The Abyss-Touched Mage

Raine moved quickly, keeping to the shadowed edges of the road as the city of Vaelora disappeared behind him. His cloak, frayed at the edges, was pulled tightly around his shoulders against the cold night air.
He didn't look back.
Not at the towering walls.Not at the distant glow of lanterns.Not at the life he had just abandoned.
The stranger—the man who had dragged him into an alley and told him to run—hadn't followed. He hadn't given Raine his name, hadn't explained why he cared if the Arcanum found him or not.
But Raine had listened.
Because something in that man's voice had told him the truth.
 
If he stayed, he was dead.
 
The caravan he had bribed his way onto was nothing special—just a few wagons, stacked with trade goods, carrying merchants and travelers looking for safer roads. Raine sat in the back of one, hood pulled low, pretending to sleep while listening to the murmured conversations around him.
 
He kept his hands hidden beneath the folds of his cloak, fingers tightening unconsciously. The memory of the Resonance Stone's crack still echoed in his mind—the way the air had thickened when he touched it, how something inside him had shifted, like an unseen thread being pulled taut.
 
That wasn't normal.
 
That wasn't magic.
 
And the Arcanum had known it.
 
Raine exhaled, forcing himself to stay calm. His heartbeat was still uneven, his thoughts tangled. He needed to focus on what came next.
The road stretched ahead of them, dark and unfamiliar. The farther he got from the city, the safer he would be.
At least, that's what he told himself.
 
The caravan made camp by a bend in the river, just off the main road. The travelers moved about in small groups, lighting torches, unpacking supplies. The night air smelled of damp earth and woodsmoke.
Raine stayed near the edge of the camp, watching the flickering light from a distance. His stomach was empty, but hunger was the least of his concerns.
 
He crouched near the riverbank, splashing cold water on his face. His reflection rippled across the surface, distorted by the current.
 
Then—
 
His breath caught.
The water wasn't reflecting the night sky.
It was showing something else.
A hollow space. A void, stretching beyond the riverbed, swallowing the light at the edges.
And deep within it—
A whisper.
Not words. Not sound.
Just a presence. A promise.
 
His pulse spiked. His lungs clenched.
The moment passed. The water stilled.
Raine staggered back, heart pounding. He sucked in sharp, shallow breaths, cold air burning his throat.
His hands shook.
This wasn't just paranoia.
Something was coming.
And it wasn't alone.
 
He swallowed hard, glancing back at the camp. The merchants laughed around their fires, unaware. The guards lingered near the wagons, watching the dark like they always did.
But Raine saw it now.
 
The travelers weren't the only ones out here.
A lone figure had joined the camp late.
He hadn't noticed them before.
 
A man seated near the fire, head lowered, sharpening a knife. Unremarkable in every way—except for the feeling Raine couldn't shake.
 
Something about him was off.
 
He turned away before the man could notice him staring.
 
The feeling of being watched didn't fade.
And as the last embers smoldered in the dark, Raine realized—
He wasn't the only one waiting for the right moment to leave.