The Shadow That Watches
The night had a weight. It pressed down on the rooftops of Eldrin City like an unspoken threat. Elira Dane crouched on the narrow ledge outside her window, her breath fogging the glass, watching. Something moved below—something not quite human.
It had no face. Not really. Just a darkness that shimmered, like oil on water, and a whisper that clawed at the edges of her mind: Elira…
She froze. The voice wasn't in the air—it was inside her. Inside her very blood. She tried to shake it off, telling herself it was exhaustion, imagination, maybe the lingering fear from last night's storm. But deep down, she knew the truth: the Veil had stirred.
The Veil wasn't meant to be seen. Not by humans. It was a layer between worlds, an ash-colored mist that separated light from shadow, life from corruption. And tonight, for reasons she did not understand, it had chosen her.
A flash of memory hit her—a place she had never been, yet knew. She was younger, running through a forest drenched in moonlight. Her mother's voice echoed: "You are marked, Elira. The shadows will find you before you are ready."
She shivered. Memories that weren't hers, or perhaps were hers from a time before, surged like a tide, and the shadow at the street's corner flickered as if it were alive.
Elira's heart hammered. She didn't know why, but she felt a pull—a calling. Something inside her, a thread woven into the very fabric of creation, tugged toward the darkness.
Then, as if sensing her fear, the shadow stretched upward, thinning, almost human-shaped. Its mouth opened in a silent scream, and she heard it again, clearer this time: "Elira… rise…"
She stumbled back into her room, slamming the window shut. Her hands shook. Her knees gave way. And somewhere in the city, unseen by mortal eyes, the battle between light and shadow had begun.
The next morning smelled of ash and rain. Eldrin City seemed normal, bustling with the early stirrings of life—bakers shouting, children laughing, merchants arguing over prices—but Elira saw the cracks. She could see them now, the faint gray haze that shimmered around people, the faint marks of the Veil touching their souls.
Her grandmother, Mariel Dane, had always warned her of the Veil. But she had spoken in riddles, in old words that had seemed like fairy tales: "The Ashen Light is a shield… but it can burn."
Elira's fingers brushed against the small, worn pendant around her neck. It was nothing more than a silver circle, dull and scratched, yet it pulsed faintly, as if alive. She had never understood why her grandmother gave it to her. Now, she understood—it was a key.
The day twisted strangely. Shadows moved oddly in the corners of her vision. Whispers brushed her ears, though the streets were full of people. And then came the first attack.
A man, or what looked like a man, staggered out of an alleyway. His eyes glowed a dark red, veins blackened with shadow. As he reached for a passerby, a streak of silver light shot from Elira's pendant, hitting him square in the chest. The figure shrieked, evaporating into a swirl of smoke and ash.
Breathless, Elira staggered back. Around her, the world continued, oblivious. Yet she knew the truth: she had been chosen.
And as she looked at the pendant, it whispered once more: "Prepare… the battle is near"
Memories of the past—her mother's warnings, the strange dreams, the night's shadow—all bled together. She was not just a girl in Eldrin City. She was a Watcher, a warrior caught between realms, and the Veil had begun to awaken.