Chains of the Veinborn

Chapter 4: The Knight Beneath the Water

Kael woke drowning.

The light had been blinding. The voice, godlike. The weight of memory had cracked something in their chest—and then they were falling again, but this time into water. Real water. Salt stung their nose, flooded their throat, filled their lungs. They thrashed in blind panic, arms and legs moving wildly.

Their scream turned to bubbles.

It was dark beneath the surface. Not pitch-black, but layered in shifting bands of color: blue, green, violet. Like moonlight bending through stained glass. Strange fish darted past, flickering with runes glowing beneath translucent skin. Giant stone columns jutted upward from the ocean floor like the ribs of some sunken cathedral.

Kael kicked upward, chest burning, but the surface didn't come.

Their body slowed. Limbs heavy. Lungs ready to burst.

Then: arms.

Strong ones. Cold. Wrapped around them from behind.

Kael jerked, but the grip held firm. A powerful stroke cut through the water. They were pulled upward, faster than their own strength would have allowed. The water shimmered, broke—

—and Kael's head breached the surface with a desperate gasp.

Air. Real air.

They coughed, choking, gripping the nearest solid thing they could find.

It was a chest. Warm. Hard. Covered in strange armor.

The one who'd rescued them held them close, their breaths steady and controlled. Kael looked up, blinking salt from their eyes.

And saw him.

He was the most beautiful ruin Kael had ever seen.

Tall and broad-shouldered, his skin was the soft, muted gray of weathered stone. Coral had grown up his arms, curling around one shoulder like jagged armor. The pieces weren't dead—they pulsed with faint bioluminescence, hues of rose-gold and pale teal. His hair, wet and silver-blond, clung to his jaw and collarbones. And his eyes—his eyes were the color of shipwrecked steel, with cracks of seafoam green near the pupils.

He stared at Kael like they were the first thing he'd seen in centuries that didn't make him ache.

Kael blinked at him. "You... you have coral on your body."

The knight cocked his head slightly. His voice was quiet, hoarse from disuse. "And you have the Veinborn mark on yours."

Kael looked down.

Glowing runes had appeared on their arms again—thin white lines, like sacred geometry burned just beneath the skin. Faint, but visible.

The knight swam them gently to the edge of a half-submerged platform, carved from dark stone veined with gold. He lifted Kael onto it with a strength that didn't seem to tax him, then hauled himself up behind them.

Kael collapsed on their side, gasping. Their soaked clothes clung to them. Everything was wet and cold and surreal.

The knight didn't move. He just watched them. Studied them. As if committing every detail to memory.

"You almost didn't make it," he said softly.

Kael turned to him. "Who are you?"

He hesitated. Looked down at his coral-covered hand.

"Sir Thorne Vael," he said finally. "Once of the Tideward Order. Once of the Eastern Watch. Once of the Queen's Vanguard."

"You say 'once' a lot."

Thorne smiled faintly. "Because I am no longer any of those things."

Kael sat up, shivering. "Why were you in the water?"

"I live beneath it. It dulls the curse."

"The curse being…?"

He turned, lifting his arm.

The coral shimmered. Up close, Kael could see it wasn't just growing on him—it was in him. Embedded in muscle and bone. Pulsing with faint magic.

"When I disobeyed the gods and refused to kill a Veinborn during the last war, they said I betrayed the realm. This was my punishment. The coral grows from regret. From guilt."

Kael frowned. "Wait. You saved a Veinborn? Not killed?"

"I loved them," he said simply.

That word again. Love. Spoken by cursed men like confessions.

Kael lowered their eyes. "So you recognize what I am."

"Yes. You bear the mark in your soul."

"Then you know I'm not here to hurt anyone."

Thorne's eyes softened. He reached out, brushing a wet strand of hair from Kael's forehead.

"I knew that the moment you fell from the river of spirits," he whispered. "Only the Veinborn would survive that descent. Only you could command light in the Deep."

Kael stared at him, heart thundering.

Why did his voice make the ache in their chest worse?

Something rippled in the air. A tremor. A whisper of pressure from above. Kael looked up.

Lightning split the sky overhead.

The water around the platform churned.

"Riven," Kael said suddenly.

Thorne blinked. "The Chained One?"

"He's looking for me."

Thorne rose to his feet, armor clinking softly. "Then I will take you to him."

He offered his hand.

Kael took it.

Their skin met.

And the coral shifted.

The soft, pinkish edges of it retracted, pulling back into Thorne's skin like frightened tidewater. The glow dimmed. For the first time, smooth skin appeared beneath the curse.

Thorne stared at his arm in shock.

Kael looked up at him. "Did I do that?"

His breath caught. "It hasn't changed in fifty years."

Neither moved.

Then Kael, half-drenched and still trembling, surged forward without thinking and kissed him.

Not out of romance. Not out of logic.

Out of desperation.

Out of the sudden, awful need to feel alive.

Thorne stilled. For a heartbeat, he didn't respond.

Then his arms closed around Kael, firm and reverent, like he was afraid they'd vanish.

The coral shuddered.

And for the first time since his exile, Sir Thorne Vael felt warm.

Across the water, on the far cliffs, something watched them. It shifted beneath a cloak of feathers and smoke, lips curled in a knowing smile.

"So the Veinborn awakens love again," it whispered. "Just as the prophecy warned."

The feathers rippled.

And the seer of the Prism Order vanished into mist.