WHAT LIVES BENEATH THE VEIL
Book Thirteen: The Endless Void
---
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.
---
Chapter Two Hundred Ninety-Four: The Dream Weaver's Nightmare
Year 303 – Two Hundred Ninety-Two Years After the Curse
The dream weaver in the south had woven dreams for two hundred ninety-two years.
Not literally—he was only seventy-nine. But he had woven as if he had been trapping his enemies for centuries. Every day. Every night. Every nightmare of every kind.
He believed he could challenge the queen.
He believed he could win.
He believed he could kill her.
His name was Morpheus—another echo, another coincidence. He was old now, his form shifting, his power growing, his hunger endless.
He had seen many things in his long existence.
He had woven many nightmares.
He had failed many times.
But he had never faced anything like the queen.
The queen was different.
The queen was darkness.
The queen was eternity.
But Morpheus had found something.
A dream seed.
An ancient dream seed, planted by the first dreamer, imbued with the power to trap anyone in an endless nightmare, to feed on their fear, to destroy their mind.
He had hidden it for eons.
He had protected it for eons.
He was ready.
This is it, he thought.
This is the answer.
This is how I trap her.
He did not see the shadows gathering.
He did not hear the whispers growing louder.
He did not feel the darkness closing in.
---
The Southern Dreamscape – Morning
Morpheus drifted through the dreamscape, as he always did.
The dreams shifted. The nightmares twisted. The fear was delicious.
Life is hard, he thought.
Life is cruel.
Life is short.
But I am not short.
I am elusive.
I am eternal.
Or I was.
Until I wove.
Until I failed.
He did not see the shadows.
He did not hear the whispers.
He did not feel the darkness watching.
---
The Ruins – Morning
Liora sat on the throne, listening to the whispers.
Three million and fifty-eight 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 dream weaver.
He is elusive, they said. He is hungry. He is dangerous.
He has a dream seed. An ancient dream seed. Planted by the first dreamer.
It can trap anyone in an endless nightmare.
Feed on their fear.
Destroy their mind.
He believes he can trap you.
He believes he can win.
He believes he can kill you.
Liora's smile widened.
A dream weaver, she thought.
Elusive. Hungry. Dangerous.
A dream seed that can trap anyone in an endless nightmare.
Feed on their fear.
Destroy their mind.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
But I am not a dreamer.
I am not afraid.
I am eternal.
And no dream seed—
No weaver—
No nightmare—
Can trap eternity.
She stood up.
She walked down the steps.
The shadows followed.
---
The Southern Dreamscape – Night
Morpheus prepared for his journey.
He held the dream seed.
It glowed in his hand.
It was warm.
It was alive.
It was dreaming.
Tomorrow, he thought.
Tomorrow I go to the ruins.
Tomorrow I face the queen.
Tomorrow I trap her.
He did not see the shadows gathering.
He did not hear the whispers growing louder.
He did not feel the darkness closing in.
---
The Dreamscape
Liora appeared in the dreamscape.
White dress. Black eyes. Pale skin.
"You're here," she said.
Morpheus looked up.
"Who—"
"I am the queen."
"The queen?"
"Yes."
"Please—"
"Shh."
Morpheus raised the dream seed.
Liora moved.
Faster than he could follow. Faster than he could react.
Her hand closed around his wrist.
"You won't need that."
"Let go of me."
"No."
Morpheus tried to pull away.
He could not.
Liora's grip was like iron.
"What are you?"
"I am what comes next."
---
The Feeding – Morpheus
Liora reached into the dream weaver's mind.
He tried to resist.
He was elusive. Hungry. Dangerous.
But she was stronger.
She pushed past his defenses.
She found his memories.
...the dreams...
...the nightmares...
...the hope ...
...that he could be the one...
...that he could stop her...
...that he could trap her...
She pulled.
The memories flowed into her.
The dreams.
The nightmares.
The soul.
Delicious, she thought.
More.
She pulled again.
He gasped.
His body convulsed.
His eyes rolled back.
She pulled again.
He went limp.
She withdrew from his mind.
She looked down at him.
Still breathing. Still alive. But empty.
The dream weaver was no more.
Just a shell.
Another victim.
Another name for the list.
---
The Dream Seed
Liora picked up the dream seed.
It glowed in her hand.
It was warm.
It was alive.
It was dreaming.
Interesting, she thought.
Very interesting.
She raised the dream seed.
She looked at its reflection in her eyes.
Her eyes were black.
Her skin was pale.
Her smile was wide.
This dream seed could trap anyone, she thought.
It could feed on their fear.
It could destroy their mind.
But I have no need for trapping.
I have no need for fear.
I have no need for minds.
I am the trap.
I am the fear.
I am the mind.
She crushed the dream seed in her hand.
The glow faded.
The warmth died.
The dreaming ended.
No one will ever use it now, she thought.
No one will ever try again.
I am safe.
I am eternal.
---
The Three Million Fifty-Ninth Sacrifice
She performed the ritual in the dreamscape, surrounded by dreams and nightmares.
The whispers watched.
She spoke the words.
She made the cuts.
She collected the blood.
And when it was over—
The darkness roared.
---
The Power – Three Million Fifty-Nine
The fire in her veins burned brighter.
Three million and fifty-nine sacrifices. Three million and fifty-nine souls. Three million and fifty-nine streams of darkness flowing into her, merging with her blood, becoming her.
Three million fifty-nine, 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 dream weaver. Elusive. Dead.
No one is safe from me, she thought.
No one.
Not even the elusive.
She smiled in the darkness.
---
The Disposal
She burned Morpheus's body in a pyre of dreams.
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.
---
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 woman in the west. A fate spinner. Inevitable. She had been spinning fates for centuries, weaving the destinies of mortals and gods alike, ensuring that everything happened as it should.
She believed she could challenge the queen.
She believed she could win.
She believed she could kill her.
Liora smiled.
Let her spin, she thought.
Let her weave.
Let her believe.
I have time.
I have forever.
And when she comes—
I will feed.
---
End of Chapter Two Hundred Ninety-Four