The Veilforged

The Veilforged

Chapter 1 – The Curse of Eryndor Vale

The village of Hollowmere stood at the edge of the world or, at least, that’s how it felt to those who lived there. Cradled between the towering Ebonridge Mountains and the shifting marshes of the Murkfen, it was a place forgotten by kings and untouched by war. A place where the land was quiet and the people lived simple, uneventful lives.

But Eryndor Vale had never known peace.

He had lived his entire life on the fringes of Hollowmere, in a lonely cabin at the forest’s edge, where the trees whispered in voices no one else could hear. He kept his head down, avoided the superstitious stares of the villagers, and never spoke of the things he saw when he closed his eyes. Because Eryndor carried a curse—one that marked him as something other than human.

And no one feared the unknown more than those who wished to forget it.

Tonight, though, the Veil between worlds was thin.

Eryndor stood at the edge of the riverbank, watching as the water trembled, as though disturbed by something unseen. The air felt heavier than usual, thick with the scent of rain that had yet to fall. Somewhere in the distance, a lone wolf howled — a mournful, broken sound that made the hairs on his arms rise.

He knew this feeling.

Something was coming.

“Eryndor.”

The voice made him turn sharply. Behind him, standing in the moonlight, was Old Mara, the village healer. She was wrapped in her tattered shawl, her sharp eyes studying him in that way she always did, like she could see something in him that he could not.

“You should not be out here tonight,” she said.

Eryndor swallowed, glancing back at the river. The ripples were gone. The night was silent again. But he still felt it, that wrongness in the air.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said, though it was only half a lie.

Mara narrowed her eyes. She stepped forward, resting a hand on his arm. “The Veil is shifting,” she murmured. “I can feel it in my bones. You must be careful, child.”

Eryndor nodded, though he knew no amount of caution would stop what was coming.

Because the whispers had already begun.

The Monster in the Mist

It started with the fog.

Thick, rolling waves of it slithered in from the Murkfen, swallowing the village whole. Lanterns flickered, their light swallowed by the shifting mist. The night grew colder, and an unnatural silence settled over Hollowmere.

Then came the screams.

Eryndor was halfway home when he heard them. Raw, panicked shrieks that shattered the quiet. He turned just in time to see a shape moving through the mist.

It was wrong.

Not quite a shadow, not quite a beast. It moved like something unfinished, shifting between forms — one moment hunched and crawling, the next towering and skeletal. Its eyes burned like distant stars, hollow and endless.

And it was hunting.

Eryndor felt the Veil tremble around him, pulling at him like a tide. His breath hitched. He knew what was about to happen.

Not here. Not now.

But it was too late.

The air rippled, and the world around him broke.

Between Worlds

Eryndor staggered as the Veil tore open.

The sky split apart like shattered glass, revealing glimpses of things that did not belong; a city of floating spires, a vast crimson sea, a thousand eyes blinking in the dark.

His vision blurred. His heart pounded.

The mist-thing turned toward him, sensing his presence. Its shifting form solidified, becoming something worse. A Wraithborn, a creature pulled from the liminal space between realms, twisted by the breach in the Veil.

It lunged.

Eryndor barely had time to react before the world flickered again, and suddenly he was somewhere else.

The Nightmare Realm

He landed hard on cold, black stone.

The air was wrong here, thick and pulsing like something alive. The sky above him was a void of swirling shadows, and the ground beneath him hummed with an unnatural energy.

Eryndor had only been here once before.

The Umbral Wastes.

A place outside of time, where the Veil had been shattered beyond repair. A place of lost souls and forgotten gods.

He pushed himself up, heart racing. The Wraithborn was here too, pulling itself through the rift behind him. But here, in this place, it was stronger.

Faster.

And it was not alone.

All around him, shapes stirred in the darkness. Shadowed figures with too many limbs, faceless watchers, things that had never belonged in the mortal world.

They had found him.

He had to leave. Now.

Summoning every ounce of strength he had, Eryndor closed his eyes and reached deep within himself, to that part of him that wasn’t truly human, to the power he had always feared.

He felt the Veil shift, felt the pull of reality as it strained to contain him.

And then, with a sharp gasp...

he was back.

The Awakening

Eryndor collapsed onto the damp earth of Hollowmere, gasping for breath. The mist had thinned, and the Wraithborn was gone or perhaps it had never truly been there at all.

The village was in ruins.

