Dareth rose from the plains like a crown of stone.

  Tall spires pierced the clouds.

  But smoke already coiled above its rooftops.

  Lord Malrec watched Arin’s arrival from the palace balcony.

  His expression was calm.

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  Measured.

  Pleased.

  “Bring him,” he ordered.

  Arin was led into the throne hall, dwarfed by towering pillars carved with ancient runes.

  Malrec descended slowly from his seat.

  “You have seen the Veil tear,” he said softly.

  “I didn’t mean to cause anything,” Arin replied.

  Malrec smiled faintly.

  “Of course not.”

  He stepped closer, studying the mark on Arin’s wrist with unsettling fascination.

  “You are not the cause,” Malrec continued. “You are the solution.”

  Far beneath the palace, deep in a chamber of obsidian and ancient light, one of the demon’s chains trembled.

  A crack spread through its surface.

  And somewhere in the dark—

  Something laughed.