Veins of starlight

The Solar Spire's chime rang through the air again, deeper and more urgent this time. It was a sound that had been drilled into every Dawnspire citizen's mind—a warning of danger.

Anya froze, her gaze fixed on the horizon. The dark mist she'd noticed earlier wasn't just a trick of the light. It was growing, spreading like ink through the sky. She'd seen it once before, years ago, when she was a child hiding under her parents' bed.

Mistwalkers.

"They're testing the dome," Tarek said, his voice low and tight. He drew the sunforged blade from its sheath, the faint glow of the weapon casting eerie reflections on his face. "We need to get inside. Now."

Anya didn't argue. The Mistwalkers were scouts for the vampire clans, shadowy creatures sent to probe for weaknesses in the dome's defenses. If they found one, the real attack would follow.

The two of them climbed down from the rooftop, moving quickly through the narrow alleys of Sector 7. The streets were almost empty—most people had already taken shelter, their doors bolted and windows covered. But the further they ran, the more the flickering lights unnerved Anya.

"Tarek," she said, glancing up at the dome. "It's not holding, is it?"

"Don't think about that," he snapped.

But she couldn't help it. The dome had protected them for generations, but everyone knew it was failing. The power cores were old, and the city's engineers couldn't keep up with the growing strain.

They turned a corner and nearly ran into a patrol unit—three guards armed with sunforged rifles.

"Back to your sector!" one of them barked, raising his weapon.

"We're trying!" Tarek shouted. "Mistwalkers are coming!"

The guard hesitated, his eyes darting to the sky. The mist was closer now, curling against the edges of the dome like a living thing. "Stay off the streets!" he growled, motioning them past. "And if you see one of those things—"

"We know," Anya cut in. She grabbed Tarek's arm and pulled him forward.

They reached Tarek's workshop—a cramped, cluttered space filled with scraps of machinery and half-finished weapons. Anya slammed the door behind them, her chest heaving.

Tarek lit an oil lamp, its warm glow contrasting with the cold, flickering light outside. "You okay?" he asked, handing her a water flask.

"Yeah," she lied, taking a sip. But her hands were shaking.

She didn't want to admit it—not to Tarek, not even to herself—but something about the mist felt… wrong. It wasn't just the usual fear of vampires or the fragility of the dome. It was something deeper, like a faint hum in her bones, growing louder with every passing second.

She glanced at her wrist, pulling back her glove. The golden veins were brighter than usual, pulsing softly. She yanked the glove back on before Tarek could see.

"You're pale," he said, frowning. "You sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine," she said quickly, standing up. "Let's get the generator fixed. If the dome goes out—"

The words caught in her throat as a loud crack echoed through the city. The ground trembled beneath their feet.

"Anya," Tarek whispered, his face ashen.

She turned toward the window. A jagged black fissure had appeared at the edge of the dome, spreading like a spiderweb. Beyond it, the mist churned, almost gleeful.

And then the dome shattered.

The first thing Anya felt was cold. A sharp, biting cold that seemed to cut straight through her skin and into her veins. The mist poured into the city like a living tide, wrapping itself around buildings and streets. Screams erupted outside as the first Mistwalkers appeared—dark, shifting shapes with glowing red eyes and taloned hands.

"Stay here!" Tarek shouted, grabbing his blade and heading for the door.

"Tarek, no!" Anya tried to stop him, but he was already gone.

Panic surged in her chest. She looked around the workshop, searching for anything she could use. Her eyes landed on a sunforged dagger hanging on the wall. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing. She grabbed it and ran after Tarek.

The streets were chaos. Mistwalkers moved like shadows, darting between the flickering lights. The guards were doing their best to fight them off, but for every one they killed, two more seemed to take its place.

Anya spotted Tarek ahead, slashing at a Mistwalker. His blade burned through its form, but another one lunged at him from behind.

"Tarek!" she screamed, running toward him.

He turned just in time to see the creature, but it was too fast. Its claws raked across his arm, knocking him to the ground.

Anya didn't think. She didn't plan. She just moved.

The golden veins in her arms flared to life, brighter than ever before. A wave of heat surged through her body, and for a moment, the world seemed to freeze. The Mistwalker turned toward her, its red eyes narrowing.

And then, without warning, a burst of light erupted from her hands.

The Mistwalker shrieked as the light engulfed it, its form disintegrating into ash. The other creatures hissed and recoiled, their glowing eyes fixed on Anya.

She stared at her hands in shock, the golden veins still pulsing with light.

"What… what was that?" Tarek's voice was hoarse, his eyes wide with disbelief.

"I… I don't know," Anya whispered, her voice trembling.

But deep down, she knew.

This was what her parents had died to protect.

And now, it was no longer a secret.