Several houses had been torn apart. Villagers huddled in the square, whispering of a shadow that came in the mist. Some claimed they had seen a boy vanish before their eyes.

Old Mara knelt beside him. “You are not safe here anymore, child,” she whispered.

Eryndor knew she was right.

The world was breaking.

And he was at the center of it.

Chapter 2:

The Scholar and the Knight will introduce two key allies—Vaelith Draymor, a rogue scholar obsessed with the Veil, and Sir Kaelen Veyne, a disgraced knight seeking redemption. Together, they will reveal a secret that changes everything:

The Heart of the Sundering has been found.

And Eryndor is not the only one looking for it.

The Veilforged

Hollowmere was no longer safe.

Eryndor Vale had always been an outsider, but after what had happened in the fog shrouded night, the village would never take him back. He had seen it in their eyes; fear, suspicion, and the quiet understanding that he was something other.

So he ran.

Under the cover of dawn’s mist, he left behind the place he had called home for eighteen years. He traveled south, through the narrow trails of the Murkfen Marsh, guided only by the whispering echoes of the Veil in his mind. He had no destination, only the knowledge that something greater was pulling him forward.

By nightfall, the marshlands gave way to the vast expanse of the Ashen Hills, a land where the ground was cracked and scarred by long-forgotten battles. Here, the remnants of fallen kingdoms lay buried beneath the soil, their ruins half-swallowed by time.

And it was here, among the ruins of Veylthorne, that Eryndor’s path would change forever.

Because he was not the only one searching for answers.

And he was not the only one being hunted.

The ruins of Veylthorne had once been a great city, a center of knowledge before the Sundering had reduced it to rubble. Now, it was little more than broken spires and shattered archways, its streets covered in ivy and dust.

Eryndor moved carefully through the wreckage, keeping to the shadows. But he was not alone.

A flicker of movement caught his eye. A figure darted between the collapsed columns. A man in a long coat, carrying a satchel filled with books and scrolls. He moved quickly, but not with the desperation of a thief. No, this man knew what he was looking for.

Eryndor stepped forward.

"You’re either very brave or very foolish to be out here alone," he called.

The man spun, his dark eyes narrowing. He was in his early thirties, lean but well dressed, too well dressed for a ruin like this. His coat was lined with golden embroidery, and an insignia of the Astral Wardens was pinned to his lapel.

A scholar.

"A fair statement," the man replied. "Though I might say the same to you." He studied Eryndor with sharp curiosity. "You don’t belong to Hollowmere. Nor to the Concord. Who are you?"

Eryndor hesitated. Giving his name felt dangerous now, but something told him this man was not an enemy.

"Eryndor Vale," he said finally. "And you?"

The scholar smiled faintly. "Vaelith Draymor. Of the Astral Wardens."

Eryndor’s stomach tightened. The Wardens were scholars and warriors dedicated to the study of the Veil and its fractures. If Vaelith was here, then it meant one thing

"You’re looking for the Heart of the Sundering," Eryndor said.

Vaelith's smile faded. "So you know of it." He studied Eryndor more carefully now. "Then tell me, Vale, are you here to stop it? Or to claim it?"

Before Eryndor could answer, a new sound filled the air.

The clatter of approaching hooves.

The Disgraced Knight

The moment Eryndor heard the iron-clad hooves striking stone, his instincts screamed run.

From the crumbling archway ahead, a figure emerged atop a dark warhorse — a knight in tarnished armor, his crimson cloak tattered from battle. His sword rested at his hip, but Eryndor had no doubt the man knew how to use it.

Vaelith sighed dramatically. "Ah, wonderful. You’re late, as usual."

The knight dismounted. "And you’re still too loud," he retorted.

Now that he was closer, Eryndor could see that the knight was not as old as he had first assumed, perhaps in his late twenties. His dark hair streaked with silver at the temples. His face was weathered, but his gray eyes burned with unwavering focus.

"And who is this?" the knight asked, glancing at Eryndor.

"An unexpected traveler," Vaelith said, crossing his arms. "But one with an interest in the Heart of the Sundering. Quite the coincidence, wouldn’t you say, Sir Kaelen?"

Kaelen’s expression darkened. "No such thing as coincidence," he muttered. He looked Eryndor up and down. "Can you fight?"

Eryndor hesitated. "I can survive."

Kaelen grunted. "Not the same thing."

"Perhaps you’d like to test him," Vaelith said, smirking. "He survived the Murkfen alone, after all."

