The wind howled over the ridges of Nightveil as if mourning something not yet lost. But Veyra felt it—bone deep and lingering. The tremor beneath her skin had not ceased since she first saw him... the Sixth. Nyros. His name slithered in her mind like smoke, twisting around her thoughts until she could no longer tell where she ended and he began.
She stood alone at the edge of the cliffs beyond the training fields, arms wrapped tightly around herself as the wind whipped her silver hair in wild directions. Her breath came shallow. The moon above was fractured by dark clouds, casting broken light over the valley. For days now, her senses had been slipping—visions flickering at the edge of her sight, voices curling through her ears like secrets too old to hold.
And tonight... he walked through her mind again.
"Do you see now?" a voice purred through the shadows of her thoughts. "What we could become?"
Veyra squeezed her eyes shut, fingernails digging into her palms until she drew blood. Y
