Chapter 21
THE VEIL PRISON
Kaan
The bubble shimmers around us as we approach the twisted spire, its surface rippling with defensive magic that makes the air taste of copper and old bones.
Through the translucent barrier, I can see Banu's prison more clearly—a cage of crystalline bars that pulse with sickly light, each pulse drawing something from the small figure huddled within.
Beyond the bubble's edge, I catch glimpses of movement—twisted shapes pressing against the barrier, drawn by our magic but unable to penetrate. Their hungry snarls echo through the corrupted air, but the protective dome holds them at bay. For now.
We've been fighting our way through this nightmare realm for what feels like hours, though time has no meaning here.
The Veil Between doesn't follow normal rules.
Minutes stretch into eternities, then compress into heartbeats.
My shadows report back confused, unable to map space that exists in multiple dimensions simultaneously.
"There," I say, pointing to where the bubble sits in a clearing ahead—if "clearing" can describe a space where the ground shifts between solid and translucent, where gravity seems optional, and where the air itself tastes like memories gone sour. "That's where they're keeping her."
Nesilhan stumbles beside me, exhausted from fighting the binding's constant pull. I catch her before she falls, my shadows supporting her weight.
"I can walk," she insists.
"I know you can." I don't release her. "But you don't have to. Not right now."
She opens her mouth to argue, then seems to realize we're wasting precious time. The Eclipse won't last forever. We have maybe two hours left before the Veil closes and traps us here permanently.
As we cross the threshold into the protective bubble, the change is immediate. The air becomes breathable—still wrong, still tainted by this realm's posion, but no longer actively trying to suffocate us. The ground solidifies beneath our feet, becoming something close to actual stone.
And there, in the center of the bubble, suspended in her crystalline cage, is Banu.
She looks terrible. Her wings—those beautiful iridescent wings I remember from decades of court functions—hang in tattered strips, silver blood seeping from wounds that should have killed her already.
Her skin has taken on a gray pallor, her body is far too thin, and dark circles shadow her eyes.
But those eyes snap open when she senses our approach, and despite everything, they're still sharp. Still aware.
"Kaan," she addresses me as we draw closer, her voice hoarse from months of screaming or silence or both. "Your timing is terrible. I had just gotten comfortable."
Despite the horror of the situation, I find myself almost smiling. Half-dead, broken, caged—and she's making jokes about the accommodations. Her body may be shattered, but that razor-sharp spirit remains untouched.
"Banu," Nesilhan gasps beside me, her voice breaking. She presses her hands against the invisible barrier surrounding the prison, tears streaming down her face. "Oh gods, Banu. What have they done to you?"
"Nothing I didn't deserve," Banu replies with bitter honesty, though I catch the way her eyes soften when she looks at Nesilhan. "Though I admit the accommodations leave something to be desired. No room service, questionable hygiene standards, and the entertainment is rather one-sided."
"We're getting you out," Nesilhan says fiercely. "I don't care what it takes."
"How wonderfully optimistic of you." Banu manages a weak smile. "Though you might want to ask your companions about the minor details of how exactly you plan to accomplish that."
She shifts slightly in her cage, and I catch the flicker of movement as images play across the crystalline bars.
Memories. As I watch, I see fragments of Banu's life displayed in painful clarity—her first flight as a child, dancing with Nesilhan at some court celebration, the moment she decided to help me escape, knowing exactly what it would cost her.
The prison consumes her memories, using them to strengthen its binding. Each precious moment stolen and transformed into another link in her chain.
Yasar moves closer to the prison, gaze tracking the flow of magic with sharpness and focus. He circles the cage like a hunter studying prey, his expression intent, calculating.
"Yanki Hapishanesi," he murmurs, and there's something in his voice—recognition mixed with dark fascination. "Echo Prison. I've seen the blueprints in the old archives, but never thought anyone would actually build one."
I watch him study the structure, and some instinct makes my shadows coil tighter around Nesilhan.
Not just protective—possessive. The way he looks at the prison's construction, the way his magic probes its defenses, speaks of someone who understands this particular brand of cruelty on an intimate level.
