Sareth

Veilrend 63 (End of act 7): The Pale Kin They were born together in the hush before the scream. Velith and Sareth, twin spawn of Vaeroth, shaped from the same rotted breath, bound by an unholy rhythm that only they could hear. Where Velith nurtured and birthed the aberrant, Sareth was the end of them. The culler, the eater of echoes. Now, Sareth’s form slithered through the ruin that was once the Nursery, the ground slick with black amniotic bile. The air pulsed with the memory of life, things that should not have existed, yet had. Their sibling’s domain lay torn apart, still shuddering with phantom cries. And Sareth’s fury was a living thing. > “They broke our cradle,” the creature hissed, its voice both in and around the world. “They made mother bleed.” Velith drifted beside it, her limbs spider-thin, her eyes like lanterns behind layers of transparent skin. Her smile was patient and terrible. > “Then we find them, little brother. We make them understand.” Cailen and Nira ran through the ruins, breath ragged, the stench of death trailing behind them. They didn’t speak, they couldn’t. Words had become dangerous; the Veil carried sound, and sound drew attention. Still, Sareth heard them. Their every heartbeat was thunder in its skull. The Pale Kin followed the rhythm. They struck at dusk, not from above, but from within. The ground split, and Sareth erupted from the earth like a festering bloom, its face a shifting mass of bone and sorrow. Nira screamed; Cailen raised his blade too late. Velith appeared behind him, fingers sliding through his chest as if parting mist. > “You broke her,” she whispered into his ear. “Now she’ll feed on you until there’s nothing left but silence.” Sareth devoured Nira’s cry, pulling it into itself until the world seemed quieter. For every mortal sound consumed, it grew stronger, her terror a melody, her heartbeat a feast.