The Vein Gate wasn’t what Dain expected.
There were no guards. No wards glowing in the air. No columns of light streaking toward the heavens. Just a stone arch tucked between two jagged cliffs, half-swallowed by vines and wind-worn moss. It looked more like a forgotten ruin than the place the old stories warned never to cross without permission.
But his pulse knew better.
Even before he stepped into its shadow, Dain felt it. A shift in the world. The way the air tasted was slightly metallic. The way sound fell flat, like the trees around the pass were holding their breath.
He adjusted his pack slowly, hands lingering near the hilt of his blade—not from fear, but instinct.
“You’re close,” he whispered to the wind. Whether he meant Sariah or the gate itself, he didn’t know. Maybe it was both.
His boots crunched over frost-laced earth as he stepped closer. No sign of pursuit yet. No Council scouts. But he knew better than to believe he was truly alone. The further north he came, the more
