Page 1 of The Fractured Veil

Prologue

The world remembers in hushed whispers, tales passed down through generations, of a time when darkness threatened to consume all.

The Great Cataclysm, they called it—a chasm torn between realms, an unraveling of existence that poured forth despair. It began as a subtle tremor, a quiet disturbance in the heart of the universe, but soon escalated into an all-consuming void. Shadows surged, coiling around the strong, shattering the gentle, leaving a wasteland of broken souls and extinguished dreams.

Like ink spilling into water, its influence spread, staining even the purest hearts, twisting the strongest wills. Realms trembled, their foundations groaning beneath its oppressive weight. Cities crumbled to dust, their cries fading into the emptiness, whispers carried on the wind. And all the while, they spoke of a being born of chaos, nurtured by fear, driven by an insatiable hunger. Its power choked the land, suffocating light, strangling hope, and silencing any thoughts of a brighter tomorrow.

The Great Cataclysm was not just a battle—it was the unraveling of hope itself. The ancient veils that separated the realms fractured under the strain, allowing its malevolent touch to reach further. One by one, realms fell, their lights extinguished, their cries becoming ghostly echoes devoured by the void.

Yet, amid the despair, one realm remained untouched—a world shielded, its protective veils holding strong. But even here, where light still lingered, there was something different. A power that could either amplify the darkness or destroy it entirely. This power lay within a young woman, unaware of the monumental destiny that awaited her, her heart beating with the pulse of both life and death. The prophecies, long dormant, began to stir.

"When the veil trembles and the shadows rise, one will emerge from the darkness—a child of life and death, her heart beating with the pulse of both."

The words echoed through the ages—a promise and a threat, a power that intrigued and terrified in equal measure. A power that could reshape the realms, its potential both a source of salvation and destruction. But prophecies are fickle, shaped by belief and fear, lost in translation overtime, and even now, the ancient veils groan beneath the weight of its approach.

In Nexara, the name spreads in whispers, rumors of an encroaching darkness like cold winds. Shadows move beneath the surface, signaling that the Phantom of Dark is not waiting—it is inevitable. Its arrival is not a matter of if, but when.

Aethrax.

Chapter1

Thalia's POV

The café buzzed with life, but I felt like a ghost among the living. Mindlessly wiping down the table, I glanced through the smudged glass window. The city outside was a blur—a mess of lights and shadows, as chaotic as the thoughts swirling in my head. Another day, another routine. Another night of wondering why I felt so...empty.

I’d had dreams once, ambitions that felt just out of reach. I wanted more than this—a life that mattered, that had some kind of purpose beyond mere survival. But every day felt like a step further away from the person I wanted to be. I had no direction, no spark. I was drifting, trapped in a cycle of work and sleep, with nothing to show for it. I craved something to break the monotony, a reason to feel alive again, but all I had were fading hopes and the persistent fear that this was all there would ever be.

Maybe it was inevitable, given my past. Growing up without a family, aging out of the system, and being forced to fend for myself had left scars—ones that never truly healed. I was alone, and the weight of that loneliness pressed down on me, making it hard to believe that anything could ever change.

The bell above the door chimed, the familiar sound signaling another customer. I turned automatically, cloth still in hand, and froze.

A figure stepped inside, cloaked in shadow despite the café’s warm glow. A hood obscured their face, but I felt the weight of their gaze—as if they saw straight through me. For a moment, the bustling café seemed to fade into silence, the sounds of laughter and clinking mugs muffled, as though I’d been pulled into a bubble outside of time.

“Can I help you?” I managed to ask, though my voice sounded distant, even to my own ears.

“Just a black coffee, please,” the figure said, his voice smooth and low, carrying a subtle undertone that sent a shiver down my spine.

I blinked, realizing I was still gripping the cloth, my knuckles white. The weight of his presence lingered—unnerving and...familiar. I knew that feeling. I’d felt it before, fleetingly, on rare occasions when they ventured into this part of Nexara.

Gifted. That’s what they were called—beings with abilities far beyond anything ordinary. They weren’t like the rest of us, though they walked among us when it suited them. Some claimed the Gifted were descendants of ancient beings; others said they were a mistake of nature. Either way, they were powerful, dangerous… and rare.

We were taught to fear them—tales of their strength, their magic, and the devastation they could bring. They looked just like us, but with subtle differences. Some could shift into creatures that haunted human nightmares. Others were demons, their magic thrumming in the air like a heartbeat—witches and Fae who could summon fire or call storms with a flick of their wrist. Each kind had carved out its own territory in the world, leaving us with only a small portion to fend for ourselves—and, for the most part, they left us alone.

“Of course,” I replied, trying to steady my voice. My hands moved on autopilot as I stepped behind the counter, reaching for a coffee cup and the pot of coffee. My thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind, each one trying to piece together why he was here—in this café, of all places.

I slid the cup across the counter, keeping my eyes on him as he reached out.

“Thanks,” he said simply, his tone calm, but the corner of his lips twitched, as if he’d noticed my nervousness.

“Do you... need anything else?” I asked, inwardly cursing how shaky I sounded.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he glanced around the café, his gaze lingering on the table I’d just cleaned before returning to me.

“No. That’s all—for now,” he said, a faint smirk playing at the edge of his mouth.

And then, just like that, he turned and walked away, his movements smooth and purposeful. The bell chimed again as he exited, leaving me standing there, gripping the counter for support as my heart pounded against my ribs.

“They’ve been coming around more,” Vicki called, her voice raspy but warm. I glanced up to see the familiar gray-haired woman, a regular Tuesday visitor, engrossed in her latest mystery novel. The laugh lines around her tired eyes deepened as she looked at me from her table by the window, a knowing glint in her gaze.

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