The Veil of Creation

Everyone began etching their sigils onto the wooden slabs before them. Tyrese's hand moved with deliberate precision as he drew—a simple circle, its center intersected by radiating lines. Each stroke felt significant, like a tether binding his Will to the physical world.

When the sigil was complete, Tyrese set the stylus down and closed his eyes. He reached inward, seeking the spiral of energy within—his Willpower. At first, it danced just out of reach, a faint glimmer at the edges of his awareness. He chased it, focusing harder with each heartbeat until he found it: a swirling, star-like mass nestled deep in his core. It shimmered, distant yet present, existing as if on a separate plane of reality.

Tyrese concentrated, fusing his intent with the sigil. He envisioned the protection it would provide, how it would shield him in times of peril. Slowly, he channeled this vision into the lines of his creation, willing his energy to flow freely.

Sir Arras paced through the rows, his sharp gaze sweeping over the trainees' work. Occasionally, he paused to steady a shaking hand or offer a quiet correction. His eyes lingered briefly on a girl with raven-black hair and deep brown skin. Her calm focus and precise strokes suggested a natural talent for wielding Will.

The room was filled with quiet determination until a piercing scream shattered the silence. Heads whipped toward the sound as Sir Arras reacted instantly, his movements swift and fluid. The source was a boy with ebony skin, White gray hair plastered to his sweat-drenched forehead. His blue eyes glowed unnaturally as his body convulsed, and his mouth spilled incomprehensible words: "Dagaz… Sowelu… Cebo… Eihwaz."

In a blink, Sir Arras was at his side, gripping the boy's shoulders firmly. His commanding voice cut through the chaos. "Focus, boy! Get a grip unless you want to die. FOCUS!"

The trainees froze, paralyzed by shock. Maha's gaze darted to Tyrese, her expression tight with worry. Tyrese's breath came in shallow gasps as the instructor held him steady.

Sir Arras extended a hand behind him, and a small object—a sigil-inscribed stone—flew from a nearby table into his grasp. Its symbols glowed brightly as he pressed it to Tyrese's chest. The boy's spasms subsided, and his glowing eyes dimmed. Moments later, Tyrese slumped forward, drenched in sweat and gasping for air.

"You nearly let your Will consume you," Sir Arras said, his tone low but firm. "Never lose sight of your intent. The consequences could be fatal."

Tyrese nodded weakly, still catching his breath. Around him, the other trainees exchanged anxious whispers, their gazes heavy with a mixture of fear and curiosity.

As the tension ebbed, Maha stepped closer, her brow furrowed in concern. "Tyrese, are you alright? You were murmuring… things we couldn't understand. It was like you were in a trance."

Tyrese blinked, his thoughts still fragmented. "I... I'm not sure," he murmured, his voice barely audible.

Sir Arras stepped back and addressed the group. "Now, we will test your sigils."

The trainees formed a line, each presenting their sigils. Sir Arras tested them with deliberate strikes, evaluating their effectiveness. Some sigils failed outright, their lines crackling and fading. Others succeeded, manifesting shields, hardening surfaces, or creating shimmering barriers.

When Maha's turn came, she stepped forward confidently. Her cross-shaped sigil glowed faintly as Sir Arras's fist connected. A translucent barrier appeared instantly, absorbing the blow without a trace of damage. Sir Arras nodded, his approval clear. "Well done," he said simply, motioning for the next.

Finally, it was Tyrese's turn. Despite the earlier incident, his sigil was intact, though its design had shifted—now a circle interwoven with several rings. Sir Arras's brow arched slightly as he examined it.

He struck the sigil-marked wood with practiced force. Tyrese braced himself, expecting the barrier he had envisioned. Instead, the wood vanished entirely, disappearing from sight just as Sir Arras's fist passed through the space it had occupied. A moment later, the slab reappeared nearby with a faint thud.

Sir Arras retrieved it, his expression thoughtful. "Not bad," he said at last, his tone measured. "But your intent still lacks clarity. You were lucky this time, boy. Remember, lose sight of your intent, and the consequences won't always be so forgiving."

As Tyrese returned to his place, whispers rippled through the trainees, their curiosity piqued. Maha approached him, her voice low. "What was that?"

Tyrese gripped the piece of wood tightly, his knuckles white. "I… don't know," he admitted, his voice trembling. "But when I fused my Will, I saw something—chaos, horror. It felt... wrong."

Maha frowned but said nothing, her concern etched clearly on her face. Tyrese could only wonder what lay ahead—and what his sigil had truly revealed.

The streets of Deon buzzed with life, even as the celestial timekeepers marked the twenty-fifth hour. Days on Orion stretched long under the reign of twin Suns, whose lingering light seemed loath to yield to the encroaching night. Tyrese navigated the bustling roads, his steps faltering under the weight of the day's events, his thoughts clouded and fragmented.

For years, he had weathered life's trials alone. Orphaned at thirteen by a cruel twist of fate, he had been left to forge his own path. The accident that claimed his parents had stripped him of comfort but instilled a quiet strength—a resilience tempered by solitude.

His home stood at the edge of the Deon Kingdom, where the shadow of the Ancient Forest loomed large. Within its depths lay the Lost Sanctuary, a place steeped in legend and foreboding. Yet tonight, even the echoes of such mysteries could not break through the exhaustion that clung to Tyrese like a shroud.

Reaching the modest house, he called his own, Tyrese moved with a mechanical rhythm. A cascade of lukewarm water washed away the day's sweat and grime, and soon after, he collapsed onto his bed. The embrace of sleep was swift and unrelenting, dragging him into its depths.

When he awoke, the night was well upon him. The dim glow of sigil lamps cast flickering shadows across the room, their light soft and uneven. Tyrese stirred, his senses slowly returning, only to realize he was not alone. Maha sat beside him, her presence calm but heavy with concern.

Startled, he jerked upright. "Maha?" he said, his voice tinged with surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"I… I was concerned," she admitted, her words faltering for a moment. "What happened to you today, Tyrese?"

Her voice, steady yet laced with worry, stirred the memories he had tried to bury. They surged back with the force of a tide, crashing over him. Tyrese trembled, his breath uneven as he tried to speak.

"I... I saw darkness," he began, his voice low and unsteady. "It wasn't just absence of light—it was alive, heavy, like it had weight and purpose. Then came fire—screams—chaos. The void itself seemed to churn, rumbling like a storm trapped within."

He paused, his trembling intensifying. "And then I saw them—seven beings, each standing before seven doors. Beyond them, there was... something. Vast. So immense, it felt as though the universe itself was folding in its presence." His voice broke, his eyes wide with terror. "And whispers... faint but relentless. They kept saying, 'Remember me. Remember me. Remember us.'"

The words had barely left his lips before a wave of nausea overtook him. Doubling over, he vomited, his body drenched in sweat. Pain lanced through his skull, sharp and unyielding, as though struck by an invisible force.

Maha's heart raced. Though the meaning of his words eluded her, something primal stirred within—an ancient, crawling fear that slithered beneath her skin. She fought to calm herself, forcing her breath to steady as she knelt beside him.

Her hands, firm yet gentle, helped Tyrese to his feet. "Are you alright?" she asked softly, her tone steady despite the tremor in her chest.

Tyrese nodded weakly, though his movements were sluggish and uncertain. "Yeah," he murmured, his words unconvincing. "Just... dizzy. I'll be fine."

But Maha wasn't so sure. As her gaze met his, she saw something that belied his reassurance—a shadow in his eyes, faint yet undeniable. It lingered, like the echo of a distant storm.