparks bloomed, brief stars in the profound dark.
Stone crumbled, weakly. Each strike felt like an echo in the greater silence. Again, he struck. A deeper thud. The pickaxe snagged, refusing to bite further.
Kaelen furrowed his brow. He swung again, harder. The wall gave way with a sudden, tearing sound, like fabric ripping. In its place, an elliptical void yawned, impossibly dark. It resembled the gullet of some colossal, slumbering beast.
An unseen force seized Kaelen. He felt a violent tug, dragging him forward. He had no time to brace, no chance to resist. The void swallowed him whole.
---
Pressure crashed down. It felt like every fiber of his being was being compressed, then stretched thin, then reassembled. His body screamed, his mind blanked. Pain was the only truth, an all-consuming fire.
Moments stretched into an eternity. He longed for its end, for anything but this agonizing pull. Then, as abruptly as it began, it ceased.
The dark space spewed him forth. Kaelen tumbled, a loose stone skipping across rough ground, before rolling to a stop. He scrambled to his feet, gasping, breath ragged.
What hellish landscape was this?
Only moments ago, he had been deep beneath Aethel, amidst the cold, familiar Veil. Now, an alien world stretched before him, savage and vast.
Across a cracked, black plain, a colossal Ash-Spire loomed. Its obsidian slopes bled dark smoke and viscous, glowing rivers. The sky, a bruised purple, hung heavy with volcanic ash, choking the light. All vegetation had turned to dust, every trace of green incinerated. The air tasted of sulfur, hot and metallic.
Intense heat radiated from the solidified earth, baking his skin, drawing sweat in rivulets. His worn tunics clung to him, heavy and damp within minutes.
Kaelen glanced back. The entrance, the tear that had consumed him, was already shrinking. Its edges frayed, dissolving into the hazy, ash-choked air. He lunged, a desperate, futile rush. It sealed shut, leaving no trace, no memory of its opening.
He scratched at his scalp. Confusion warred with a cold, creeping dread. Dungeons, as the old tales called such rifts, were places of meticulous preparation. Scouts, wardens, seekers—all would approach with caution, assessing the Veil's distortion, gathering supplies, forming teams. Yet he had been snatched, dragged into this inferno, unprepared and alone.
“A perfectly awful day,” Kaelen muttered, his voice a dry rasp. “How can one man's luck be so poisoned?”
It felt orchestrated. From Varrus’s beating, to the lure of the chronometer, to this impossible abduction. As if some unseen force was guiding him, or merely toying with him.
He reached into his satchel, his fingers closing around the cold, smooth chronometer. Its inert surface offered no comfort, only a reminder of his powerlessness moments before.
This was his only tether to the world he knew. He took a slow, deliberate breath. Rational thought began to reassert itself.
First, he must know: Did the Veil answer him here?
Kaelen knelt, sweeping a hand across the grimy ground. Black granules clung to his skin, fine and abrasive. He focused, reaching deep within, seeking the familiar connection to the Great Veil.
A whisper. A faint thrum. The ash in his palm stirred, then slowly, hesitantly, levitated. Relief, sharp and sudden, pierced through him. The Veil still answered. His power, his very essence, remained.
If his ability had failed, he would have been truly lost. Here, in this ash-choked expanse, his mist manipulation was his only weapon, his only shield. Volcanic ash, pulverized stone—it was all particulate, all grist for his unique craft.
Kaelen sighed, a shuddering breath. He would not die immediately. That was a small, cold comfort.
He checked his satchel. Dried provisions: compressed moss-cakes, salted mushroom strips, a water skin. Enough for several days. Miraculously, nothing had been damaged in his violent passage. He secured the provisions, the small act a grounding ritual.
Food was settled. The next task: find a way out. This vast, hostile space offered no obvious exits.
One path remained. He would walk until he found one.
“An exit… it must be near the Ash-Spire.” The monstrous peak dominated the horizon, a monument to destruction. If there was a heart to this hellish realm, it pulsed there.
Kaelen took another breath. His throat burned, raw. Volcanic ash, fine as flour, coated his tongue, irritated his lungs. Prolonged exposure would prove deadly.
He retrieved a scrap of woven lichen-cloth from his satchel, a makeshift filter he used in the dustier Veil-Quarries. He bound it across his mouth and nose. The irritation lessened, a momentary reprieve.
He began walking towards the distant, brooding mountain.