Kaelen gave a skeptical glance but said nothing. Instead, he turned back to Vaelith. "The Veil has been growing unstable. There are shadows moving in the ruins. We don’t have much time."

Vaelith nodded. "Then we should move quickly."

Eryndor frowned. "Move quickly for what?"

Vaelith and Kaelen exchanged a look. Then, Vaelith sighed. "The Heart of the Sundering has been found, Vale. And we intend to reach it before the Umbral Courts do."

Eryndor felt his pulse quicken. He had heard the whispers of the Umbral Courts before: exiled gods, locked away when the Veil had first been formed. They wanted nothing more than to shatter it completely.

"Why do they want it?" Eryndor asked.

"Because the Heart is the last fragment of the Veil’s original magic," Vaelith explained. "If it falls into the wrong hands, the Veil could be torn apart for good. But if used correctly..."

He trailed off, watching Eryndor carefully.

"It could restore what was lost," Eryndor whispered.

Kaelen nodded. "And that is why we need to find it first."

Eryndor felt the weight of their words settle upon him. He had spent his life running from his power, hiding from the whispers of the Veil. But now, standing before these two strangers, he felt something stir inside him.

A purpose.

"Then let’s not waste any more time," he said.

And so, under the dying light of the evening sun, the three set forth into the ruins, toward the artifact that would determine the fate of the world.

But in the shadows, something watched them go.

And it was waiting.

Chapter 3 – The Umbral Hunt

1 – The Ruins of Veylthorne

The ruins of Veylthorne stretched before them like the bones of a long-dead beast. Once a grand city of scholars and mages, it had been swallowed by time, its towers shattered and its streets buried beneath creeping ivy and fallen stone.

Eryndor felt the Veil pulse here. It was stronger than anywhere else he had been before, like a wound that had never healed.

Kaelen led the way, his sword drawn as he stepped carefully over broken cobblestones. Vaelith followed closely behind, his fingers skimming the air, as if reading the currents of magic around them.

Eryndor’s heart pounded in his chest.

He had never ventured this far from Hollowmere. And now, he was hunting a relic that could change the fate of the world.

No turning back now.

Vaelith suddenly halted. “Something’s wrong.”

Kaelen tensed. “What?”

The scholar pointed toward the center of the ruins. “The Heart of the Sundering should be beneath the Sanctum of Aven’ra. But the magic here, it’s already been disturbed.”

Eryndor’s stomach twisted. “You mean someone got here before us?”

Vaelith nodded grimly.

And that’s when they heard the whispers.

Low. Hollow. Not human.

Kaelen’s grip tightened on his sword. “We’re not alone.”

2 – The Umbral Stalkers

A shadow moved through the ruins.

Then another.

Figures cloaked in shifting darkness stepped from the broken archways, their forms not quite real, flickering between worlds.

Eryndor felt his throat go dry.

The Umbral Stalkers had found them.

These were the hunters of the Umbral Courts, twisted beings that had once been mortal, but had long since become something else. Their faces were hidden, their eyes burned like distant stars, and they carried weapons forged from the raw essence of the Veil itself.

One stepped forward, its voice like a whisper through torn fabric.

"You do not belong here."

Kaelen didn’t hesitate. His blade flashed, cutting through the closest Stalker. But the sword passed through empty air, as if slicing through fog.

Vaelith cursed. “They’re not entirely in this world.”

Eryndor barely had time to react before a Stalker lunged at him, its hand outstretched.

The moment it touched him

The world broke apart.

3 – The Fractured Veil

Eryndor was somewhere else.

The ruins of Veylthorne vanished, replaced by a vast landscape of shifting black sands and dying stars. The air was thick with whispers, and in the distance, he saw figures moving, towering, god-like things with too many eyes and too many arms.

The Umbral Wastes.

He had been dragged across the Veil.

A voice echoed through the emptiness.

"You do not understand what you are, Veilborn."

Eryndor turned sharply. A figure stood before him, taller than any human, its form woven from pure shadow and ember.

It was not a Stalker.

It was something greater.

An Exiled One.

The voice deepened. "You could be so much more than this."

Eryndor’s skin burned. His power roared to life, pulling at the edges of reality. He had never fully embraced what he was, had never dared to use the full extent of his gift.

But here, in this place, the Veil did not bind him.

He reached out

And reality shattered.

