The hotel room was quiet.
I closed the door. Locked it. Checked the window. Curtains drawn.
Siver floated by the desk, watching.
"Are you sure about this?"
I sat on the edge of the bed. Pulled my bag from under the desk. Unzipped it.
"It's never too late to try new things."
I reached inside. My fingers found the spine. Old leather. Cold.
I pulled it out.
The cover was dark. No title. Just a symbol pressed into the leather. Three lines. Intertwined.
The Valerius crest.
Siver tilted his head. "Where did you get that?"
"Aunt Seraphine knew I took it. She didn't stop me."
I opened the book.
The pages were thin. Yellowed. Handwritten. Some in languages I didn't recognize. Others in script so old it barely looked like words.
I turned past the first section. Past the history of the family. Past the records of investigations. Past the names of every Valerius who had come before.
Then I found it.
The section on the Veil.
I read slowly.
Long before Riverdark, before the three families, before the city had a name, the Spirit King of the Veil Realm looked upon the mortal world. He sent his descendants across the threshold. They carried the blood of the dead and the breath of the living.
They settled where the river ran dark. They built a house on the edge of the Veil. They called themselves Valerius.
Their purpose was sacred. To guide the lost. To hear the silent. To send souls home.
Beside them came two other bloodlines. Morcant, who guarded the body. Aurelian, who guarded the mind. Together, they kept the balance.
But balance demands a price.
A catastrophe came. The Veil cracked. The dead did not pass. They piled. They screamed. The families held the line, but the wound never fully healed.
The curse was born.
I closed the book.
Siver watched me.
"I don't want to know history," I said.
He raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure?"
I opened the book again.
Turned the page.
The next section was different. Fewer words. Diagrams. Symbols. A single passage written in clean, deliberate script.
To cross the Veil is to leave the body behind. The soul walks. The world waits. There is no return without a tether.
The words must be spoken with eyes closed. With breath held. With the knowing that you may not come back.
Below it, the incantation.
I read it once. Twice.
The words were old. Heavy. They sat in my mouth like stones.
Siver moved closer. "Andres."
I closed my eyes.
I spoke.
"Chāyā rājño rakta. Purātana pratijñā. Aperi velum. Anima exit. Corpus manet. Duc me ad silentium."
The room went cold.
The air left my lungs. My body went still. Heavy. Like stone.
Then I was falling.
Darkness. Silence. No ground. No sky.
A light. Cyan. Thin. It wrapped around me like a thread.
And pulled.
I opened my eyes.
I was standing on ground that felt like mist. The sky was night blue. No stars. No moon. Just the color, stretching forever.
Figures moved around me.
They wore white. Long robes. Some carried candles. Others held lanterns that glowed with soft, flickering light.
They walked slowly. Aimlessly. Some cried. Some laughed. Some moved in silence, lips pressed together, eyes forward.
I watched them pass.
A woman with hollow cheeks. A man with no hands. A child who kept looking back at me, her mouth open like she wanted to speak.
I turned.
Behind me, the landscape stretched into nothing. Mist. Darkness. The blue sky fading into grey.
Then a voice.
"Andres."
I turned again.
Julius Kellan stood a few feet away. He looked different. Younger. The weariness was gone from his face. His eyes were clear.
"As expected from a Valerius," he said. "I knew you would come to bid me farewell."
I looked around. At the figures. The lanterns. The endless blue sky.
"This is the Veil."
He nodded. "The waiting place. Where the lost go before they find their way."
Behind him, a figure stood in the mist.
Tall. Dark robes. A hood that covered the face. But beneath the hood, I could see nothing—just shadow. At his side, a lantern glowed with pale gold light.
The Grim Reaper.
He didn't move. Didn't speak. Just stood. Waiting.
I looked at Julius. "I need to tell you something. About the journal."
He smiled. "The words you wrote in my handwriting."
"You knew."
"I watched you write them. In the archive, before you left. You sat at the reading table with my journal open. You studied my handwriting from the other documents. Then you took a blank page and wrote."
He clasped his hands behind his back.
"I saw the words form. I knew what you were doing. I did not stop you."
I looked at him. "You're not angry."
"How could I be angry? You gave my son the truth. Not the words I wrote. But the truth he needed to hear."
He stepped closer. His form was lighter now. Less solid.
"Marcus believed a lie for fifteen years. He killed because of it. He became a monster because of it. If the lie had to be undone with another lie, so be it."
He looked toward the bridge in the distance. A structure of pale light, stretching into nothing.
"The truth is not always in the words, Andres. Sometimes it is in the intention. You wanted to save my son. You did. That is enough."
I watched the figures moving toward the bridge. One by one, they crossed. The light swallowed them.
"When you cross," I said, "what happens?"
"I forget."
"You forget?"
"The cup. The oblivion. When I drink, I let go of this life. The pain. The anger. The love. All of it."
He looked at me. His eyes were soft.
"I will not remember Marcus. Or Julian. Or the life I lived. But they will live. That is enough for me."
He turned toward the bridge. The Grim Reaper moved beside him, silent, waiting.
I spoke before I could stop myself.
"Julius."
He paused.
"I wrote those words in your handwriting. On a blank page. I took it from your journal. I added it to the end."
He smiled. "I know."
He walked toward the bridge.
The Grim Reaper lifted his lantern. The light spilled over Julius, warm and gold.
I stepped forward. "What are the consequences? For coming here?"
The Grim Reaper turned.
His hood was deep. I could not see his face. But his voice was cold. Like wind through stone.
"Child. Do not wander here for too long or You may not go back."
He raised his hand. The lantern swung.
Light exploded.
I was falling again. Darkness. Mist. The thread of cyan light pulling, pulling—
I woke up on the hotel bed.
My chest was heaving. My hands were cold.
Siver hovered above me.
"You were gone for three hours."
I sat up. My head pounded. My body felt heavy.
"I was gone for minutes."
Siver shook his head. "Three hours."
I looked at the book. Open on the bed. The page with the incantation.
I closed it.
The window was still dark. The city was quiet.
I lay back on the bed. Stared at the ceiling.
Julius was gone. Across the bridge. Drinking the cup of oblivion.
He would not remember his sons. The life he lived. The fifteen years he spent waiting.
But Marcus and Julian would live. That was enough for him.
I closed my eyes.
Siver was quiet.
Somewhere in the city, the brothers were facing the truth.
And somewhere beyond the Veil, a ghost was finally free.