Nero moved soundlessly through the maze-like corridors of the Shatterveil.
Each step echoed like a whisper swallowed by ancient stone.
The air pressed cold against his skin, settled in his lungs like frost, gnawing at his resolve and whispering promises of endings yet to co.
Shadows curled along the walls, twisting and writhing, whispering in voices too faint to discern, yet too intentional to ignore.
Sothing had changed.
The atmosphere shifted, subtle, but unmistakable.
The air grew denser, colder, as if every breath had to claw its way down his throat.
The shadows thickened, as though they gathered around him, no longer content to rely exist.
It was as if the Shatterveil itself was holding its breath, waiting, watching.
Nero’s pace slowed. His eyes narrowed.
His senses stretched outward, reading every whisper, every draft, every flicker of shadow along the edge of his vision.
He felt as if sothing powerful, and malevolent watched him, its gaze cold and piercing, sending shivers down his spine.
His body moved on instinct, but his mind calculated.
He slipped into an alcove, pressing his back against the frozen wall.
The stone sucked the warmth from his spine.
His wand was already drawn, its core humming faintly, attuned to the silence.
His breath stayed controlled, steady, but his heart thudded against his ribs like a drum inside a tomb.
The shadows rippled. They whispered in jagged syllables.
He could feel them watching him, their eyes unseen but present, lurking just beyond his sight.
Nero closed his eyes and focused, funneling his will inward.
Additional occluncy barriers surged, shielding his thoughts from the dark whispers, that scraped against them, frustrated, denied entry.
He couldn’t shake the feeling that sothing was coming, sothing powerful and dangerous.
Nero’s gaze hardened, as he raised his hand.
In a single breath, five ethereal eagles shimred into being before him, Shikigami crafted from will, paper, and power.
Their feathers shimred faintly with silver ink, their bodies delicate yet unyielding.
Each one hovered with wings half-unfurled, alert and ready.
Nero’s voice was calm, and controlled, as he muttered. "Scout the area"
The Shikigami launched without sound, slicing through the corridors with eerie grace.
Nero watched them vanish into the labyrinth. His jaw tightened.
He didn’t like this feeling, this sense of foreboding.
The Shatterveil had always been hostile, but this felt different.
The very air was charged, vibrating with ancient power.
Nero resud his advance, weaving through narrow corridors, his limbs coiled with readiness.
Every inch of space seed to press against him, walls that leaned too close, stones that felt too warm beneath his boots.
The shadows continued to shift, whispering in a tongue that he could not understand.
Then he heard it.
A faint rustle behind him.
He turned in a flash, wand raised, energy flaring.
But the path was empty.
The corridor stood still. The darkness offered nothing.
He held his ground for a mont longer, reading the silence, then turned back and continued, his movent precise, steps light, his breathing shallow.
The shadows began to pull inward, clinging tighter to the walls.
The corridor bent sharply, stone slick with rot-laced moisture.
Roots dangled from the ceiling, twitching faintly in reaction to his passage.
He traced their orientation with his eyes.
The shifting terrain, the twitching roots, the narrowing paths... It gave him the impression that the Shatterveil was trying to lead him.
Or worse, corner him.
A presence pushed against his mind, light at first, then increasingly colder.
A needle of despair probing his thoughts, testing for weakness.
Nero didn’t flinch, his Occluncy barrier snapping into sharper alignnt, shielding his mind from the intrusive touch.
The pressure peeled away with a hiss of frustrated magic.
He knew the texture of that touch.
Shadow Hunters.
A darkness that ate away at hope.
And not just one.
Multiple.
Their pursuit wasn’t frantic. It was calculated.
As if they were aiming to trap him.
Another corridor twisted downward, narrower than before, the walls slick with veins of pulsing rootlight.
Nero followed without hesitation, guided by terrain and mory, the tilt of stone, the rhythm of old magic, the landmarks carved into his mind.
Above, his Shikigami eagles circled like silent sentries, nearly invisible against the haze.
As he moved, Nero diverted a sliver of attention, partitioning his mind to tap into his Shikigami’s vision.
The feed stread in, jagged and incomplete, warped by the Shatterveil’s ambient magic, but clear enough.
From above, he glimpsed flickers of coordinated movent, shadows drifting along three converging corridors, arcane pulses bending the air near key junctions.
They were positioning. Tightening the ring.
He adjusted course imdiately, slipping down an alternate slope he had marked earlier, unlit, easy to overlook.
The terrain shifted, growing narrow and sharp, but the presence faltered behind him, delayed by his diversion.
He Apparated in quick succession, fifteen ters at a ti, threading his way through the warped terrain before the Shadow Hunters could register his route or seal off the periter.
The net hadn’t closed yet.
That he was already gone.
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50 Chapters ahead on Patreon (Suiijin): Chapter 211 The Mind’s Thread
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