Haruaki's apartment was a shoebox in the Lower District, a crumbling brick building wedged between a pawn shop and a noodle joint that never closed. The walls were thin, the air thick with the smell of burnt soy sauce and mildew. He hadn't slept since the delivery to Crimson Towers twelve hours ago, and the glowing key sat on his rickety table, taunting him. Its faint golden pulse hadn't stopped, a steady rhythm like a heartbeat he couldn't ignore. Every time he looked at it, the dead man's words clawed at his mind: The Veil… it's breaking. You're Fractureborn.
He'd tried to go about his day—another round of deliveries, dodging potholes and pissed-off customers—but the city felt different now. The neon signs seemed to flicker with intent, their colors too vivid, like they were trying to tell him something. Shadows in the alleys stretched longer than they should, and twice he'd sworn he'd seen those ember-like eyes from the night before, watching from the edges of his vision. He told himself it was exhaustion, paranoia, but the key's warmth in his pocket said otherwise.
Now, slumped on his mattress, Haruaki held the key up to the dim light of a single bulb. It was heavier than it looked, etched with symbols he couldn't read—swirling lines that seemed to shift when he wasn't looking directly at them. He turned it over, half-expecting it to burn his fingers. It didn't, but the air around it felt charged, like static before a storm. "What the hell are you?" he muttered, his voice hoarse in the quiet room. The key pulsed brighter, as if answering.
He should've thrown it away, pawned it, anything to get it out of his life. But something stopped him—a pull, like the key was tethered to him. Against his better judgment, he stood, crossed the room, and pressed the key against the lock of his apartment door. It didn't fit, not even close, but the moment it touched the metal, a jolt ran through him, sharp and electric. The air shimmered, and the door… changed.
The chipped wood and rusted lock were gone, replaced by a slab of dark stone carved with the same swirling symbols as the key. It pulsed with the same golden light, faint but undeniable. Haruaki's heart pounded. He glanced back at his apartment—the mattress, the cracked window, the pile of unwashed dishes. This was insane. But the key was warm in his hand, urging him forward. He pressed it against the stone, and with a low hum, the door swung inward.
Beyond it was no hallway, no stairwell to the Lower District's grime. Instead, a street stretched out, but not one Haruaki recognized. The buildings were wrong—taller, sharper, their edges jagged like they'd been carved from obsidian. The sky was a bruised purple, streaked with veins of gold that pulsed in time with the key. Neon signs still glowed, but their letters were unreadable, twisting into shapes that hurt his eyes. The air smelled of ozone and something metallic, like blood or rust. This wasn't Eldridge City. Or maybe it was—layered over, hidden, like a second skin.
He stepped through, the door vanishing behind him. The key burned hot in his hand, then dimmed, leaving him alone in this strange place. His sneakers crunched on the pavement, which glittered like it was studded with tiny stars. The street was empty, but he felt watched, the hairs on his neck standing up. "Okay," he whispered, more to himself than anything. "What now?"
A low growl answered, echoing from the shadows of an alley to his left. Haruaki froze. The sound wasn't animal, not exactly—it was too deep, too deliberate, like something mimicking a predator. He backed up, his hand tightening around the key. The alley's darkness shifted, and a shape emerged—tall, too tall, its limbs bent at wrong angles, like a marionette cut loose. Its eyes glowed, those same ember-like orbs he'd seen the night before, burning with hunger. Its body was a patchwork of shadow and flesh, shimmering like oil on water, and when it moved, it flickered, as if it wasn't fully here.
Haruaki's legs screamed to run, but his body wouldn't listen. The thing lunged, faster than anything that size should be, its claw-like hands slashing through the air. He stumbled back, tripping over a curb, the key slipping from his fingers. Time seemed to slow—or maybe it didn't, because the creature's claws were inches from his face when a burst of flame roared past him, bright and searing.
The creature shrieked, a sound that scraped at Haruaki's eardrums, and recoiled as the flames licked its body. A figure stepped into view, silhouetted against the firelight. She was maybe a year or two older than him, with short black hair streaked with red and eyes that burned like the flames she'd just conjured. Her leather jacket was scuffed, her boots caked with mud, and she held a staff that crackled with energy. "Stay down, kid," she snapped, her voice sharp but steady. "You're in way over your head."
Haruaki scrambled to his feet, grabbing the key from the ground. "Who the hell are you? What is that thing?"
The girl didn't answer, her focus on the creature as it circled them, its form flickering like a bad signal. She raised her staff, and another burst of flame shot out, forcing the thing back. "Veilspawn," she said finally, sparing him a glance. "And you're lucky I was nearby, or you'd be lunch." Her eyes flicked to the key in his hand, narrowing. "Where'd you get that?"
Before he could answer, the Veilspawn lunged again. The girl moved like she'd done this a hundred times, dodging and weaving, her staff spinning as flames erupted in controlled bursts. Haruaki's mind raced, trying to process the impossible. This wasn't a dream, wasn't a hallucination. This place, this Veil, was real, and so was the monster trying to kill him.
The girl shouted something, a word Haruaki didn't catch, and a wave of heat washed over the street, knocking the Veilspawn into a wall. It screeched, then dissolved into a puddle of inky shadow, leaving behind a faint smell of burnt metal. The girl lowered her staff, breathing hard, and turned to Haruaki. "You're not supposed to be here," she said, her tone somewhere between annoyed and curious. "That key—it's a Gatekey. How'd a nobody like you get one?"
"I'm not a nobody," Haruaki shot back, though the words felt hollow. He held up the key, its glow faint now. "Some old guy gave it to me. Right before he… died."
Her expression shifted, a flicker of something like recognition. "Died how?"
"Blood. No wounds. Just… blood." Haruaki's voice shook, the memory still raw. "He said something about the Veil breaking. Called me Fractureborn."
The girl's eyes widened, just for a second, before she masked it with a scowl. "Great. Just what I needed—a rookie with a death wish and a destiny." She stepped closer, her staff still crackling faintly. "I'm Rina. And you, kid, just stepped into the Veil. Congratulations, your life's about to get a lot worse."
Haruaki opened his mouth to argue, but a sharp pain shot through his chest, like a needle piercing his heart. He gasped, clutching at his jacket, the key pulsing in his hand. The street around him shimmered, and for a moment, he saw Eldridge City again—the real one, with its neon and rain—but it was layered over the Veil, like two films playing at once. His vision blurred, and he felt time stutter, the world slowing, then speeding up. Rina grabbed his arm, her grip bruising. "Focus," she snapped. "You're fracturing. Stop it, or you'll tear a hole in both worlds."
"Fracturing?" he managed, his voice weak. The pain was fading, but his body felt heavy, like he'd aged a decade in seconds.
"You're Fractureborn," Rina said, her tone softer now, almost pitying. "You don't just walk in the Veil—you break it. And if you don't learn to control it, it'll break you." She let go of his arm, stepping back. "Come with me. You've got a lot to learn, and we don't have time for you to freak out."
Haruaki wanted to argue, to demand answers, but the key in his hand pulsed again, and the Veil around him felt alive, watching, waiting. He didn't know what Rina was, or what the Veil was, or why that old man had chosen him. But one thing was clear: the life he'd known was gone, and the path ahead led straight into the unknown.