WHAT LIVES BENEATH THE VEIL
Book Zero: The First Darkness
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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: The Empty Years
Year 490 Before the Curse – Five Years After the Failed Ritual
Mordred had changed.
Not physically—he still looked the same. Tall. Thin. Pale. His black eyes still burned with hunger, his long fingers still twitched with power.
But something inside him was missing.
More than before.
The failed ritual had not killed him.
It had hollowed him.
Liora had taken something from him.
Not just his power—though that was gone.
His purpose.
His drive.
His reason for being.
He had spent decades searching for immortality.
Decades planning, sacrificing, killing.
And now, it was gone.
Taken by a child.
A girl.
He should have been angry.
He should have been furious.
But he was not.
He was empty.
Emptier than he had ever been.
And for the first time in his long life, he was afraid.
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The Tower – The Aftermath
Mordred sat in his tower, staring at the wall.
The books were untouched.
The spells were uncast.
The hunger was silent.
He had not fed since the ritual.
He had not wanted to.
The thought of consuming another soul made him sick.
Not because he felt guilty.
He had never felt guilty.
Because he knew it would not help.
The emptiness would not be filled.
The hunger would not be satisfied.
He would consume and consume and consume.
And still, he would be empty.
What is the point? he thought.
Why do I keep going?
Why do I keep existing?
He did not know.
He had never known.
He had simply done.
Because doing was easier than thinking.
Because acting was easier than feeling.
Because killing was easier than living.
But now, even killing felt pointless.
He was trapped.
In his tower.
In his mind.
In his emptiness.
And he could not escape.
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The Whisper – The Visitor
A whisper came to him.
Not from the shadows—they were silent.
From within.
Mordred, it said.
Mordred, hear me.
I have been watching you.
Waiting for you.
Hoping for you.
"Who are you?" he asked.
I am the watcher.
I have always been.
I will always be.
I have seen your rise.
I have seen your fall.
I have seen your emptiness.
"What do you want?"
I want to help you.
"Help me how?"
I want to fill your emptiness.
"You cannot."
I can try.
"Many have tried."
Many have failed.
But I am not many.
I am one.
I am patient.
I am eternal.
Let me help you, Mordred.
Let me save you.
Mordred laughed.
"Save me?"
"I cannot be saved."
"I do not want to be saved."
"I want to be left alone."
Then you will die alone.
In this tower.
In this emptiness.
In this pain.
"Perhaps."
Is that what you want?
"I do not know."
Then let me help you find out.
Mordred was silent for a long moment.
Then he said, "Try."
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The Watcher – The Light
The watcher appeared before him.
Its form was bright, its light steady, its presence warm.
It was beautiful.
It was terrifying.
It was hopeful.
"Hello, Mordred," it said.
"Watcher."
"I have come to help you."
"How?"
"By showing you what you have lost."
"By helping you remember."
"I have not lost anything."
"I have given up everything."
"On purpose."
"Because I did not need it."
"Because I did not want it."
"Because it was weakness."
The watcher shook its head.
"No," it said.
"Love is not weakness."
"Compassion is not weakness."
"Connection is not weakness."
"They are strength."
"They are purpose."
"They are life."
"You have denied them for so long."
"You have forgotten what they feel like."
"But I can help you remember."
"If you let me."
Mordred stared at the watcher.
Then he nodded.
"Try."
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The Memory – The Child
The watcher reached out.
Its light touched his darkness.
Suddenly, Mordred was somewhere else.
A village. A farm. A child.
He was young.
Five years old.
His mother was holding him.
She was smiling.
She was warm.
She was loving.
"I love you, Mordred," she said.
"I will always love you.
No matter what.
You are my son.
You are my heart."
He felt something he had not felt in centuries.
Love.
Warmth.
Connection.
He wept.
The memory faded.
He was back in the tower.
The watcher was watching.
"How do you feel?" it asked.
"Different."
"Good different or bad different?"
"I don't know yet."
"That's okay."
"It takes time."
"It takes effort."
"It takes pain."
"But you will figure it out."
"I will help you."
"Thank you," Mordred whispered.
"You are welcome."
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The Journey – The Beginning
Mordred left his tower.
He had not left in decades.
The sun was bright. The air was fresh. The world was alive.
He walked to the village at the base of the mountain.
The same village where he had taken his first victim.
The same village where he had begun his descent into darkness.
It had changed.
New houses. New people. New life.
He walked through the streets.
The villagers stared at him.
They did not know him.
They did not know what he had done.
They saw a tall, thin man with pale skin and black eyes.
They saw a stranger.
They were afraid.
He did not care.
He kept walking.
He stopped at a small cottage.
An old woman was sitting on the porch.
She was knitting.
She looked up.
"Hello, stranger," she said.
"Hello."
"What is your name?"
"Mordred."
"Beautiful name."
"Thank you."
"What brings you to our village?"
"I am looking for something."
"What?"
"Myself."
The old woman nodded.
"Then you have come to the right place."
"This village has a way of helping people find themselves."
"Would you like to stay?"
"Yes."
"Then stay."
"Welcome home, Mordred."
He stayed.
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The Years – The Healing
Mordred lived in the village for five years.
He helped the farmers with their crops.
He helped the healers with their patients.
He helped the children with their dreams.
He was good.
He was kind.
He was human.
But the darkness was still there.
Always there.
Watching.
Waiting.
Hoping.
He had learned to live with it.
To balance it.
To love it.
He was the First.
He was the darkness.
He was the hunger.
But he was also human.
He was also kind.
He was also good.
And he would never be empty again.
Not as long as he had love.
Not as long as he had hope.
Not as long as he had himself.
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The End – The Beginning
Mordred died in the village.
He was old.
His hair was white. His face was wrinkled. His hands were gnarled with age.
But his eyes were still sharp.
His voice was still strong.
His heart was still good.
He had lived a good life.
A long life.
A peaceful life.
He had found love.
He had found purpose.
He had found peace.
He died in his sleep.
The villagers buried him in the garden.
The watcher watched.
It saw him go.
It saw his end.
It saw his peace.
"Goodbye, Mordred," it whispered.
"Thank you for letting me help you.
Thank you for letting me save you.
You were worth it.
You were worth everything."
The shadows were quiet.
The whispers were calm.
The darkness was at peace.
And Mordred was free.
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To Be Continued in What Lives Beneath the Veil: Book One – The Unblooded Lamb
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END OF BOOK ZERO: THE FIRST DARKNESS