Chapter 2: The Veil and the System

Jack stared at the blue screen hovering in front of his face, its soft glow the only steady light in his destroyed studio. The fluorescent overhead had finally given up, leaving them in the amber wash of streetlights filtering through his shattered window.

"You're taking this remarkably well," Summer said, settling into a crouch beside him. Her movements held a predatory grace that made Jack think of big cats—beautiful, but ready to strike at any moment.

"Am I?" Jack's voice cracked. "Because I feel like I'm having a complete psychotic break."

"The Interface," she said, gesturing toward the screen only he could see. "What does it say now?"

Jack squinted at the floating text. New information had appeared below his basic stats:

[TUTORIAL PHASE ACTIVE]

[MAGICAL EDUCATION RECOMMENDED]

[CURRENT THREAT LEVEL: MODERATE]

[HOSTILE ENTITIES MAY BE DRAWN TO MAGICAL SIGNATURE]

"It's... giving me a tutorial?" Jack read the text aloud, feeling ridiculous. "And something about hostile entities."

Summer's expression darkened. "Show me your full status. Think about wanting to see more information about yourself."

Jack concentrated, and the screen expanded like a webpage opening new tabs:

[JACK FROST - LEVEL 1 REALITY SHAPER]

[HEALTH: 100/100]

[MANA: 45/50]

[STRENGTH: 8]

[DEXTERITY: 12]

[INTELLIGENCE: 16]

[WISDOM: 10]

[CHARISMA: 11]

[SKILLS: ARTISTIC MANIFESTATION (NOVICE)]

[SPECIAL ABILITIES: UNKNOWN]

[CLASS DESCRIPTION: Reality Shapers bend the fabric of existence through force of will and creative expression. Extremely rare. Approach with caution.]

"'Approach with caution,'" Jack read. "That's comforting."

"It should be terrifying," Summer said. "Do you understand what you are, Mr. Frost? What you've stumbled into?"

"Enlighten me." Jack gestured at the wreckage around them. "Because an hour ago my biggest problem was paying rent, and now apparently I'm some kind of... what, wizard?"

Summer stood, pacing to the broken window. She peered out into the Newport night, her hand unconsciously moving to where her sword had been. "Not a wizard. Something far more dangerous." She turned back to him. "Tell me, have you always felt different? Cold, perhaps? Dreams of winter, of ice and snow that felt more real than memory?"

Jack's blood chilled. The constant coldness he felt, even in summer. The way his breath sometimes misted on warm days. He'd always assumed it was just poor circulation, maybe anemia. "How did you—"

"Because you're Fae, Mr. Frost. And not just any Fae." Her green eyes studied him like he was a puzzle she couldn't solve. "You're something that shouldn't exist."

"Fae. Like... fairies?"

"The Fair Folk. The Aos Sí. The Tuatha Dé Danann." Summer's voice carried weight, like she was reciting something sacred. "We are the children of magic itself, and we have walked between worlds since before your species learned to make fire. Most humans live their entire lives without ever seeing through the Veil that separates our realm from yours."

She gestured, and the air in front of her shimmered like heat waves. Jack blinked, and suddenly he could see... more. The paint stains on his floor weren't just paint—they pulsed with residual magic, slowly fading but still present. His apartment felt different, like he was seeing it through new eyes. The shadows held depth they hadn't before, and the broken glass scattered across the floor caught light that wasn't there.

"The Veil," Summer said. "The barrier between the mundane world and the realm of magic. You've torn a hole in it, Mr. Frost. And things have noticed."

As if summoned by her words, something scratched at the window frame. Not claws—something softer, but no less menacing. Jack looked up to see fog pressing against the broken glass, but it moved wrong, with purpose and hunger.

"Oh, wonderful," Summer muttered, her sword materializing in her hand again. "A Fog Hound. They're drawn to untrained magical signatures like moths to flame."

The fog began to pour through the window, and Jack could see the shape moving within it—something large and four-legged, with eyes like yellow lanterns. The Interface screen flashed urgent red text:

[HOSTILE ENTITY DETECTED]

[THREAT LEVEL: MODERATE]

[RECOMMENDATION: FLEE OR FIGHT]

[TUTORIAL TIP: USE ARTISTIC MANIFESTATION TO DEFEND YOURSELF]

"It wants me to paint?" Jack scrambled to his feet. "How am I supposed to paint when that thing is—"

The Fog Hound finished materializing, and Jack's words died in his throat. It was the size of a small horse, its body made of roiling mist that occasionally solidified enough to show glimpses of bone and sinew beneath. Its eyes fixed on him with predatory intelligence, and when it opened its mouth, fog spilled out like breath in winter air.

"Not paint," Summer said, raising her blade. "Create. Will something into existence. Your subconscious already knows how—that's why the Shade emerged from your canvas."