"You recognize it," I observe, making it sound casual though my shadows betray my suspicion.
"Erlik showed me the designs once. During my training." Yasar doesn't look away from the prison. "Ancient demon work, from before the courts split. He said knowledge of such things might prove useful someday."
"And did you find it useful?" Elcin's voice cuts through the tension, sharp with accusation. She's positioned herself between Yasar and Nesilhan, one hand resting on her sword hilt. "Learning how to trap people in their own worst memories?"
Yasar finally turns to face us, and for just a moment, his careful mask slips. What I see underneath isn't quite guilt, but it's close enough to make me reconsider whether to kill him immediately or wait until we're out of the Veil.
"I didn't build this," he says quietly. "But yes, I understand how it works.
The prison requires a resonance key—something that matches the prisoner's essential magical signature.
It siphons on memories, using them as both binding material and power source.
The more the prisoner struggles, the stronger it becomes. "
"Can you break it?" Nesilhan demands, her voice tight with barely controlled emotion.
Yasar's expression turns calculating. "Theoretically, yes. But breaking it will likely trigger every defensive measure in this place. And there's no guarantee she'll survive the process. These prisons are designed to kill their occupants if tampered with."
Banu laughs, a sound like breaking glass. "How wonderfully dramatic. A fairy's death to save a fairy's life. There's poetry in that, don't you think?"
"There's nothing poetic about this," Nesilhan snaps. "There has to be another way."
"Preferably one that doesn't involve sacrificing what little sanity I have left," Banu suggests with dark humor.
But she's looking past us now, her gaze fixed on something—or someone—she hasn't seen before. Her lavender eyes widen, then narrow with shameless appreciation.
"Holy fuck," she breathes. "Who's the pretty boy with the violet fuck-me eyes?"
"That's Yasar," I say flatly, already regretting this conversation. "My cousin. Can we focus on the part where you're dying and we need to leave?"
"Your cousin?" Banu's eyebrows shoot up. "Shadow Boy, did someone make a prettier version of you? Because he's got your whole 'dangerous predator' thing but with better tailoring."
"I'm standing right here," Yasar says mildly.
"I know." Banu grins despite the silver blood on her lips. "Trust me, gorgeous, I'm very aware." Then her expression sharpens, humor draining away. "I can feel that binding from here. And the way you're looking at Nesilhan? That's not helping, Pretty Boy. That's hunger."
"We don't have time for this," I interrupt, my shadows coiling with impatience. "The bubble's failing, there are hundreds of creatures outside, and you're bleeding out. Can the character analysis wait until we're not about to die?"
"Probably not," Banu admits, then coughs, more silver blood speckling her lips. "But I needed to say it. He's dangerous, Nes. Different kind than Shadow Boy, but dangerous."
"Noted," Nesilhan says quietly. "Now can we please get out of here?"
"We can't," I say, hating the words even as they leave my mouth. "Not without breaking the prison first. The moment that bubble fails, we'll have every horror in the Veil on us. We need her mobile."
Banu manages a weak laugh. "Mobile. Right. Because I'm in such excellent running condition."
"Actually," Yasar says, still studying the crystalline structure with that calculating expression, "the prison itself is the problem. It's not just containing her—it's actively draining her life force. Even if we carried her out, she'd be dead before we reached the exit."
"So break it," Elcin snaps, her hand on her sword hilt. "You've been circling it like a predator for five minutes. Either you know how to open it or you don't."
Yasar turns to face Nesilhan directly. "I do. But it requires you. The resonance key needed to break this prison isn't just any compatible magic. It requires someone with a deep connection to the prisoner. Someone whose power signature is complementary rather than identical."
He lets that hang in the air for a moment, and I watch understanding dawn across Nesilhan's face.
"A soul bond," she breathes. "Or something like it."
"You and Banu share more than friendship," Yasar confirms. "I've felt it through the binding—the way your magic resonates when you think of her, the depth of connection that goes beyond simple affection.
Whatever bond exists between you, it's old.
Deep. The kind that might be strong enough to shatter an Echo Prison. "
Nesilhan goes very still beside me. "What do I have to do?"