They stepped forward.
Twenty feet in, Mara faltered. Vaelor sensed it before he heard her breath hitch.
She glanced down—and stiffened. “Vaelor…”
He followed her gaze. Stars shimmered beneath her boots, as if the ground had become a window into the cosmos. When she looked up, more stars stared back, scattered across the sky in impossible patterns. The Veil was playing its tricks.
Mara swayed, clutching her head. “What is happening,” she groaned, voice thin with dizziness.
Vaelor reached out, steadying her arm. “The Veil bends perception. Up becomes down. Down becomes sky. Trust your balance, not your eyes.”
“Like the Field of Magnetic Mirrors?” she asked.
“Exactly.”
Around them, the darkness thickened, swallowing sound and shape. Even the crunch of their boots seemed muted, as if the Veil didn’t want witnesses.
He knew the others would struggle, especially the Bestial species, whose strength often betrayed them in places requiring finesse. But Mara… she had a sharp mind, adaptable, quick. If she could push past the disorientation, she would endure.
Vaelor tightened his grip on her shoulder, guiding her forward through the labyrinth of ice and illusion. This challenge wasn’t just about distance. It was about willpower, clarity, and refusing to let the darkness inside the Veil become the darkness inside oneself.
And the Veil was only just beginning.
The farther they traveled, the slicker the ice became. The ground had shifted from rough frost to a glassy sheen that reflected nothing, not even their own shadows. Mara muttered under her breath, arms out for balance.
“This is like ice skating,” she grumbled. “And I was terrible at that.”
Vaelor moved beside her with effortless grace, his steps light and sure. “Crytharians are raised on terrain like this,” he said. “You will adapt.”
“Not before I fall on my face at least twice.”
He almost smiled.
Ahead of them, the sounds of struggle echoed through the Veil. Gora, the towering Bestial female, kept trying to muscle her way forward, her boots scraping loudly as she fought for traction.
“Strength won’t help you here,” Vaelor called out to her.
Gora growled in frustration. “Strength helps everywhere.”
Not today, Vaelor thought.
Farther ahead, the Slurchan and the Rasilian were using other players as leverage—shoving, grabbing, anything to gain purchase on the slick ice. Their bodies slid and collided like clumsy boulders.
Mara turned to look—and walked straight into a massive black ice boulder.
“Ow—!” She clutched her nose, eyes watering.
Vaelor froze. The sharp, metallic scent of her blood hit him instantly, slicing through the cold. His instincts surged—protect, shield, eliminate threats—but he forced them down. Overreacting here could get them both killed.
“Mara,” he said, voice tight, “you’re bleeding.”
“It’s fine,” she insisted, waving him off. “Just a bump. Keep going.”
He watched her for a moment longer, ensuring she wasn’t hiding real injury. Then he nodded and moved ahead.
They had barely taken ten steps when Mara stumbled again—this time over something large and unmoving. She gasped and dropped to her knees.
“Gora?” Mara leaned forward. “Gora, what happened?”