"I don't know how I did that!"

"Then learn quickly."

The Fog Hound lunged.

Summer intercepted it mid-leap, her sword carving through its misty form. For a moment it dispersed, then reformed behind her, swiping with claws that looked solid enough to tear steel. She rolled away, but Jack could see she was already breathing hard. Fighting something made of fog was like trying to kill smoke.

The Interface pulsed:

[MANA AVAILABLE FOR MANIFESTATION]

[FOCUS ON DESIRED OUTCOME]

[CHANNEL THROUGH CREATIVE MEDIUM]

Creative medium. Jack's eyes fell on the destroyed canvas where his nightmare had emerged. He couldn't paint—no time, no setup. But scattered across the floor were dozens of broken charcoal pencils, and the back wall was blank plaster, close enough to work with.

He grabbed a piece of charcoal, his hand shaking as the Fog Hound slammed Summer against the wall. Her sword flickered, its light dimming.

"Think," Jack muttered to himself. "What do I need?"

Protection. Something to drive the creature back. He pressed the charcoal against the wall and began to draw, not with careful technique but with desperate need. A barrier, he thought. Something solid, something real.

The charcoal left trails of light where it touched the plaster. Jack felt something flow out of him—not quite energy, not quite emotion, but something that made his teeth ache and his vision blur. The Interface showed his mana dropping: 45, 35, 25...

On the wall, his rough sketch began to take on weight and substance. A wall of ice, crude but solid, erupting from the floor between him and the Fog Hound. The creature slammed into it with a sound like breaking waves, its misty form dispersing against the sudden cold.

[SKILL EVOLUTION DETECTED]

[ARTISTIC MANIFESTATION → REALITY SKETCHING (NOVICE)]

[MANA: 15/50]

Jack staggered, the charcoal crumbling in his grip. The ice wall held for maybe ten seconds before the Fog Hound's claws found purchase, cracking the surface. But it was enough time for Summer to recover, her sword blazing brighter as she drove it through the creature's center mass.

This time, when the Fog Hound dispersed, it didn't reform. The yellow eyes faded, and the unnatural mist dissipated like morning fog touched by sunlight.

Summer leaned against the wall, her perfect composure finally cracked. "Not bad for your first real manifestation."

"My mana's almost gone," Jack said, reading the Interface. "And I feel like I've been hit by a truck."

"Magic has a cost." She sheathed her sword and studied the melting remnants of his ice wall. "But this... this is impressive work for someone untrained. Most Reality Shapers need months of practice before they can manifest physical matter."

"Most Reality Shapers?"

"You're not the first, Mr. Frost, though you may be the most naturally gifted I've encountered." She moved to the window, scanning the night. "But power like yours doesn't go unnoticed. The creature you painted, this Fog Hound—they're just the beginning. There are things hunting you now, things much worse than minor spirits drawn to magical leakage."

As if to emphasize her point, the Interface flashed new text:

[WARNING: MAJOR MAGICAL SIGNATURE DETECTED]

[DISTANCE: APPROACHING]

[THREAT LEVEL: EXTREME]

[RECOMMENDATION: IMMEDIATE EVACUATION]

Jack's blood turned to ice water. "We need to go. Now."

Summer nodded grimly. "Gather what you can't replace. We have perhaps two minutes before—"

The front door exploded inward.

Through the splintered wood stepped something that made the Fog Hound look like a house cat. Nearly seven feet tall, with armor that seemed to absorb light and eyes like burning coals. When it smiled, Jack could see too many teeth, all of them sharp.

"The lost heir of the Winter Court," the creature said, its voice like grinding stone. "How delightfully... accessible."

Summer's sword blazed to life, but even its brilliant radiance seemed dimmed by the newcomer's presence. "Bander," she snarled. "I should have known the Host would send their favorite butcher."

Bander—if that was his name—stepped fully into the apartment, and Jack could feel the temperature drop. Not the clean cold of winter, but something corrupt and hungry.

"Stand aside, Summer Knight," Bander said. "The boy comes with me. His blood has a destiny to fulfill."

"Over my dead body," Summer replied.

Bander's grin widened. "If you insist."

The Interface screen flashed urgent red:

[BOSS ENCOUNTER DETECTED]

[CURRENT LEVEL INSUFFICIENT]

[SURVIVAL PROBABILITY: 12%]

[GOOD LUCK, JACK FROST]

Jack stared at the floating text, then at the monster wearing human shape who wanted his blood for some mysterious destiny, then at the woman with the impossible sword who stood between them.

His old life wasn't just over. It had been obliterated so thoroughly he was beginning to wonder if it had ever existed at all.

And somehow, he was pretty sure this was still just the beginning.