Tyla’s POV
Falling doesn’t feel like falling when there is no down.
The Veil tears me away from Arthur with a violence that isn’t physical—it’s conceptual. Like someone reached into reality and decided we were no longer allowed to exist in the same sentence.
Silver devours me.
Not light.
Not darkness.
Meaning.
Every rule I ever learned—gravity, time, breath—peels away layer by layer until I’m nothing but awareness wrapped around a single, unbearable truth:
Arthur is gone.
I scream his name.
The sound never leaves me.
Instead, it fractures inward, echoing through something vast and alive. The Veil answers—not with words, but with pressure. With memory. With weight.
Then—
I land.
Not on stone.
On water.
Except it doesn’t splash.
It holds.
A mirror-smooth expanse stretches i
