WHAT LIVES BENEATH THE VEIL
Book Seven: The Age of Shadows
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CONTENT WARNING: This series contains explicit sexual violence, human sacrifice, psychological torture, murder of innocent characters (including children and family members), ritualistic killing, and extreme horror. No character is safe. Read at your own risk.
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Chapter Two Hundred Seventeen: The Warrior's Stand
Year 216 – Two Hundred Five Years After the Curse
The warrior in the north had trained for two hundred five years.
Not literally—she was only forty. But she had trained as if she had been preparing for two centuries. Every day. Every night. Every swing of every sword.
She believed she was ready.
She believed she could win.
She believed she could kill the queen.
Her name was Kaelen—another echo, another coincidence. She was young, strong, and determined. She had a sword. A shield. A purpose.
She had heard the stories.
The legends.
The fear.
She believed them.
She knew the queen was powerful. Immortal. Invincible.
But she also knew that no one was truly invincible.
Everyone had a weakness.
Everyone could be stopped.
Everyone could be killed.
She just had to find it.
And she had found something.
A helm.
An ancient helm, forged from the skull of a dead giant, imbued with the power to see any truth, any secret, any weakness.
It had been hidden for centuries, guarded by a secret order of warriors who had dedicated their lives to protecting it.
She had found them.
She had convinced them.
She had taken it.
The helm hummed on her head.
It was cold.
It was alive.
It was seeing.
This is it, she thought.
This is the answer.
This is how I see her weakness.
She did not see the shadows gathering.
She did not hear the whispers growing louder.
She did not feel the darkness closing in.
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The Northern Mountains – Morning
Kaelen trained in the mountains, as she always did.
The snow was cold. The wind was sharp. The air was thin.
Life is hard, she thought.
Life is cruel.
Life is short.
She did not see the shadows.
She did not hear the whispers.
She did not feel the darkness watching.
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The Ruins – Morning
Liora sat on the throne, listening to the whispers.
Two hundred thousand and nineteen souls now served her. They flitted through the shadows, invisible to all but her, reporting on everything they saw and heard.
They told her about the warrior.
She is strong, they said. She is determined. She is dangerous.
She has found a helm. An ancient helm. Forged from the skull of a dead giant.
It can see any truth.
Any secret.
Any weakness.
She believes she can find your weakness.
She believes she can win.
She believes she can kill you.
Liora's smile faded.
A helm, she thought.
Forged from the skull of a dead giant.
It can see any truth.
Any secret.
Any weakness.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
She stood up.
She walked down the steps.
The shadows followed.
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The Northern Mountains – Night
Kaelen camped in the mountains, alone.
The helm was on her head.
It hummed.
It was cold.
It was alive.
It was seeing.
Tomorrow, she thought.
Tomorrow I go to the ruins.
Tomorrow I face the queen.
Tomorrow I see her weakness and kill her.
She did not see the shadows gathering.
She did not hear the whispers growing louder.
She did not feel the darkness closing in.
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The Camp
Liora appeared in the firelight.
White dress. Black eyes. Pale skin.
"You're here," she said.
Kaelen woke with a start.
"Who—"
"I am the queen."
"The queen?"
"Yes."
"Please—"
"Shh."
Kaelen raised her sword.
Liora moved.
Faster than Kaelen could follow. Faster than she could react.
Her hand closed around the warrior's wrist.
"You won't need that."
"Let go of me."
"No."
Kaelen tried to pull away.
She could not.
Liora's grip was like iron.
"What are you?"
"I am what comes next."
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The Feeding – Kaelen
Liora reached into the warrior's mind.
She tried to resist.
She was strong. Determined. Fearless.
But she was stronger.
She pushed past her defenses.
She found her memories.
...the training...
...the dreams...
...the hope ...
...that she could be the one...
...that she could stop her...
...that she could kill her...
She pulled.
The memories flowed into her.
The strength.
The determination.
The soul.
Delicious, she thought.
More.
She pulled again.
Kaelen gasped.
Her body convulsed.
Her eyes rolled back.
She pulled again.
Kaelen went limp.
She withdrew from her mind.
She looked down at her.
Still breathing. Still alive. But empty.
The warrior was no more.
Just a shell.
Another victim.
Another name for the list.
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The Helm
Liora picked up the helm.
It hummed in her hands.
It was cold.
It was alive.
It was seeing.
Interesting, she thought.
Very interesting.
She placed the helm on her head.
It hummed louder.
It grew colder.
It grew more alive.
This helm could see anything, she thought.
Any truth.
Any secret.
Any weakness.
But I have no need for seeing.
I have no need for truth.
I have no need for weakness.
I am the truth.
I am the secret.
I am the weakness.
She crushed the helm in her hands.
The metal bent.
The hum stopped.
The cold died.
The seeing ended.
No one will ever use it now, she thought.
No one will ever try again.
I am safe.
I am eternal.
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The Two Hundred Thousand Twentieth Sacrifice
She performed the ritual in the camp, surrounded by fire and darkness.
The whispers watched.
She spoke the words.
She made the cuts.
She collected the blood.
And when it was over—
The darkness roared.
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The Power – Two Hundred Thousand Twenty
The fire in her veins burned brighter.
Two hundred thousand and twenty sacrifices. Two hundred thousand and twenty souls. Two hundred thousand and twenty streams of darkness flowing into her, merging with her blood, becoming her.
Two hundred thousand twenty, she thought.
The hunger is quieter now.
But it will return.
It always returns.
She released the spell.
The shadows retreated.
She looked at the body.
A warrior. Strong. Dead.
No one is safe from me, she thought.
No one.
Not even the strong.
She smiled in the darkness.
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The Disposal
She burned Kaelen's body in her own fire.
The flames were hot. The smoke was thick. She worked quickly, efficiently, scattering the ashes before dawn.
No one saw her.
No one ever saw her.
She walked back to the ruins as the sun rose, smelling of smoke and blood and darkness.
She washed her face in a broken fountain.
She braided her hair with her fingers.
She wore a white dress she had found in a forgotten wardrobe.
She practiced her smile.
Eyes wide. Innocence.
Mouth soft. Gentleness.
Head tilted. Curiosity.
Perfect, she thought.
She sat on the throne.
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The Empty Throne
The throne room was open to the sky.
No walls. No roof. No protection.
Just Liora.
And the whispers.
You are alone, they said.
Yes, she thought.
But I am not lonely.
I have you.
I have all of you.
Forever.
She closed her eyes.
She listened to the whispers.
They told her about the world.
The new kings. The new heroes. The new legends.
They told her about a young man in the east. A rogue. Cunning. He had been stealing from the rich for years, hiding in the shadows, avoiding the queen's notice.
He believed he could sneak into the ruins.
He believed he could steal her secrets.
He believed he could survive.
Liora smiled.
Let him sneak, she thought.
Let him steal.
Let him believe.
I have time.
I have forever.
And when he comes—
I will feed.
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End of Chapter Two Hundred Seventeen