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 Twenty-Nine: The Warrior's Stand
Year 228 – Two Hundred Seventeen Years After the Curse
The warrior in the north had trained for two hundred seventeen years.
Not literally—she was only fifty-two. 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 belt.
An ancient belt, forged from the scales of a dead serpent, imbued with the power to grant the wearer inhuman strength, speed, and endurance.
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 belt hummed around her waist.
It was warm.
It was alive.
It was empowering.
This is it, she thought.
This is the answer.
This is how I match her power.
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 thirty-four 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 belt. An ancient belt. Forged from the scales of a dead serpent.
It can grant inhuman strength.
Speed.
Endurance.
She believes she can match your power.
She believes she can win.
She believes she can kill you.
Liora's smile widened.
A belt, she thought.
Forged from the scales of a dead serpent.
It can grant inhuman strength.
Speed.
Endurance.
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 belt was around her waist.
It hummed.
It was warm.
It was alive.
It was empowering.
Tomorrow, she thought.
Tomorrow I go to the ruins.
Tomorrow I face the queen.
Tomorrow I match her power 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 Belt
Liora pulled the belt from Kaelen's waist.
It hummed in her hands.
It was warm.
It was alive.
It was empowering.
Interesting, she thought.
Very interesting.
She wrapped the belt around her own waist.
It hummed louder.
It grew warmer.
It grew more alive.
This belt could grant anything, she thought.
Inhuman strength.
Speed.
Endurance.
But I have no need for strength.
I have no need for speed.
I have no need for endurance.
I am the strength.
I am the speed.
I am the endurance.
She tore the belt in half.
The scales scattered.
The hum stopped.
The warmth died.
The empowering 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 Thirty-Fifth 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 Thirty-Five
The fire in her veins burned brighter.
Two hundred thousand and thirty-five sacrifices. Two hundred thousand and thirty-five souls. Two hundred thousand and thirty-five streams of darkness flowing into her, merging with her blood, becoming her.
Two hundred thousand thirty-five, 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 Twenty-Nine