The Veiled Gardens stretched before her like a forgotten dream—silver-tipped branches swaying gently under the pale glow of the moon. The trees here were older than the Bastion itself, their roots sunk deep into the ley lines that fed Silvermoon. Wisps of arcane light drifted lazily through the air like spectral fireflies, illuminating the soft grass beneath her boots and casting a faint glow on the worn stones lining the winding path.

  Narianna slowed her pace, breathing in the chilled night air. The garden smelled of faintly perfumed blossoms—moonpetals and duskroses, fragrant blooms that only opened beneath starlight. It should have been peaceful. This was where Guardians came to reflect, to find clarity when the burdens of duty grew too heavy.

  But tonight, it felt wrong.

  The wards along the outer edges of the garden, normally shimmering with soft protective light, now pulsed faintly, flickering as if strained. The leyline current beneath her feet vibrated subtly, the hum resonating in her bones like a distant heartbeat.

  She followed the winding path to the garden’s inner circle where the old altar rested. Carved from white stone veined with silver, the altar stood beneath a canopy of branches that cradled the stars. It had been her sanctuary for years—a place where she could forget the weight of command, if only briefly.

  But tonight, the tranquility that usually blanketed this place was absent.

  “The pull,” she murmured, her crimson eyes scanning the shadows beyond the altar. I can feel it even stronger here.

  When she was a child, training under her mother’s watchful eye, the Veiled Gardens were a place of quiet joy. It was here she first recited the Code of the Light aloud. Here, where she first touched the Tapestry of Oaths. Back then, the garden felt sacred. Safe.

  Now, it felt like standing on the edge of something hollow.

  Her gaze lingered on the moonlight filtering through the trees. The silvered leaves above shivered softly in the breeze, but beneath the beauty, the leyline currents swelled in unnatural waves, like they were being twisted. Warped.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  And that’s when she saw it.

  At the far edge of the circle, near the base of one of the silverwood trees, dark veins coiled through the roots, like black tendrils strangling the life from the earth. The corruption was subtle at first glance, but to her trained eyes, it was unmistakable.

  Blood magic.

  Narianna’s pulse quickened. The garden had been defiled.

  She unsheathed her longsword in one fluid motion, its blade catching the pale light and igniting with a soft glow—an enchantment granted by the Sunwell itself. She took cautious steps toward the corrupted tree, her senses heightened.

  The soil was tainted. She could feel the leyline beneath her feet, the thrum of its energy disrupted by whatever had been planted here. The dark magic felt old, but fresh enough to suggest recent interference.

  The Umbral Court.

  Her grip on the sword tightened. She knelt beside the roots and placed her gloved hand on the corrupted soil. The energy radiating from it pulsed like a heartbeat, slow and steady. It wasn’t just a lingering spell—it was alive.

  A seed, planted and hidden beneath the garden’s beauty.

  A faint rustle snapped her attention to the treeline behind her. She spun, blade ready, but found only the wind. The branches swayed overhead, the whisper of leaves a sinister echo in the silence.

  Still, her instincts screamed at her. The Umbral Court didn’t leave signs unless they wanted to.

  Or unless someone else was meant to find them.

  She turned her gaze back to the roots, unease sinking deep into her core. The corruption was burrowing into the leyline network itself—the same network tied to the visions, the pull, and the chamber where the outsider had been found.

  No. This isn’t coincidence.

  Her thoughts shifted back to the outsider. To the way he described the pull—how he spoke of feeling it beneath the streets. And now here it was, beneath her feet, corrupting sacred ground.

  Something is coming, and the council’s too blind to see it.

  The garden, once a sanctuary, now felt like a trap. The beauty here was a veil stretched over a wound.

  She straightened, sheathing her blade, her crimson eyes scanning the garden one last time before stepping back toward the path. The Umbral Court had planted something deeper than just blood magic in these roots. It was a warning. Or perhaps... an invitation.

  Narianna’s thoughts churned as she walked beneath the silverwood canopy, heading back toward the Bastion. The council wouldn’t act on this. Not without proof that would cost precious time. And Silvermoon didn’t have time—not with the ley lines stirring, and not with the outsider locked beneath her watch.

  As the moonlight receded behind the Bastion’s spires, one truth solidified in her mind.

  I’ll go to him.

  Because whether she liked it or not, Matrim Kaelen was part of this. And if the council wouldn’t see it, she would.

  Even if it meant standing alone.