Ashmark had changed.
In the streets, murals now rose—not of battles, not of kings, but of moments. A child teaching her grandfather to read. A baker feeding a stranger without asking their name. A girl with fire in her lungs and doubt in her heart stepping into the unknown.
And on every wall, a new symbol: the spiral of the Veil, painted in charcoal and gold.
It had become a beacon for those who had no shards. No banners. No cause.
Only questions.
Kaelin stood at the Sanctuary’s edge with Sahlra, watching the sky shimmer with a dusky haze. The Veil’s presence was growing. Every day, more people felt it. Heard it. Sometimes even saw it—flickering just at the corner of their vision, like the moment before waking.
Sahlra had not spoken in days, but when she walked, flowers bloomed at he
