Deyne Marr

Intro Veilrend 31: Ash in the Veins He had burned his robes. Dug a pit in the forest two years ago and watched them smolder down to threadbare embers. The symbol stitched in blood—The Spiral Eye—had cracked like old skin in the fire. He remembered watching it curl and flake, thinking maybe, just maybe, the past could be buried. But Deyne Marr knew better now. He stood at the edge of what used to be Dars-Myel, eyes sunk deep into a gaunt face, breath heavy with the scent of iron and fog. The city wasn’t dying. It was changing. And it whispered his old names back to him. Initiate. Chanter. Vessel. He had turned away from the cult when he first saw The Mirrored One. Not in flesh—never truly flesh—but in glimpses, in warped reflections and bleeding dreams. That was when he knew: they weren’t summoning gods. They were opening cages. He had run. Hid. Lived on roots and silence in the southlands. Let the beard grow, the voice go dry. Let the guilt rot in his chest like a cinder that refused to die. But the city called. Or maybe something inside it remembered him. He hadn’t planned on returning. But when the Veil tore again, and the skies bled phosphorescent rain, the dreams returned. Voices clawed at his sleep. And one word echoed louder than the rest: “Oathbreaker.” Now, he walked the outskirts of Dars-Myel, the buildings bent and yawning, roads slick with things that were not mud. He gripped an old dagger at his side—not for protection, but ritual. The hilt still hummed when held too long, etched with runes he could no longer read but never quite forgot. He saw shapes in the mist—survivors, maybe. Maybe worse. One woman screamed for her son. Another figure moved like a beast through flame. They would all be drawn together. The Veil would see to that. Deyne lit a pipe with shaking hands, its ember flickering like a last star in the void. He didn’t want to die. Not here. But he could feel it coming. And this time, there would be no running.