Veilthorn

The needle burned.

Elara's breath hitched as the silver tool seared into her palm, its heat fusing with her blood. The temple walls groaned, stone grinding against stone, as if the ancient structure were awakening. The spool of starlit thread unraveled before her, its glow painting Kael's face in fractured light. His hand hovered near her shoulder, close but not touching, as though he feared she might shatter.

"What do I do?" he asked, voice low.

"Stay alive," Elara whispered.

She pulled the needle free, and the world shifted.

---

The temple dissolved.

Elara stood in a vast, starless void, her body weightless. Below her feet stretched the Veil—not a wall, but a tapestry. A thousand threads of gold, silver, and deepest black wove together in a shimmering lattice, but great rents tore through it, oozing a viscous darkness that pulsed like a heartbeat. Through the gaps, she glimpsed shapes: twisted forests, cities of bone, and eyes—so many eyes—staring back.

"Begin, Weaver."

The voice was her mother's.

Elara turned and stifled a scream.

Lira Veyne stood before her, but she was not the woman from Elara's memories. Her mother's skin was translucent, veins blackened and swollen, her eyes hollow pits where shadows writhed. The Thorn Pendant around her neck glowed crimson, its chain embedded in her collarbone like a root.

"You're… dead," Elara choked.

"Death is a thread, child. Cut one, spin another." Lira's voice echoed as if from a great distance. "The Veil is not mended. It is fed. To weave, you must bleed."

A silver needle materialized in Elara's hand—larger, crueler than the one in the temple. The thread coiled around her wrist, cold and alive.

"Hurry" her mother urged. "The Unseen are coming."

---

Elara woke gasping, still kneeling in the temple, the spool of thread now floating midair. Kael gripped her shoulders, his nails digging into her skin.

"You stopped breathing," he said hoarsely.

She had no time to answer. The corruption in her arm flared, tendrils of black snaking up her neck. The thread trembled, its light dimming as shadows pooled at the edges of the chamber.

"It's starting," she said. "The Unseen—they know I'm here."

Kael unsheathed his dagger. "Then weave faster."

Elara plunged the needle into the spool.

---

The first stitch was agony.

As the thread pierced the Veil's tapestry in her mind, fire raced through Elara's veins. She screamed, her voice echoing in both worlds—the temple and the void. The rent in the Veil shuddered, edges knitting together in a jagged seam of light. But the darkness fought back. It pushed, a cold, sentient force that slithered up the thread and into her hand.

"Elara!" Kael's voice snapped her back.

A Shadowfang materialized in the temple, its maw dripping oily saliva. Kael lunged, dagger flashing, but the blade glanced off its smoky hide. The creature swiped, claws raking his chest. He stumbled, blood blooming across his tunic.

"Keep weaving!" he snarled, slamming his shoulder into the beast.

Elara's vision blurred. Another stitch. Another scream. The Veil's tapestry tightened, but the darkness oozed faster, thicker. Faces began to form in the voids—gaunt, grinning things with too many teeth.

"Little Weaver," they crooned. "We remember your mother. She tasted of fear and defiance. You... you smell sweeter."

Elara gritted her teeth. "Get out of my head."

She pulled the thread taut.

---

The second stitch tore a hole in the world.

A rift split the temple floor, and from it spilled the children.

Or what was left of them.

Seven boys and girls, their eyes glassy and limbs contorted, crawled from the crack. Their skin was gray, mouths stitched shut with black thread. The youngest, a girl no older than five, reached for Elara, a muffled wail escaping her sealed lips.

"Gods," Kael breathed, frozen mid-swing.

"They are ours now," the Unseen hissed.

"But you may trade. Give us the boy, and we will unmake them. A fair bargain."

Elara's hands shook. The children clawed at her boots, their tiny fingers leaving smears of ash. The Veil's thread slipped, the stitch unraveling.

Kael swore, kicking free of the Shadowfang. "Don't you dare listen to them!"

"They're alive," Elara whispered.

"So are we! Keep. Weaving."

She forced another stitch.

---

The third stitch broke her.

The needle slipped, piercing her fingertip. Blood—black and glistening—welled up, and the Veil shrieked. The temple walls cracked, murals bleeding rust-colored tears. The Thorn Pendant blazed, its heat scorching Elara's chest.

In the void, her mother's ghost writhed.

"You're killing us both! Stop!"

"I can't!" Elara cried.

"You can. Let the Veil take the boy. Let it have the children. Save yourself!"

"No!"

"You are my daughter. You are a Veyne. We take, we do not give!

The thread snapped.

---

Reality crashed back. Elara collapsed, vomiting black bile. Kael caught her, his arms trembling. The Shadowfang loomed over them, the corrupted children clinging to its legs like grotesque puppets.

"Get up," Kael begged. "Elara, please. "

She couldn't. The corruption had reached her jaw, her vision tunneling. The Veil's voice returned, softer now, almost gentle.

"There is another way," it murmured. "You need not choose. Take the boy's strength. Use his blood to fuel the thread. A small price... for a thousand lives."

Elara's gaze fell on Kael's wounded chest, his blood staining her sleeve.

"What is it?" he asked, wary.

The Veil's whisper coiled around her heart. "You know what you must do."

---

END OF CHAPTER 3

Next: Elara grapples with the Veil's horrifying proposition as Kael discovers the truth of her corruption. Meanwhile, the Unseen make their move—through the villagers.