"Veil of Ruin"

Chapter 2: Whispers of the Forgotten

The city of Kheron was a place of contrasts-its crumbling upper districts stood like haunted ruins of a bygone age, a stark reminder of the power magic once held. And below, in the shadowed alleys of the lower quarters, decay reigned. Beneath the surface, hidden from the few remaining magi elites, were the people-stripped of dignity, stripped of hope.

Those without magic, the Forsaken, were seen as little more than cattle, useful only for labor or servitude to the dwindling magi class. There had been a time when commoners and magi coexisted, though always divided by power. Now, that divide had grown into an unbridgeable chasm of despair. Here, in the underbelly of Kheron, the corruption festered, and even darker things thrived in the spaces forgotten by both light and memory.

Kael had never truly understood the depth of the world's misery. Not until now.

As he and Vera moved through the twisted, rotting streets of the lower districts, Kael felt the weight of this place pressing down on him. The stagnant air reeked of filth and decay, and the sky overhead was a dull, sickly grey, casting everything in a pall of gloom. Buildings leaned at unnatural angles, sagging under the weight of years of neglect, their windows shattered and their doors hanging from broken hinges.

His eyes fell upon the people-or rather, what was left of them. They lined the streets, standing in eerie silence, like statues frozen in time. But they weren't dead. Their chests rose and fell with shallow, mechanical breaths, their limbs stiff and unmoving. Men and women, once full of life and vitality, now stood like empty husks. Their eyes were open, but hollow, devoid of any spark, as though their souls had been locked away.

"This is what happens to them," Vera whispered, her voice barely audible, though the bitterness in her tone cut through the air. "When they lose all hope... when they've been broken by this world. The magi's curse-when they've decided someone is no longer useful, they trap them in this static state. It's worse than death."

Kael felt a wave of nausea rise in his throat. He had seen suffering before-starvation, disease, cruelty-but this? This was something beyond the natural order. The sight of these people, reduced to little more than living corpses, filled him with a cold fury. How could anyone allow this? How could those with power-the very people meant to protect and guide the world-let it descend into such depravity?

"How long have they been like this?" he asked, his voice thick with revulsion.

"Some for years, others... it's hard to say." Vera's expression was hard, her eyes dark with the weight of knowledge she wished she didn't carry. "This is the work of the magi. They've found ways to bind people, not with chains, but with despair. When someone loses the will to fight, to live, they become... susceptible to it. The curse takes hold. They're trapped, neither alive nor dead."

Kael crouched beside a woman whose pallid face bore the scars of a life of suffering. Her hands were rough and calloused from years of hard labor, her body gaunt and frail from malnourishment. She stood in place like a doll, her vacant eyes staring at nothing. The stillness was unnatural, oppressive, and Kael could barely stand to look at her for long. Yet, something compelled him.

He reached out, hesitantly, his fingers trembling as they hovered over her hand. What was he hoping to do? He wasn't a healer. He couldn't undo the damage the magi had wrought. But still, he had to try.

As his skin made contact with hers, a sudden jolt of energy surged through him, sharp and electric. Kael gasped, pulling his hand back reflexively, but the shock was only the beginning. Something inside him stirred, deep and primal, as though some long-dormant part of himself had awoken. His silver scar-his mark-burned hot, glowing faintly against his wrist.

He watched in stunned silence as the woman's hand twitched. Her fingers flexed, her arm jerked, and then, slowly, her eyes blinked. The hollow emptiness in her gaze faded, replaced by something-something alive. She drew a shaky breath, her lips parting in a weak, fragile whisper.