4 – The Hunter Becomes the Hunted

Eryndor snapped back into existence, his body shaking as he returned to the ruins. The Stalker that had touched him reeled backward, its form unstable, flickering wildly as if Eryndor’s mere presence had torn it apart.

The Stalker screamed, an awful, hollow sound—

And then it disintegrated into nothing.

Kaelen stared at him.

Vaelith exhaled sharply. “Well, that’s new.”

The other Stalkers hesitated now. Where before they had moved with cold certainty, now they watched Eryndor warily.

They had thought they were the hunters.

Now, they weren’t so sure.

One by one, the Stalkers began to retreat into the shadows, vanishing back into the broken places between realms.

The battle was over.

For now.

5 – The Descent into Darkness

Eryndor was still shaking. The memory of the Umbral Wastes lingered, the whisper of the Exiled One still echoing in his mind.

"You could be so much more than this."

He clenched his fists, forcing the thought away.

Kaelen sheathed his sword. “That was… unexpected.”

Vaelith smirked. “Understatement of the century.” He turned to Eryndor. “It seems the Umbral Courts know who you are.”

Eryndor swallowed. “And what does that mean?”

Vaelith’s expression darkened. “It means they won’t stop hunting you.”

Kaelen exhaled through his nose. “Then we need to move quickly.”

The knight gestured toward the massive stone doors at the heart of the ruins. They were covered in ancient glyphs, glowing faintly with the remnants of Veil magic.

“The entrance to the Sanctum of Aven’ra,” Vaelith murmured.

Eryndor felt a pull in his chest.

The Heart of the Sundering was inside.

He didn’t know what awaited them in that buried temple. But one thing was certain,

They were running out of time.

Whispers of the Exiled Gods

The Sanctum of Aven’ra loomed before them, a vast stone structure buried beneath the ruins of Veylthorne. It had been sealed for centuries, hidden beneath layers of magic and dust, until now.

Eryndor could feel it.

The Veil was thin here, weaker than anywhere he had ever known. The air itself trembled with unseen power.

Kaelen placed a hand against the ancient stone doors, running his fingers over the glowing glyphs. "It’s sealed by old magic," he muttered. "This is no ordinary ruin."

Vaelith knelt beside him, brushing away debris. "The inscriptions mention the First Sundering," he said, voice hushed. "This temple was built to guard the Heart of the Sundering. But."

"But what?" Eryndor asked.

Vaelith hesitated. "The inscription warns that the Exiled Gods never truly left."

A chill ran down Eryndor’s spine.

Kaelen exhaled sharply. "Let’s get this over with."

He pressed his hand against the glyphs. The symbols flared with light, and with a deep, grinding sound, the doors began to open.

Beyond them lay darkness.

And something inside was waiting.

2 – The Descent into the Sanctum

The stairs spiraled downward, leading them into the depths of the earth. The deeper they went, the colder the air became. The walls were covered in veiled script, words half lost to time.

Eryndor’s pulse quickened. He could hear something.

A whisper.

Low. Hollow. Just beneath the edge of thought.

"You hear us, do you not?"

Eryndor staggered, gripping the wall.

Kaelen turned. "What’s wrong?"

Eryndor swallowed hard. "Something’s speaking to me."

Vaelith’s gaze darkened. "The Exiled Ones."

Kaelen stiffened. "They’re in your head?"

Eryndor nodded. The whispers were getting louder, pulling at the edges of his mind.

"You are the Veilforged. The key. The catalyst."

He clenched his fists. "They know who I am."

Vaelith’s expression turned grim. "Then we must move quickly."

With each step, the air grew heavier. The whispering never stopped.

And at the bottom of the stairs, they found the chamber.

3 – The Heart of the Sundering

The chamber was vast, a cathedral of stone and shadow. At its center, resting atop an altar of obsidian, was the Heart of the Sundering.

It was not a gemstone.

Not a relic.

It was a fragment of the Veil itself.

A swirling, shifting orb of pure energy, pulsing with the power of two worlds colliding.

Kaelen exhaled. "By the gods..."

Vaelith stepped forward. "This, this is it." His voice was awed and terrified all at once. "The Heart is still intact."

Eryndor couldn’t look away. The artifact pulled at him, calling to something deep inside his soul.

"Touch it," the voices whispered.

"Accept what you are."

His fingers twitched.

"Eryndor," Kaelen’s voice snapped him back to reality. "Don’t."

Eryndor took a sharp breath, stepping back. His heart pounded.

