"Kairos, wait."
Lysander's voice cut through the still air like the edge of her blade—sharp, sudden, uncertain. Her hand closed around his wrist, not forceful, but hesitant. There was a tremor in her fingers. Not fear—Lysander never feared easily—but restraint. The kind that came from instinct being torn in two directions.
The red dome pulsed slowly just ahead, a quivering wall of heatless light. It wasn't transparent, nor fully opaque—more like syrupy mist hardened into a bubble. It shimmered faintly, glowing with a sickly heartbeat, as if the thing itself breathed.
Even Zephyrus had stopped a few steps back, eyes narrowed, body stiff. Illumi stood to the side, eerily silent, her gaze fixed on the anomaly, golden eyes catching every flutter in the strange air.
"Father forbade this," Lysander said. "You remember what he said—'No one is to set foot within the veil of red.' That's the one law he has never bent. Ever."
Kairos stood still, the dome's dull reflection casting a sheen over his pale skin and hair. The breeze, if it could be called that, was warm and unnatural. The closer one got to the dome, the more the world seemed to tilt slightly. Not in movement, but in feeling. As though something was fundamentally misaligned.
He didn't meet her eyes, just stared into the pulsing barrier.
"I'm done waiting," he said quietly. "I'm done being told what I am and what I'm not allowed to know."
His fingers unfurled at his side.
"The coronation failed. The Veil rejected me. And now this thing—this secret—sits out here like a wound we're not allowed to look at."
Lysander looked at him, eyes narrowing. "It could be dangerous."
"It already is," he replied, then turned to face her. "If the truth lies beyond this, then let it come. Whatever it is, I want to see it. Even if it breaks me."
Silence stretched long between them.
Then, Lysander sighed, withdrawing her hand slowly. "Then we all go. Together."
Zephyrus snorted. "Of course. What else would we do? Let you walk to your doom alone?"
Illumi said nothing, but moved up beside them. She didn't need to speak. Her presence alone was agreement.
Kairos stepped forward.
His foot crossed the threshold of the dome.
---
There was no flash of light. No distortion. The world didn't spin or tear.
It simply shifted.
A soft pop of pressure, like slipping underwater. Then—
The sky was red.
Not painted or reflected—red. Saturated, deep, and broiling. The clouds churned above like blood left to curdle, moving too slowly, as if bound by invisible weights. The sun was gone, replaced by a low, hazy glow like dying embers beneath the horizon.
The air was thick, syrupy, clinging to their skin with an oily texture. Their breathing felt slow. Not strained, but delayed, like the air itself was resisting them.
The trees were tall, skeletal things. Their bark was obsidian black, but their leaves—sharp-edged and brittle—were crimson. The entire forest looked as though it had been dipped in blood and left to petrify.
The earth underfoot cracked softly. It was coal—rich, dark, and laced with thin veins of glowing red. Not warm enough to burn, but warm enough to remind them: this place is alive. And it sees.
Kairos took another step. The ground responded with a hiss of steam.
Zephyrus muttered, "This place feels like death."
Lysander bent low, fingers brushing the ground. Her brow furrowed. "It's not just color. The terrain's unnatural. Like it was sculpted by something ancient… and angry."
Illumi stood silently, unmoving. Her golden eyes flicked across the landscape.
"There's something ahead," she whispered.
Through the red mist, barely visible, rose a structure—huge and distant. From here it looked like a tower, or perhaps a temple, crafted of cracked bone-white stone and crowned with spines. It pulsed faintly, like the dome had. As though it shared the same heart.
The group began walking. Cautious steps. Eyes sharp. The terrain responded oddly—sometimes hard, sometimes soft, like muscle disguised as stone.
They were halfway across a narrow ridge when it happened.
The sound was subtle at first—a low growl, too deep to be natural. Then it rose into a grinding snarl, like stone scraping against bone.
The red forest rustled.
Something massive emerged.
It crawled out slowly, limbs dragging across coal and ash. A beast, malformed yet powerful. Four massive legs, a body covered in red-and-black scales that shimmered like hardened blood. Its head was long, jaw thick, with glowing yellow eyes and rows of jagged teeth. Spines jutted from its back in ragged arcs.
It had no wings. None were needed.
A drake.
A low-category one, perhaps—if one judged by size alone. But even the smallest drake was a force of nature. The ground cracked as it moved. Its breath reeked of sulfur and decay.
It lowered its head, nostrils flaring.
Zephyrus stepped in front instinctively. "Tch. Of course it smells us."
Lysander drew her blade slowly. Her tattoo shimmered faintly, a trickle of golden light forming patterns up her wrist.
Kairos didn't draw yet.
He watched the creature, eyes narrowing. He could already see how it would move—the bend of the hind leg, the slight tremor in the tail.
"Positions," he said quietly.
The drake roared.
And then lunged.