Chapter 55 The Veil's Reckoning

Fynn POV The outpost is a ruin of blood and stone, the air thick with the stench of ash and fear, the veil’s red-gold-black-silver pulse a living wound in the earth, not a rift, not a maw, but a threshold, shimmering, alive, and screaming with every power I’ve touched—red, gold, white, silver, black. My light—red-gold-white-silver, woven with Eira’s gold—burns in my chest, a fragile flame against the black flicker, no longer a whisper but a roar, clawing at my soul, demanding break, end, become. The black-eyed Warden stands before the veil, its presence not chaos, not balance, but broken, its smile soft, sad, a promise of ruin, its voice—infinite, layered—echoing in my skull: “Now it begins.”