The air stank of burnt cedar as Lira pressed her palm to the scarred trunk of the ancient oak, fingers sinking into the fissured bark. A pulse thrummed beneath her skin, steady and deliberate, like a second heartbeat synced to the forest’s dying breath. She had not meant to come here—not tonight—but the dream had pulled her, a thread of fire in her mind’s eye, until she woke with ash on her tongue and the weight of something vast and waiting in her ribs.
The village lay behind her, its thatched roofs dark against the moonlit hills, but the forest had always been her true home. Its shadows knew her name, its roots whispered secrets older than the stone foundations of the cottages. Now, though, the whispers were ragged, fractured, as if the trees themselves were gasping.
Lira crouched, brushing dirt from a cluster of withered mushrooms. Their caps gleamed faintly, a sickly blue that reminded her of the eyes of the stricken deer she’d found two nights prior—glassy, unseeing, their antlers twisted like broken branches. She traced the pattern of the fungi with her thumb, feeling the faintest vibration beneath her skin, a resonance that made her teeth ache. The magic here was unraveling, fraying at the edges of the world.
A branch snapped behind her. Lira spun, hand flying to the dagger at her hip, but the figure emerging from the gloom was familiar—Kael, his cloak dusted with soot, eyes narrowed against the gloom. He moved like a man chasing a ghost, boots crunching over fallen leaves. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said, voice low, as if the forest might overhear.
“And you should be?” she shot back, but her grip on the dagger faltered. Kael’s presence was a blade in itself, sharp and unyielding. He’d been the one to find the first dead deer, the one who’d insisted it was nothing more than a sickness spreading through the herd. Now his face was gaunt, shadowed by sleepless nights, and his hands—always his hands—were stained with something darker than soot.
He stepped closer, the moonlight catching the edge of his jaw. “The elders are gathering at the hollow. They think it’s a curse.” His voice wavered, just once, and Lira saw it then—the flicker of fear beneath his usual defiance. “They want you to heal it.”
“Heal what?” The words came out sharper than she intended, but Kael didn’t flinch. He only tilted his head, studying her as if she were a riddle he’d long since given up solving.
“The Veil,” he said. “Whatever’s tearing it apart.”
The word hung between them, heavy as a tombstone. Lira had heard the stories—how the Veil was the thin line between their world and the one beyond, a barrier woven from dreams and dust. It kept the things that lurked in the dark at bay. But if it was fraying…
“You don’t believe me,” Kael said, and there was a bitter edge to his voice now, like iron rusting in the sun.
“I believe you,” Lira said, but the lie tasted sour on her tongue. She had seen the way the shadows pooled too thick in the corners of the village, how the wind carried whispers that didn’t belong to any living thing. She had felt the pull of something vast and hungry in her bones. But to say it aloud was to invite it closer.
Kael exhaled, a sound like a door creaking open. “Then come with me. Before it’s too late.”
The forest seemed to hold its breath as they moved through the trees, their footsteps muffled by the thick carpet of leaves. Lira’s fingers itched with the need to touch something, anything, to ground herself in the tangible world. But the air was wrong here—thick and cloying, like the silence before a storm.
They reached the hollow just as the moon slipped behind a cloud. The clearing was empty except for the stone circle at its center, its surface etched with symbols that pulsed faintly, like dying embers. Lira’s breath caught. She recognized the markings—ancient, older than the village, older than the stories her grandmother had told her as a child. They were meant to hold something back.
“What is this place?” she asked, but Kael was already moving, his steps sure despite the darkness. He knelt at the circle’s edge, fingers tracing the carvings.
“A prison,” he said. “Or a seal. I don’t know which anymore.”
Lira crouched beside him, her hand hovering over the symbols. The magic here was raw, untempered, and it hummed against her skin like a live wire. She could feel it—the weight of something vast and unseen, pressing against the edges of the world. A presence. Watching.
“We need to close it,” Kael said, but his voice was distant, as if he were speaking to himself. “Before it breaks free.”
“And how do we do that?” Lira’s voice was steady, but her heart was hammering. She had spent her life healing wounds, mending what was broken. But this—this was different. This was a fracture in the very fabric of reality.
Kael didn’t answer. Instead, he reached into his coat and pulled out a small vial, its contents swirling with a faint, golden light. “This is what’s left of the Veil,” he said. “The last fragment. If we can reforge it…”
“You’re lying,” Lira interrupted, her voice sharp. “You don’t know what this is. You don’t know what you’re doing.”
Kael met her gaze, and for the first time, she saw the fear in his eyes—real, unfiltered. “I don’t,” he admitted. “But if we don’t try, there won’t be a world left to save.”
The wind howled through the trees, carrying with it a sound that wasn’t quite a voice. Lira felt it then—the pull, the tug of something vast and hungry, reaching for her. The Veil was fraying, and the thing on the other side was waiting.
She had a choice. To step back, to let the elders handle it, to pretend this wasn’t happening. Or to step forward, into the dark, and face whatever waited beyond the veil of reality.
Lira reached for the vial.
