And I—I run for Banu, the binding screaming at me to turn back toward Yasar, my twilight magic flaring wild and uncontrolled as the Veil itself seems to reach for me with phantom hands.
We came here to save her.
But standing in this clearing, watching shadow creatures circle while my friend hangs broken in magical chains, I realize whoever orchestrated this understood the Veil's nature perfectly.
They didn't just lure us here to rescue Banu.
They brought us to a place where we'd be forced to face everything we've been running from—every guilt, every regret, every unresolved horror—all at once, in a realm where reality itself thrives on our weaknesses.
And now we're here, drowning in exactly what we can't survive.
The binding pulls.
The shadows close in.
And the trap springs shut around us all.
CHAPTER 21
THE VEIL PRISON
Kaan
The bubble shimmersaround us as we approach the twisted spire, its surface rippling with defensive magic that makes the air taste of copper and old bones. Through the translucent barrier, I can see Banu's prison more clearly—a cage of crystalline bars that pulse with sickly light, each pulse drawing something from the small figure huddled within.
Beyond the bubble's edge, I catch glimpses of movement—twisted shapes pressing against the barrier, drawn by our magic but unable to penetrate. Their hungry snarls echo through the corrupted air, but the protective dome holds them at bay. For now.
We've been fighting our way through this nightmare realm for what feels like hours, though time has no meaning here. The Veil Between doesn't follow normal rules. Minutes stretch into eternities, then compress into heartbeats. My shadows report back confused, unable to map space that exists in multiple dimensions simultaneously.
"There," I say, pointing to where the bubble sits in a clearing ahead—if "clearing" can describe a space where the ground shifts between solid and translucent, where gravity seems optional, and where the air itself tastes like memories gone sour. "That's where they're keeping her."
Nesilhan stumbles beside me, exhausted from fighting the binding's constant pull. I catch her before she falls, my shadows supporting her weight.
"I can walk," she insists.
"I know you can." I don't release her. "But you don't have to. Not right now."
She opens her mouth to argue, then seems to realize we're wasting precious time. The Eclipse won't last forever. We have maybe two hours left before the Veil closes and traps us here permanently.
As we cross the threshold into the protective bubble, the change is immediate. The air becomes breathable—still wrong, still tainted by this realm's posion, but no longer actively trying to suffocate us. The ground solidifies beneath our feet, becoming something close to actual stone.
And there, in the center of the bubble, suspended in her crystalline cage, is Banu.
She looks terrible. Her wings—those beautiful iridescent wings I remember from decades of court functions—hang in tattered strips, silver blood seeping from wounds that should have killed her already. Her skin has taken on a gray pallor, her body is far too thin, and dark circles shadow her eyes. But those eyes snap open when she senses our approach, and despite everything, they're still sharp. Still aware.
"Kaan," she addresses me as we draw closer, her voice hoarse from months of screaming or silence or both. "Your timing is terrible. I had just gotten comfortable."
Despite the horror of the situation, I find myself almost smiling. Half-dead, broken, caged—and she's making jokes about the accommodations. Her body may be shattered, but that razor-sharp spirit remains untouched.
"Banu," Nesilhan gasps beside me, her voice breaking. She presses her hands against the invisible barrier surrounding the prison, tears streaming down her face. "Oh gods, Banu. What have they done to you?"
"Nothing I didn't deserve," Banu replies with bitter honesty, though I catch the way her eyes soften when she looks at Nesilhan. "Though I admit the accommodations leave something to be desired. No room service, questionable hygiene standards, and the entertainment is rather one-sided."
"We're getting you out," Nesilhan says fiercely. "I don't care what it takes."
"How wonderfully optimistic of you." Banu manages a weak smile. "Though you might want to ask your companions about the minor details of how exactly you plan to accomplish that."
She shifts slightly in her cage, and I catch the flicker of movement as images play across the crystalline bars. Memories. As I watch, I see fragments of Banu's life displayed in painful clarity—her first flight as a child, dancing with Nesilhan at some court celebration, the moment she decided to help me escape, knowing exactly what it would cost her.
