Ashar had always known the world was dying, but he never expected it to end in his lifetime.

The city around him had once been full of life, towering spires that caught the light of the sun, cobblestone streets bustling with people, and markets that sang with the noise of commerce. Now, the streets were eerily silent. Dust clung to everything, and the scent of decay hung thick in the air. Where buildings once stood proud, there were now hollowed-out shells, crumbling ruins that had not known a fresh coat of paint in decades. People no longer laughed or shouted in the streets. Instead, they huddled in the shadows, murmuring to each other in low voices, keeping their heads down as if hiding from something they couldn't name.

Ashar had lived here his entire life, though he often wondered if he was just a forgotten soul in a dying city. It was as if the world had moved on, and he had been left behind. The people in the city had forgotten what it meant to be truly alive. What it meant to feel hope.

The life that Ashar had grown up with had been a struggle. His parents, now long gone, had worked endlessly to keep a roof over his head and food on the table. But in a world where everything was falling apart, there was never enough. Hunger had been a constant companion for Ashar, one he had learned to ignore over time, though it gnawed at him every day. The hunger was more than physical. It had seeped into his soul, filling the empty spaces where dreams and ambition should have been.

Today, however, something felt different.

He paused for a moment, looking up at the sky. The Veil was barely visible, a faint shimmer in the air, like a mirage that flickered and danced just beyond the edges of his sight. It was a presence, one that had always been there, since the dawn of time, keeping the Void at bay. The Void, the realm of nightmares, the place where the world's worst fears came to life.

The Veil had always been invisible to the common folk. They were told that it existed, but they could never see it, not unless they were chosen, or cursed. The old legends spoke of a time when the Veil had been a shining wall of light, unbreakable and pure. But those were just stories, or so Ashar had been told. Now, with the cracks in the sky, Ashar wasn't so sure. He could feel it, a shift in the air, like the world itself was holding its breath.

The cracks had appeared slowly, at first—a strange ripple in the air, a fleeting shadow that passed across the sky. But as the years had gone by, they had widened, and now they were impossible to ignore. Some nights, Ashar would wake up with the feeling that something was watching him from the other side, a presence he couldn't shake, no matter how hard he tried. He had heard the stories, the whispers in the dark about things crawling through the cracks: monsters, spirits, something far worse than any human could imagine.

But Ashar had never truly believed in those stories. Not until today.

The air around him grew heavier. A low hum filled the silence, vibrating through his bones. His hand dropped instinctively to the knife at his belt, though he knew it wouldn't do him any good against whatever was causing the disturbance. His breath quickened, but there was no wind, no sign of any natural storm. The world around him seemed to hold its breath, as if waiting for something to happen.

And then, he saw it.

Out of the mist ahead, a figure emerged; tall, cloaked, and unnervingly still. The figure moved with a slow, deliberate pace, its steps silent on the cracked pavement. Ashar's heart skipped a beat. The messenger of the Veil Watch.

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The Veil Watch were the guardians of the Veil, the ones who ensured nothing slipped through the cracks into their world. But Ashar had never seen a messenger like this before. This one was different, there was something unsettling about him, something Ashar couldn't place.

The cloaked figure came closer, and Ashar felt a shiver run down his spine. The man's eyes were not like any eyes Ashar had seen. They were deep, endless, like dark pools of water that threatened to drown him if he looked too long. The gaze seemed to pierce through him, seeing not just the surface, but the very core of who he was.

Ashar swallowed, his mouth dry. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat. The messenger was close now, standing only a few feet away. The silence between them was thick, suffocating. The figure raised one long, gloved hand and pointed at him.

"You."

The word hung in the air, a heavy command that sent a ripple through Ashar's chest. It was as if the word itself was alive, vibrating in his soul.

"What… what do you want from me?"

Ashar asked, though his voice trembled. The messenger had no visible face, only the hollow eyes and that strange aura of power that radiated off him.

The figure's voice came next, deep and resonant, carrying a weight that was almost too much to bear.

"You have been chosen."

Ashar blinked, trying to process the words. His mind was racing, confusion clouding his thoughts.

"Chosen for what?"

The messenger stepped forward, his presence growing overwhelming, suffocating. Ashar could feel the pull of his gaze even more intensely now, as if the very air around him was bending toward the messenger.

"The Veil is dying,"

The messenger said, his voice like thunder rumbling in the distance.

"It has chosen you to bear the Echo."

The words rang in Ashar's ears, each one sinking deeper into his consciousness. His breath caught, his heart began to race. The Veil… dying? He'd heard the rumors, of course, but never had he imagined they could be true. And what was this about bearing the Echo?

Before he could process any of it, a terrible rumble shook the ground beneath him. Ashar's vision blurred as the air itself seemed to warp and twist, pulling in every direction at once. A crack split the sky above them, jagged and dark, cutting through the very fabric of reality.

He staggered back, his knees weak, as the crack in the sky spread wider, and the shadows beyond it seemed to surge toward him. The ground trembled beneath his feet, as if the earth itself was recoiling in fear. The messenger stood unmoving, his form unshaken by the cataclysmic disturbance around them.

Ashar fell to his knees, gasping for breath. The world around him was a blur of shadows and light, and his body felt like it was being pulled in a hundred different directions. He tried to scream, but no sound came out.

And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the darkness receded.

The sky snapped back into place, the crack in reality sealing itself as if it had never been. Ashar's chest heaved with every breath, and he clutched his head in an attempt to steady himself. The ground beneath him was still shaking, but the worst had passed.

He looked at his hands. His skin was still burning, his body alive with energy he couldn't understand.

The messenger had vanished. But in his place, a mark had appeared on Ashar's skin.

An intricate symbol, black and glowing faintly. It felt like it was seared into him, something irrevocable, something beyond his control.

Ashar knew, in that moment, that his life would never be the same again.