In the dark street under the the East Port bridge, blue and red lights flickered off Thaqib and Rast’s besieged shack. Officers streamed in and out carrying boxes of objects they’d mined from Rast’s lifelong possessions.

A sleek black vehicle slid in front of the shack. It’s doors opened and a boot stepped into a wet puddle in the street.

“Abbas, Sir,” said an officer coming to greet the tall figure exiting the car.

“What have you found?” Abbas replied.

“Seems like the kid and an old man named Rast lived here. Seems likely they were part of the Order.”

“Rast?” Abbas said in alarm, that name sounded familiar. “Ridiculous, if they were part of the Order, why are they living alone in this backwater hole?” Abbas asked.

“We’ve found all manner of esoteric trinkets, the same sort we’ve found in Zionese hideouts before,” the Officer said. Abbas considered this as he studied the humble shack. “And we found this,” the Officer continued, holding out the symbol of the Zionese order, a statue of a coiling serpent.

“It seems he was a member after all. But what was he doing out here? What’s his relationship to the boy? There was something strange about him.”

“Unknown Sir. It’s said that after the migration in the 3100s he took this boy, an orphan into his guardianship. They worked together on the trash-barge until the old man was imprisoned for a month to investigate Order sympathies.”

“A month? Why was he released?” Abbas asked.

“It’s strange. There’s no reason given. Just says he was released,” the Officer replied.

Abbas wondered why an Order member would come and live all the way out here from the rest of the group, to raise some orphan child—a child who had made contact with the one that had crossed the Veil. There was more to this than mere coincidence. “I want to look through the place myself,” he said. “Call everyone out.”

“Alright move it! Abbas is coming in!” the Officer boomed. A stream of agents ran out through the door. Abbas mounted the haphazardly built porch and disappeared through the doorway.

The place was old and seemed to have been hand built by the old man. It was ramshackle to say the least. The officers had traipsed soot and dirt in with them leaving boot marks everywhere. They’d been dismantling the place, looking for evidence and they’d trashed it in the process. Abbas observed the esoteric trinkets, a singing bowl, old Zionese texts and figurines of Zionese deities. He made his way down the back into what seemed to be a study and a workshop. He found various bits and pieces of esoteric literature. Nothing particularly surprising. Nothing he hadn’t come into contact with during his own time in the Order. Apart from the fact that all these books were illegal contraband, and just owning them could send someone to prison, there was nothing to shed light on the mystery that bothered him. What were these two doing out here? How is it the boy had been the one to make contact?

He rifled through the papers and draws but found nothing of importance. Suddenly he sensed something. He walked cautiously down the hallway to the back where a door lead outside into a small yard, and then into an area covered with trash. He sensed something was there, watching him, a dark presence that sent a chill up his spine. He walked out into the yard, a metal clothesline stood there, a rusted skeleton rotating in the wind. He walked past it turning it as he did, the rusted metal squealed. He ducked down under a concrete railing, finding a small alley leading further into the dark toward the edge of the bridge. Suddenly, he heard something and turned. Before him, a shape of black smokeless fire writhed, shimmering as though a strong wind whipped across its form. Abbas froze in place at the sight. The form seemed to notice him and turned, he sensed it watching him from unseen eyes. Abbas felt cold fear. The form moved toward him, slowly. Abbas could do nothing but watch it. It came upon him, moving around him as though inspecting him, like some curious animal deciding whether he was worth consuming.

Suddenly, a flash of memory struck him, something lost—gray waters lapping against a strange vessel. Storm clouds above. Fear struck him—the kind a child feels when lost and alone. Another flash of memory—this one blurred, of a distant landscape disappearing into the distance, an overwhelming feeling of longing and loss sweeping him up, stealing his will from him. He feel to his knees and wept. When he opened his eyes again the dark entity was gone. He had been spared and he realized that it had found use for him. Not now but in the future. He stood, a feeling of shame rippling within his chest at the way he’d been overcome with emotion. That being was of the void he realized, a Shayateen. He tingled at the though of the power it must wield within. What had it been doing here wondered? The one from the Veil must have come this way if a Shayateen was here. It was searching for them, relentless in its hunger to consume the one who had created it.

