01-03-2025, 09:42 PM
Sámiel leaned against the darkened walls of the Chamber of Echoes, the soft, spectral light catching the sharp edges of his face as he lingered there, watching. Observing. The ritual had ended, yet the real theater had only just begun. The reactions unfurling before him—each as distinct as the people themselves—fascinated him far more than the sound bath or the ritualistic formalities of the Brotherhood ever could.
Quillon, ever the dutiful Veilwarden, all taut control and burning ambition, couldn’t seem to stop himself from circling him like a wolf guarding a prize. His voice still hung in the air, You Veil Walked, a declaration spoken with both triumph and territoriality. Sámiel could almost taste the pride and jealousy simmering under Quillon’s composed exterior, and it was exquisite. How dearly the man clung to his notions of control and prestige, as if Sámiel could be tamed or mastered by devotion alone.
Seraphis, meanwhile, was a storm of excitement, rushing toward Calliope with an exuberance that stood out in sharp contrast to her usual poised demeanor. Her declaration spilled from her lips with an intensity that bordered on insistence, and the way her hands clung to Calliope’s betrayed something more than simple joy. Perhaps she, too, saw the potential in the unassuming girl. Or perhaps she feared being left behind. Sámiel couldn’t be sure, and that uncertainty delighted him.
And then there was Calliope herself.
Oh, how she intrigued him. Her quiet poise, her unwavering patience, her persistent faith—it was like looking at a delicate porcelain figurine, perfectly molded, unblemished, and begging to be shattered just to see what lay inside. She had resolved herself to silence, but her discomfort was palpable, written in the shifts of her body, the way she swallowed hard as Quillon’s prideful words echoed through the chamber. She had given him an audience, yes, but he could see the cracks forming beneath the surface of her serene smile.
When she finally spoke, her lilting words were soft, meant only for Seraphis, yet the acoustics of the chamber betrayed her. I didn’t. I can’t. There was no malice in her tone, no frustration, only denial. But it stirred something deep in him—a spark of chaos, a need to dismantle and reveal. To see the truth of her laid bare, raw and vulnerable.
Sámiel let the tension simmer for a moment longer before stepping away from the wall. His movements were slow, deliberate, as though he were savoring the weight of every step. He could feel the pull of eyes on him—Calliope’s, Quillon’s, Seraphis’s—but he gave no indication of whose attention he sought most. The Veil still hummed faintly in his veins, its residual energy coiling around him like a shadowy mantle, and he let it shape the aura he carried as he spoke.
“How fascinating,” he murmured, his voice low and velvety, laced with amusement. The chamber’s acoustics carried it effortlessly, the words seeming to wrap around everyone present. “Two Walkers, revealing themselves in tandem. Such synchronicity—it’s almost poetic.”
“Faith, you say, is the cornerstone of your little brotherhood,” he said, his tone carrying a subtle edge, neither mocking nor reverent but something in between. “And yet, it seems faith has a curious way of tangling itself up in ambition, doesn’t it? Everyone wants a piece of the Veil. To touch it, claim it, mold it into something that justifies their place within this grand design.”
His gaze settled on Quillon for a beat, then shifted, almost lazily, to Seraphis, before finally resting on Calliope. He tilted his head slightly, studying her as though she were a particularly interesting puzzle. “But not you,” he said softly. “No, you’re different. You’re still clinging to the idea that it’s all beyond you. That you’re… what was it? Unworthy? Incapable?”
He stepped closer to her then, not enough to invade her space, but enough that his presence felt tangible and heavy. His gaze flickered to Seraphis, as though silently dismissing her excitement, before returning to Calliope. He yearned to touch her hand again, to rekindle the spark that ignited at their union. “Do you really believe that? That the Veil won’t touch you simply because you’ve convinced yourself it shouldn’t?” He paused, his voice dropping lower, quieter, as though sharing a secret. “I think it already has.”
His smile split his face in half. “You’re standing on the edge of something, Calliope. All of you are. The question is… will you let it consume you? Or will you step back, let the fear win, and cling to the safety of what you think you already know?”
He returned his attention to Quillon, offering himself as the prize that he knew he was. “This is the fun part, you see. The waiting. Watching the cracks form, the pieces shift. Wondering who will fall and who will rise. Who will give in to what’s already written inside them.”
