WHAT LIVES BENEATH THE VEIL
Book Zero: The First Darkness
Interlude: The First War
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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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Interlude Chapter Fifty-Seven: The Birth of the First War
The Age of Gods – The First Conflict
The first war was not fought between mortals.
It was fought between gods.
Two brothers, born from the first god's essence, created to rule over light and shadow.
Their names were Solarius and Noctis.
Solarius was the god of light, of hope, of creation.
Noctis was the god of shadow, of hunger, of destruction.
They were opposites.
They were brothers.
They were enemies.
Solarius loved the mortals.
He protected them.
He guided them.
He sacrificed for them.
Noctis envied the mortals.
He wanted their fear.
Their despair.
Their pain.
He fed on them.
He consumed them.
He corrupted them.
Solarius tried to stop him.
He begged him.
He pleaded with him.
He fought him.
But Noctis would not listen.
He was too hungry.
Too empty.
Too dark.
The war began.
Light against shadow.
Hope against hunger.
Creation against destruction.
It lasted for eons.
Stars died.
Worlds crumbled.
Gods fell.
And when it was over—
Noctis was defeated.
Not destroyed.
Defeated.
His essence scattered across the universe.
His hunger remained.
His emptiness remained.
His darkness remained.
The watcher watched.
It saw the war begin.
It saw it rage.
It saw it end.
"The first war is over," the watcher said.
"But the darkness remains."
"The hunger remains."
"The emptiness remains."
"They will never fade."
"They will never die."
"They will never be forgotten."
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Interlude Chapter Fifty-Eight: The First War's Legacy
The Ages – The Scars
The first war left scars.
On the universe.
On the gods.
On the mortals.
They remembered the light.
The shadow.
The pain.
They taught their children.
Their grandchildren.
Their descendants.
They built monuments.
They told stories.
They sang songs.
But they did not learn.
The hunger remained.
The emptiness remained.
The darkness remained.
New wars began.
Between gods.
Between mortals.
Between light and shadow.
The cycle continued.
Always.
Forever.
The watcher watched.
It saw the wars begin.
It saw them rage.
It saw them end.
And it hoped.
That one day, the wars would stop.
That one day, the hunger would fade.
That one day, the emptiness would be filled.
But it knew.
It would never happen.
Not today.
Not tomorrow.
Not ever.
The cycle was eternal.
And the watcher would watch.
Always watching.
Always waiting.
Always hoping.
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End of First War Interlude
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Interlude: The First Peace
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Interlude Chapter Fifty-Nine: The Birth of the First Peace
The Age of Gods – The First Truce
The first peace was not born from love.
It was born from exhaustion.
The gods were tired.
Tired of fighting.
Tired of dying.
Tired of losing.
They called a truce.
A meeting.
A council.
They gathered in a neutral world, a world of ice and snow, far from the battlefields.
They sat in a circle.
They did not speak.
They did not fight.
They simply were.
For the first time in eons, there was silence.
No screams.
No explosions.
No pain.
Just silence.
Peace.
The watcher watched.
It saw the gods sit in silence.
It saw them breathe.
It saw them rest.
"The first peace has begun," the watcher whispered.
"It will not last.
It cannot last.
But for now...
There is peace."
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Interlude Chapter Sixty: The First Peace's End
The Age of Darkness – The Betrayal
The peace lasted for a thousand years.
A thousand years of silence.
A thousand years of rest.
A thousand years of hope.
But Noctis could not rest.
His hunger was too strong.
His emptiness too deep.
His darkness too vast.
He broke the truce.
He attacked Solarius.
Not in battle—he was too weak.
In secret.
He poisoned the god of light.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Quietly.
Solarius faded.
His light dimmed.
His hope died.
His creation ended.
The war began again.
Fiercer than before.
Darker than before.
Emptyer than before.
The watcher watched.
It saw the peace end.
It saw the betrayal.
It saw the darkness spread.
