Serafina’s questions blurred, her gentle voice muffled by the rising pressure in Araya’s skull. If the Arcanum decided Araya was more useful as a breeder than a mage, they would deny her waiver. Strip her of her magic. Her name would be reduced to a line on a registry, her worth measured in offspring and obedience.
Her breath hitched. Her vision blurred. She couldn’t—she wouldn’t?—
Eilwen’s voice cut through the fog, thin and shaking. “Will they take the baby?”
“They’ll try,” Serafina said, her expression somber. “But I’ll do everything I can to stop them, Eilwen. I promise.”
Araya swallowed hard.
Serafina could make promises like that. She could stand tall in front of the Arcanum, bend the rules and take risks—because her human blood shielded her.
Her pulse thundered in her ears as she backed away from the cot. The walls pressed in around her, the air too thin in her lungs. Araya had no shield. She only had her waiver, the thin thread of usefulness she clung to like a lifeline.
She didn’t realize she was shaking until her hip bumped the tray of instruments, nearly toppling it. Metal clattered as she fumbled to steady it, barely catching everything.
“I—” Her voice cracked. “I need some air.”
She turned and slipped through the curtain without waiting to make sure Serafina even heard her. She had to get out of here—before anyone saw her fall apart.
Araya moved on instinct,her feet carrying her out of the clinic and into the night. The guard barely stirred, not bothering to challenge her as she rushed past him.
She didn’t think—just walked.
By the time the cobblestones gave way to jagged shards of obsidian, her breath had slowed, blind panic retreating enough that she could think again. She stopped, staring out at the dark waves thatstretched out in front of her, gleaming silver in the moonlight until they vanished beneath the ever-present looming wall of mist.
Guilt gnawed at her—she’d promised Serafina she would help. But she couldn’t. Not tonight.
A cold wind swept off the water, cutting through her cloak and threading damp fingers through her hair, chilling her despite the warmth of the summer evening. The mist drifted on the current, unraveling in long tendrils that curled over the waves, reaching for the land.
The fae in these districts called it the Shadowed Veil—a lingering remnant of the war that had toppled their king and ripped them from their place in the world. On nights when it thickened, those tendrils billowed over the black glass and reached into the streets, bringing misfortune with it.
Children wasted away, burning with fever. Mothers woke gasping for breath—and when a father left for work and never returned, or a sister vanished on her way home…all the fae could do was blame the mist.
It was nothing but superstition. The mist didn’t make the fae sick. It was hunger and poverty that opened the door to disease, and the Arcanum’s relentless rationing of magic that let it run rampant through these neighborhoods.
And as for the creatures in the Veil—they were nothing but stories, tales told to keep children from straying too close to shore. Over time, they’d grown teeth and claws, becoming the nightmares of children and adults alike.
At least… that was what Araya had always believed. But standing here, alone in the dark? The certainty she’d clung to wavered.
Araya rubbed absently at the thin scar that stretched across her palm—a mark from years ago when these same sharp stones had bitten into her flesh. The hiss of the waves sounded almost like voices now, a low chorus of whispers rising and falling in rhythm with the tide.
She couldn’t make out the words. But the cadence was familiar—too familiar. Like the darkness spoke a language she should have remembered, but couldn’t quite grasp.
The whispers sharpened, scraping against her mind and pressing into her skull until?—
“Araya?”
The voices vanished, sucked back into the mist as if they had never existed.
Serafina picked her way carefully across the obsidian shards. Her braid was damp, loose strands whipping around her face in the wind. She had changed out of her blue Healer’s robes, the sleeves of her plain dress pushed up to her elbows, revealing the faint smudges of soap and water still clinging to her skin.
“What are you doing out here?” she asked.
Araya blinked, disoriented. Had she really been out here long enough for Serafina to finish seeing patients and clean the clinic?
“I just needed some air,” she said, forcing her voice to steady as she fought the urge to glance back at the now-motionless mist. “I didn’t mean to worry you. Is Eilwen alright? The babe?”
“They’re both going to be fine,” Serafina replied, stopping beside her. Her voice was calm, but her gaze lingered on Araya’s pale face. “Areyoualright?”