He didn’t stay because of the Brotherhood, its rituals, or even the Veil itself. No, Sámiel stayed because of her. Calliope. There was something inside her, something unshaped and raw, begging to be revealed. And if no one else would do it, he would. Not to save her, but to see her. To see her truest self laid bare. That was the part he craved most.
“I will join you.”
The show was only just beginning.
Quillon, ever the dutiful Veilwarden, all taut control and burning ambition, couldn’t seem to stop himself from circling him like a wolf guarding a prize. His voice still hung in the air, You Veil Walked, a declaration spoken with both triumph and territoriality. Sámiel could almost taste the pride and jealousy simmering under Quillon’s composed exterior, and it was exquisite. How dearly the man clung to his notions of control and prestige, as if Sámiel could be tamed or mastered by devotion alone.
Seraphis, meanwhile, was a storm of excitement, rushing toward Calliope with an exuberance that stood out in sharp contrast to her usual poised demeanor. Her declaration spilled from her lips with an intensity that bordered on insistence, and the way her hands clung to Calliope’s betrayed something more than simple joy. Perhaps she, too, saw the potential in the unassuming girl. Or perhaps she feared being left behind. Sámiel couldn’t be sure, and that uncertainty delighted him.
And then there was Calliope herself.
Oh, how she intrigued him. Her quiet poise, her unwavering patience, her persistent faith—it was like looking at a delicate porcelain figurine, perfectly molded, unblemished, and begging to be shattered just to see what lay inside. She had resolved herself to silence, but her discomfort was palpable, written in the shifts of her body, the way she swallowed hard as Quillon’s prideful words echoed through the chamber. She had given him an audience, yes, but he could see the cracks forming beneath the surface of her serene smile.
When she finally spoke, her lilting words were soft, meant only for Seraphis, yet the acoustics of the chamber betrayed her. I didn’t. I can’t. There was no malice in her tone, no frustration, only denial. But it stirred something deep in him—a spark of chaos, a need to dismantle and reveal. To see the truth of her laid bare, raw and vulnerable.
Sámiel let the tension simmer for a moment longer before stepping away from the wall. His movements were slow, deliberate, as though he were savoring the weight of every step. He could feel the pull of eyes on him—Calliope’s, Quillon’s, Seraphis’s—but he gave no indication of whose attention he sought most. The Veil still hummed faintly in his veins, its residual energy coiling around him like a shadowy mantle, and he let it shape the aura he carried as he spoke.
“How fascinating,” he murmured, his voice low and velvety, laced with amusement. The chamber’s acoustics carried it effortlessly, the words seeming to wrap around everyone present. “Two Walkers, revealing themselves in tandem. Such synchronicity—it’s almost poetic.”
“Faith, you say, is the cornerstone of your little brotherhood,” he said, his tone carrying a subtle edge, neither mocking nor reverent but something in between. “And yet, it seems faith has a curious way of tangling itself up in ambition, doesn’t it? Everyone wants a piece of the Veil. To touch it, claim it, mold it into something that justifies their place within this grand design.”
His gaze settled on Quillon for a beat, then shifted, almost lazily, to Seraphis, before finally resting on Calliope. He tilted his head slightly, studying her as though she were a particularly interesting puzzle. “But not you,” he said softly. “No, you’re different. You’re still clinging to the idea that it’s all beyond you. That you’re… what was it? Unworthy? Incapable?”
He stepped closer to her then, not enough to invade her space, but enough that his presence felt tangible and heavy. His gaze flickered to Seraphis, as though silently dismissing her excitement, before returning to Calliope. He yearned to touch her hand again, to rekindle the spark that ignited at their union. “Do you really believe that? That the Veil won’t touch you simply because you’ve convinced yourself it shouldn’t?” He paused, his voice dropping lower, quieter, as though sharing a secret. “I think it already has.”
His smile split his face in half. “You’re standing on the edge of something, Calliope. All of you are. The question is… will you let it consume you? Or will you step back, let the fear win, and cling to the safety of what you think you already know?”
He returned his attention to Quillon, offering himself as the prize that he knew he was. “This is the fun part, you see. The waiting. Watching the cracks form, the pieces shift. Wondering who will fall and who will rise. Who will give in to what’s already written inside them.”
He didn’t stay because of the Brotherhood, its rituals, or even the Veil itself. No, Sámiel stayed because of her. Calliope. There was something inside her, something unshaped and raw, begging to be revealed. And if no one else would do it, he would. Not to save her, but to see her. To see her truest self laid bare. That was the part he craved most.
“I will join you.”
The show was only just beginning.