---
Every step brought new awe, new dread. This was a realm beyond human comprehension. The Ash-Spire was no illusion, no mirage. It was a tangible behemoth, spewing true fire, true ash. The air shimmered with heat, the ground radiated a searing warmth. Sweat streamed, stinging his eyes.
An ordinary person, snatched here, would quickly perish. Even Kaelen, tempered by the Veil’s cruelties, felt a tremor of fear. “There is a way out,” he reminded himself, the words a silent mantra.
He pushed forward. A vast river of molten stone blocked his path. Its width stretched for dozens of meters, a blazing artery across the black plains. The heat was immense, even at a distance, it felt as though his flesh might blister and peel.
Leaping across was impossible. Kaelen scanned the river, searching for a narrower point. He ascended a gradual rise. The river narrowed to perhaps ten meters. A perilous jump, but perhaps achievable.
He paused at the edge, the ground hot beneath his boots. His lungs burned. If he misjudged, if he faltered even a breath, he would plunge into the searing flow. Instant oblivion.
He took a deep breath, marshaling his focus. He sprinted, picking up speed, his muscles straining. At the very lip of the lava flow, he launched himself into the oppressive air.
Kaelen soared, a dark silhouette against the fiery landscape. He reached the apex of his leap, balanced precariously between two worlds.
A ripple broke the molten surface. Something surged from the lava, a flash of scaled hide and predatory hunger. Kaelen glanced down, terror a cold claw in his gut.
A monstrous maw, impossibly wide, bristling with teeth like sharpened tree trunks. Scaly, flame-licked skin. Four stumpy, powerful legs propelling a serpentine body. A Magma-Leviathan, a hunter of this blazing river, had chosen him for its meal.
He was suspended in mid-air, nowhere to escape. Instinctively, he reached for the mist. No raw particulates close enough to form a proper projectile, no time to gather. His life would end before the Veil could answer fully.
Twisting his body, summoning a fraction of the Veil’s dampening force, he narrowly evaded the monster’s snapping jaws. But the maneuver threw him off balance. He plummeted, directly towards the glowing river below.
The Leviathan’s jaws widened, preparing to swallow him whole. Then, Kaelen saw it—the fine volcanic ash, still levitating from his earlier test. A desperate, impossible thought flashed.
*A platform.* A solid footing. His imagination, fueled by adrenaline, became reality. Beneath his falling form, a disk of compressed ash materialized, hovering for a precious instant.
He pushed off, a desperate spring. He scrambled, not landing cleanly, but crashing onto the far bank, landing hard on his back. A groan escaped him, pain blossoming through his ribs, but there was no time to feel it.
The gigantic Leviathan, unhindered by the river, heaved itself onto the bank, its immense body flowing like black fire. It advanced, surprisingly swift despite its bulk.
“Damn monster!” Kaelen cursed, his voice hoarse. He stumbled back, but the creature closed the distance with terrifying speed. Its legs, thick as ancient tree trunks, drove it relentlessly forward.
Kaelen blasted a torrent of mist-infused ash. It met the creature’s hide, but the searing heat emanating from the beast melted the projectile before it could inflict any harm. His attack dissolved into steam, useless.
His eyes widened in disbelief. No creature he had ever faced could simply nullify his power.
The Leviathan lunged, its massive jaws gaping, ready to tear him apart. Kaelen froze, rooted by the sheer force of its attack.
“Using ash, are you? An interesting trick, boy.”
The voice, rough as grinding stone, boomed through the oppressive air. Kaelen snapped his head up. A figure pierced the ash-laden sky, descending with terrifying speed.
In the newcomer’s hand, a massive, obsidian blade. The figure collided with the Magma-Leviathan, a meteor striking earth. An explosive crash ripped through the air, sending a violent shockwave rippling across the plains.
Molten lava, previously flowing with placid menace, splashed high, raining down in fiery arcs. Kaelen covered his ears, his jaw hanging open. The monstrous Leviathan, moments ago an unstoppable force, was flattened, crushed into the scorched earth like a dried husk. Upon its subdued form stood an immense, grizzled old man. His eyes, burning with an almost inhuman intensity, fixed on Kaelen. His voice, deeper than the earth’s own rumbling, resonated within Kaelen’s chest, more intimidating than the slain beast itself.
“Well now. Quite a mess you’ve gotten yourself into.”