Page 1 of Shattered Veil
Prologue
The cloaked figure moved toward the cluttered workbench with deliberate steps. Candlelight illuminated a precise array of arcane ingredients, each a vital piece of the task before them.
Gloved fingers extended, plucking a dried herb bundle from its resting place. The figure’s movements possessed the practiced ease of one intimately familiar with this art. With meticulous focus, they crumbled the fragrant leaves into a worn mortar, their mind consumed by the gravity of the work.
Next came a vial of shimmering silver liquid. The figure paused, cradling the bottle with respectful caution, as if a mere breath could unloose the contained power. They knew too well the price of even the slightest misstep.
With steady hands, the figure uncorked the vial and tipped the metallic liquid into the waiting crucible. The concoction roiled and hissed, then turned. An acrid scent, ancient and faintly sour, stung their nostrils.
As the potion simmered, a heavy sigh escaped the figure’s lips. Brow furrowed, they closed their eyes. The burden of their choices settled like a lead shroud over their shoulders.
The figure shook off the momentary falter and reached for the next component. The path was set. For better or worse, they would see this through to whatever end fate delivered.
Chapter One
Rory
I blink, groggy, against the stark silence enveloping me. Where in the name of all that’s holy am I? My mind is struggling to place myself within familiar landscapes, but time and space have twisted into something unrecognizable.
I push up from the cold, unyielding ground, shivering. Every instinct screams at me to run, to fight, to do something other than stand here, bewildered.
As I force my arms and legs to fucking obey, my boots crunch against the parched earth beneath me. With each step, my senses go haywire, alert to everything. A weight presses down upon me, and the atmosphere here is thicker, like dense fog.
I stop, straining to hear anything over the ragged intake of my breath. But there’s nothing, just my heart hammering in the desolation around me.
There’s a prickling sensation at the nape of my neck, an itch that tells me I’m being watched. I spin around, expecting to see a monster, a predator, lurking. Instead, there’s nothing but the relentless emptiness stretching out before me.
The hair on my arms stands on end. This place... it isn’t natural. Every nerve ending tingles knowing that I’m standing on the edge of something dark, something powerful, something alien.
A faint rustling sound draws my attention towards a cluster of gnarled trees, their branches like skeletal limbs reaching up, like they’re trying to find a way out of here, too. I walk slowly towards them, each step heavy and slow, as if wading through water. But there’s nothing there.
It’s as if I’ve stumbled into a dream—or a nightmare—where reality is warped and distorted. I think about Brigid, the memory of her face the only thing keeping the encroaching panic at bay.
With a jolt, I realize the landscape seems to shift, erasing any evidence of my footsteps in the dusty red dirt.
The void swallows my trail, leaving no trace. Panic claws at my throat. I’m trapped in this hellscape with no way back.
Another flicker of movement catches my eye. I whirl, muscles tensed.
Nothing. Just more endless wasteland.
My wolf paces restlessly beneath my skin, desperate to break free. But something tells me shifting would be a fatal mistake here.
I keep moving, fighting the urge to run. Hours pass. Or days. Time has no meaning in this place.
An inhuman shriek shatters the silence. I freeze, blood turning to ice.
Glowing eyes pierce the gloom. Dozens of them, surrounding me.
Fuck.
Grotesque creatures emerge from the dark. Twisted amalgamations of beast and shadow.
I bare my teeth, hands curling into fists, and growl. This place can go fuck itself.
Movement again.
There. A figure materializes from the mist. Female. Dark hair. Familiar curves.
