WHAT LIVES BENEATH THE VEIL
Book Twelve: The Eternal Cycle
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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 Eighty-One: The Shaman's Spirits
Year 290 – Two Hundred Seventy-Nine Years After the Curse
The shaman in the north had communed with the spirits for two hundred seventy-nine years.
Not literally—she was only sixty-six. But she had communed as if she had been seeking wisdom for centuries. Every day. Every night. Every trance of every season.
She believed she had found a way to break the curse.
She believed she could free the souls.
She believed she could end the queen.
Her name was Anya—another echo, another coincidence. She was old now, her hair white, her face wrinkled, her eyes still sharp.
She had seen many things in her long life.
She had spoken to many spirits.
She had learned many secrets.
But the queen's secret had eluded her.
Until now.
The spirits had shown her something.
A hidden truth.
A forgotten weakness.
The queen was not invincible.
Not truly.
She had a heart.
Not a physical heart—that had long since turned to shadow. A spiritual heart. A core of darkness that could be pierced, shattered, destroyed.
If the heart was destroyed, the queen would not die.
She would simply... dissipate.
Her souls would scatter.
Her power would fade.
Her eternity would end.
This is it, she thought.
This is the answer.
This is how I end 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 Northern Tundra – Morning
Anya walked through the tundra, 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.
Three million and forty-five 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 shaman.
She is old, they said. She is wise. She is dangerous.
She has communed with the spirits.
They have shown her a hidden truth.
A forgotten weakness.
Your heart.
Your spiritual heart.
If it is destroyed, you will not die.
You will dissipate.
Your souls will scatter.
Your power will fade.
Your eternity will end.
Liora's smile faded.
My heart, she thought.
My spiritual heart.
They have found it.
They know it can be destroyed.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
But my heart is not easy to find.
It is hidden in the deepest shadows.
Protected by the souls I have consumed.
It would take a powerful spirit to find it.
A powerful spirit to pierce it.
And no shaman—
No spirit—
No hidden truth—
Can pierce eternity.
She stood up.
She walked down the steps.
The shadows followed.
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The Northern Tundra – Night
Anya prepared for the ritual.
She drew a circle in the snow.
She lit candles.
She burned incense.
She called upon the spirits.
Come to me, she thought.
Lend me your power.
Help me find the queen's heart.
Help me destroy it.
The spirits answered.
The tundra came alive.
The snow glowed.
The wind whispered.
The earth trembled.
Tonight, she thought.
Tonight I find the queen's heart.
Tonight I destroy it.
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 Circle
Liora appeared in the center of the circle.
White dress. Black eyes. Pale skin.
"You're here," she said.
Anya looked up.
"Who—"
"I am the queen."
"The queen?"
"Yes."
"Please—"
"Shh."
Anya raised her staff.
Liora moved.
Faster than Anya could follow. Faster than she could react.
Her hand closed around the shaman's wrist.
"You won't need that."
"Let go of me."
"No."
Anya 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 – Anya
Liora reached into the shaman's mind.
She tried to resist.
She was old. Wise. Dangerous.
But she was stronger.
She pushed past her defenses.
She found her memories.
...the spirits...
...the heart...
...the hope ...
...that she could be the one...
...that she could stop her...
...that she could destroy her heart...
She pulled.
The memories flowed into her.
The wisdom.
The age.
The soul.
Delicious, she thought.
More.
She pulled again.
Anya gasped.
Her body convulsed.
Her eyes rolled back.
She pulled again.
Anya went limp.
She withdrew from her mind.
She looked down at her.
Still breathing. Still alive. But empty.
The shaman was no more.
Just a shell.
Another victim.
Another name for the list.
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The Spirits
The spirits watched.
They had seen everything.
They knew the queen's secret.
They knew her heart.
They knew how to destroy it.
But they were afraid.
They had seen what she did to those who challenged her.
They had seen what she did to those who threatened her.
They would not speak.
They would not act.
They would hide.
No one is safe from me, the queen thought.
No one.
Not even the spirits.
She smiled in the darkness.
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The Three Million Forty-Sixth Sacrifice
She performed the ritual in the circle, surrounded by snow and shadows.
The whispers watched.
She spoke the words.
She made the cuts.
She collected the blood.
And when it was over—
The darkness purred.
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The Power – Three Million Forty-Six
The fire in her veins burned brighter.
Three million and forty-six sacrifices. Three million and forty-six souls. Three million and forty-six streams of darkness flowing into her, merging with her blood, becoming her.
Three million forty-six, 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 shaman. Old. Dead.
No one is safe from me, she thought.
No one.
Not even the old.
She smiled in the darkness.
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The Disposal
She burned Anya's body in the circle.
The fire was 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 south. A vampire. Ancient. He had been feeding on the blood of the living for centuries, building his power, his army, his empire.
He believed he could challenge the queen.
He believed he could win.
He believed he could kill her.
Liora smiled.
Let him feed, she thought.
Let him build.
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 Eighty-One