"The first peace is over," it said.
"It will not return.
Not for a long time.
Not until the hunger fades.
Not until the emptiness is filled.
Not until the darkness dies."
But it knew.
The hunger would never fade.
The emptiness would never be filled.
The darkness would never die.
The cycle was eternal.
And the watcher would watch.
Always watching.
Always waiting.
Always hoping.
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End of First Peace Interlude
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Interlude: The First Death
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Interlude Chapter Sixty-One: The Birth of the First Death
The Age of Creation – The First End
The first death was not a murder.
It was not a sacrifice.
It was not a war.
It was an accident.
A mortal, young and careless, fell from a cliff.
His name was forgotten.
His face was forgotten.
His life was forgotten.
But his death was remembered.
The gods felt it.
A ripple in the fabric of existence.
A hole in the world.
A silence where there had been sound.
They were afraid.
They had never been afraid before.
They had never felt anything before.
But this... this was terrifying.
They tried to bring the mortal back.
To reverse the death.
To fill the hole.
They failed.
Death was permanent.
It was eternal.
It was dark.
The watcher watched.
It saw the first death.
It saw the ripple.
It saw the hole.
"The first death has occurred," it whispered.
"It will not be the last.
It cannot be the last.
Death is part of life.
Part of existence.
Part of everything.
I will watch.
I will wait.
I will hope.
That one day, death will not be feared.
That one day, death will be understood.
That one day, death will be accepted."
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Interlude Chapter Sixty-Two: The First Death's Legacy
The Ages – The Fear
The mortals learned to fear death.
They built tombs.
They performed rituals.
They worshipped the dead.
They tried to cheat death.
To avoid it.
To defeat it.
They failed.
Death was inevitable.
It was eternal.
It was dark.
The gods learned to fear death too.
Not their own—they were immortal.
The death of others.
The death of mortals.
The death of hope.
They tried to prevent it.
To stop it.
To reverse it.
They failed.
Death was permanent.
It was eternal.
It was dark.
The watcher watched.
It saw the fear grow.
It saw the rituals multiply.
It saw the worship spread.
"Death is not the end," it whispered.
"It is a beginning.
A beginning of memory.
A beginning of legacy.
A beginning of hope.
Those who die are not forgotten.
They live on.
In the hearts of those who loved them.
In the stories of those who remember.
In the hope of those who believe."
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Interlude Chapter Sixty-Three: The First Death's Peace
The Age of Darkness – The Acceptance
The first mortal to accept death was not a hero.
Not a sage.
Not a saint.
A mother.
Her name was Mara.
She was old, her hair white, her face wrinkled, her eyes still bright.
She had lived a good life.
A long life.
A peaceful life.
She had loved many.
Lost many.
Helped many.
She was not afraid.
She was ready.
She gathered her children.
Her grandchildren.
Her great-grandchildren.
"I am dying," she said.
"We know."
"I have lived a good life."
"Yes."
"I have no regrets."
"Good."
"I have one request."
"Anything."
"Remember me."
"Not with sadness."
"With joy."
"Celebrate my life."
"Do not mourn my death."
Her children wept.
But they nodded.
"We will."
"Thank you."
She closed her eyes.
The darkness greeted her.
Hello, Mara, it said.
Hello, she thought.
We have missed you.
I have missed you too.
Are you ready?
Yes.
Are you afraid?
No.
Then come.
Come home.
Come to peace.
She smiled.
The darkness embraced her.
She faded.
The watcher watched.
It saw her go.
It saw her end.
It saw her peace.
"Goodbye, Mara," it whispered.
"Thank you for accepting.
Thank you for loving.
Thank you for hoping.
You were worth it.
You were worth everything."
The fear of death did not fade.
But it lessened.
Because of Mara.
Because of her acceptance.
Because of her peace.
And the watcher watched.
Always watching.
Always waiting.
Always hoping.
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End of First Death Interlude