The Veilwalkers

The investigator stood just outside the treehouse, glancing up with an expression of faint amusement and puzzlement. It wasn't often he was called to a treehouse for a briefing, let alone to discuss a case involving dark magic. As a dragonborn, his towering frame and curved horns made him look imposing, but his modern clothes—a simple white shirt under a fitted jacket, dark jeans, and polished shoes—offset his otherworldly appearance. He reached up, rubbing the faint scales on his cheek, and checked his phone again to confirm the address.

As he stood there, he noticed someone lounging on a mat near the treehouse, looking entirely relaxed with a sandwich in hand. That must be the guard. Not exactly inconspicuous.

Taking a deep breath, the investigator dialed Aria's number. He heard the faint ring from above, then saw her peek out of the treehouse, her gaze fixing on him.

"Oh, you're here," Aria called, descending the ladder to meet him. "I'm Aria Morrison. I know you already know who I am, but… I just thought I'd introduce myself properly."

The investigator gave her a polite nod, his amber eyes studying her with curiosity. "Arman Spyro. Your investigator." He glanced over at the guard, who watched them both with faint amusement. "And… where would you like to discuss this?"

"Up there," she replied, gesturing toward the treehouse. "Ignore him," she added, dismissing the guard. "I… barely know him."

The two ascended the ladder, and soon Aria found herself sitting across from Arman as he unpacked a laptop and several files, his sharp gaze now assessing her. She could feel his curiosity, as though he was testing her awareness of the truth they were about to discuss. Setting the documents on the table near the window, he glanced at her before seating himself.

Aria couldn't help but wonder how deep this was about to go, her heart already pounding with a mix of dread and anticipation.

"Your brother wasn't just kidnapped by random people," Arman began, pulling out a photograph. "There's a history here, and it's dark."

Aria's eyes widened as he handed her the photo. The image wasn't of a person but of an artifact etched with symbols—the very symbols that had been scrawled over Cody's body. Her throat tightened. She looked up at Arman, her voice barely above a whisper.

"What are these?"

"These symbols," he said, his tone grave, "are traced back to the practices of ancient magic, long banned and forgotten. They're tied to a cult of elves who were cast out centuries ago for their ties to forbidden knowledge."

"Magic?" Aria blinked, as if trying to process. "You're saying these symbols are magical?"

Arman nodded. "I know it sounds absurd, but I believe your brother was used in a ritual—one that's… beyond the scope of anything modern magic users understand."

Aria clenched her fists, anger beginning to override her shock. "A ritual? In this day and age?"

"Yes." His tone was solemn, unwavering. "This group calls themselves the Veilwalkers. They've somehow remained hidden, using forbidden magic to cloak themselves from others. They prey on the young, feeding off their energy to strengthen their powers. I wouldn't have believed it myself, but…" He handed her another photo. This one was of a twisted, ink-drawn figure—an elf, its face twisted into a malicious smile.

Aria's face paled. "This… this is what you're telling me I'm up against?"

Arman sighed, leaning back. "When I realized what I was uncovering, I wanted to drop the case. These things aren't to be taken lightly. But I saw how determined you were, and I couldn't leave you without the truth. But I'll tell you this, Miss Morrison: you should leave this alone."

Aria's gaze sharpened. "What kind of ritual did they use him for?" She asked, her voice tight with anger.

He hesitated, then continued, "The Veilwalkers haven't been active in over a century. But something changed. Someone… or something has reawakened them."

"Who?" Aria's voice was a whisper, and her hands trembled as she braced for the answer.

Arman looked away, reluctant. "A year ago, an archaeologist named Derek Mane went on an expedition to find ancient magical artifacts. He found a scroll—sealed, hidden, with a strange language inscribed. His team tried to read it aloud, and…" He paused. "One of his colleagues lost control, screaming and attacking Mane, killing him. That scroll… whatever was written on it, whatever it released, has brought the Veilwalkers back."

Aria's heart pounded, the details swirling in her mind. She barely had time to process before Arman's posture shifted, alert, his eyes scanning the room.

"What is it?" she asked, her own instincts flaring.

He shook his head. "Something's… off."

Aria quickly pulled out her phone and snapped a series of pictures around the room. She didn't know what she expected to see, but her pulse raced with a strange urgency. In one of the photos, a distorted figure appeared behind Arman—a twisted, skeletal shape.

"YOU!" she shouted, her voice filled with rage as she sprang to her feet, aiming a kick toward the space where the figure loomed. To her shock, she hit something solid. The creature stumbled, its illusion shattering as it materialized before them. Tall, gaunt, its eyes gleaming with hunger, it was as terrifying as the ink drawing she'd seen earlier.

Arman leapt up, his dragon features shifting more prominently—his scales flaring, teeth bared, and horns sharpened. He roared, a fierce and resonant sound, filling the room with raw power. The creature hissed, attempting to disappear again, but Arman lunged, grappling it before it could vanish.

As the struggle continued, the creature lashed out, striking Aria with enough force to send her crashing through the wall of the treehouse. The ground rushed toward her, but before she hit, strong arms caught her, steadying her. Her guard, his gaze sharp, glanced down at her with a calm, steady expression. "You all right?"

Aria nodded, her heart pounding, just as the twisted figure was yanked through the hole in the wall, crashing to the ground a few feet away. Arman dropped down from the treehouse, his scales glinting in the sunlight, his powerful stance radiating fierce energy as he took his position between Aria and the creature.

The creature hissed, a deathly sound, before vanishing into thin air.

Breathing heavily, Aria could barely believe what had just happened. She glanced at Arman, who now looked every bit the dragon—a powerful, ancient force of protection, his scales glittering with a dark, dangerous gleam. Their eyes met, a silent acknowledgment passing between them.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

She nodded, glancing at her guard, who had taken position by the trees, ready and alert. As she steadied herself, Aria's mind raced. What had they unleashed? The questions spiraled, unending, but one thought rose above the others: this was far from over.