Abbas gathered himself, turned and made his way back to the shack. Although the encounter had been grueling, he longed for it again. With that kind of power, even Datura would fall before him.

He received a call and opened his comm-unit and was surprised to see the face of Shifun, the Order member he’d corrupted.

“Master,” Shifun began, “They have discovered the one from Zion. It is a girl named Halima, she is in the temple now.”

“What?” Abbass said, barely containing his excitement. “Keep in contact, make sure she does not escape. Our forces will be there soon.”

“Yes master,” Shifun replied, his form fading from view.

Abbass grinned, he couldn’t believe his luck. It was only a matter of time until he learned the secret to traversing the Veil.

***

In the training hall, Judah led Thaqib to where the other students were practicing. “Gozan!” he yelled, to a student with short shaved hair and a lean build. The student turned and Judah beckoned him over. Gozan nodded then bowed to his sparring partner and made his way toward them.

“Gozan, this is Thaqib,” Judah said.

Gozan smiled and held out a hand. “Sup Thaqib!” he said as Thaqib shook his hand.

“I want you two to spar for a few moments. Don’t go easy on him Thaqib,” Judah said.

Thaqib felt uneasy, “Go easy on him? Shouldn’t it be the other way around?”

“Hey, don’t worry,” Gozan said, “I can drop you without causing you too much pain.”

Thaqib wondered if it was arrogance or just the way they rolled here. Whatever it was he suddenly wanted to prove this dude wrong. He wasn’t such a pushover.

“Alright, bow and take your stance,” Judah said. They did as they were told and faced off against each other. “Now, engage!” Judah commanded.

Thaqib was eager to prove himself and leapt at Gozan. He remembered what he’d just learned from Judah and put it into action, not allowing himself to fall into Gozan’s traps. Regardless however, Gozan managed to block his attacks and return his own with incredible speed. Thaqib was forced into acting on instinct to block them, but he was focused and Gozan also failed to land a blow. Suddenly their staffs clashed, crossing together, the two youths pressed hard trying to push the other off center. Unexpectedly, Gozan leaned in close to Thaqib and whispered, “Damn, you’re slow huh?”

The insulting tone seemed completely out of character from who he’d thought this guy was. Gozan turned and struck Thaqib viciously. Thaqib flipped, managing to block the strike but was suddenly caught off guard by the intensity of the attack. Their staffs clashed again, Gozan again leaned in close. “You don’t belong here,” he said. The words stung Thaqib, he felt a sudden sickness in his stomach, Gozan had hit a nerve. Thaqib compensated with anger, he knew how to deal with bullies. He launched himself toward Gozan, pouring the pain he’d just felt into his attack, using it as fuel.

In a humiliating maneuver, Gozan sidestepped Thaqib’s attack delivering a firm strike to his back, sending Thaqib flying face first into the stone tiling.

Thaqib brushed his jaw, blood dripped from his chin. He rolled over in shame, easing himself up. To his surprise, Gozan was there, standing over him. A smile on his face. Not the smile he expected though, gloating over his victory, but one of friendship. He gave Thaqib a hand up.

“Excellent. Good work Gozan,” Judah said approaching. Thaqib looked down in shame. “Don’t feel bad Thaqib. Gozan riled you up didn’t he? Poked at you with insults. How did you feel when he did that?”

Thaqib looked up, wiping the blood from his chin. “Made me angry.”

“You see, just as I directed your attacks to the openings in my defense, manipulating your actions, Gozan here, manipulated you through your emotions. The way he did it was simple but it shows the ease at which your opponent can manipulate your internal state, catching you off balance.”

“Sorry Thaqib, I didn’t mean what I said,” Gozan added.

“I can’t believe I fell for it,” Thaqib replied. “This is what Rast has been trying to get through to me for years. I didn’t want to listen.”

“This is the core of cultivation. It doesn’t matter if you’ve cultivated enough energy to strike at the heavens—if you’re unable to master your internal state, your opponent will crush you from within without even landing a blow.”

Thaqib shook his head. He suddenly realized how little he knew, how he’d just been coasting in a false belief in his own ability.

Judah thanked Gozan and he returned to his sparring partner.

“Come, there’s something I want to show you,” Judah said, turning back to Thaqib.