Vaelith turned to him. "What did they say?"

Eryndor hesitated. He wasn’t sure if he should tell them.

Because the whispers were not just calling to him.

They were offering him something.

"Break the Veil, and you shall become something more."

4 – The Choice

Kaelen took a slow step toward the Heart. "If we destroy it, can we restore the Veil?"

Vaelith hesitated. "In theory, yes. But we don’t know the cost."

Kaelen’s jaw tightened. "And if the Umbral Courts get it first?"

"They will shatter the Veil completely," Vaelith said. "And the exiled gods will walk this world again."

Silence filled the chamber.

Eryndor felt the whispers growing stronger, their presence pressing against his mind.

"We could make you whole, Veilforged."

"You were never meant to be mortal."

He gritted his teeth.

He knew, deep down, that he had two choices.

Use the Heart to restore the Veil.
Use the Heart to break the Veil forever.
But before he could decide -

The shadows in the chamber began to move.

5 – The Betrayal

The air turned cold. The torches flickered.

And then -

A new voice echoed through the chamber.

"You should not have come here."

From the shadows, figures emerged.

Not Stalkers.

Not mortals.

But Veilborn.

And leading them was Lirien.

Eryndor’s breath caught.

He had seen her before, in the visions, in the dreams. A woman of ashen skin, with glowing silver eyes. A woman who had once been mortal, but was no longer bound by this world.

Vaelith swore under his breath. "Damn it."

Kaelen drew his sword. "Who is she?"

Lirien smiled coldly. "I am the one who will finish what the gods started."

She lifted her hand.

And the Heart of the Sundering trembled.

The Veil itself began to unravel.

The Exiled Ones stirred in the dark.

And Eryndor realized, far too late.

He was already too deep in the game to turn back.

The Gilded Concord’s Betrayal

1 – The Fall of the Sanctum

The moment Lirien raised her hand, the Heart of the Sundering trembled.

A deep crack formed across its swirling, radiant surface. The very air shuddered, and Eryndor felt the Veil around him splinter.

Kaelen’s voice was sharp. “Whatever you’re doing, stop.”

Lirien smiled, but there was no warmth in it. “You still don’t understand, do you?”

The shadows shifted behind her, twisting into Veilborn warriors, their forms flickering between reality and something else.

“This world was never meant to remain separate,” Lirien continued. “The Veil was a mistake. A prison forced upon us by cowardly gods. But now, the time has come to unmake it.”

Eryndor’s heart pounded. “If you break the Veil, you won’t just free the Exiled Gods.” His voice was hoarse. “You’ll destroy reality itself.”

Lirien tilted her head. “Perhaps. But perhaps it is time this world changed.”

With a twist of her fingers, the Veil rippled—and suddenly, the ground beneath them gave way.

The Sanctum of Aven’ra was collapsing.

2 – The Escape

Kaelen reacted first.

“MOVE!” he shouted, shoving Eryndor and Vaelith away as massive stone slabs rained down from above.

Eryndor stumbled, barely keeping his balance as the entire chamber shook. The Veilborn warriors did not flinch. They walked through the chaos as if the crumbling ruin meant nothing to them.

Vaelith cursed. “We need a way out! Now!”

Eryndor scanned the collapsing chamber. The main exit was blocked.

“There!” he shouted, pointing to a half-buried passage to their right. It was narrow, barely wide enough to squeeze through, but it was their only chance.

Kaelen nodded. “Go! I’ll hold them off.”

Vaelith grabbed Eryndor’s arm. “Don’t argue! Move!”

They sprinted for the gap. Behind them, Kaelen stood his ground, sword drawn as the Veilborn advanced.

Eryndor hesitated. “Kaelen.”

“GO!”

With a final, reluctant glance, Eryndor followed Vaelith into the narrow passageway.

Behind them, the chamber collapsed entirely.

3 – The Road to Aether’s Rest

They did not stop running until they were miles from Veylthorne.

By the time they collapsed near the borders of the Ashen Hills, the night was deep, and the weight of what had just happened pressed down on them.

Eryndor stared into the fire Vaelith had built. “We failed.”

Vaelith sighed, rubbing his temples. “It’s not over yet.”

Eryndor shook his head. “Lirien has the Heart. She can finish what the Umbral Courts started. And Kaelen.” His voice faltered. “We don’t even know if he’s still alive.”

Vaelith didn’t respond.

Silence stretched between them. Then.

“There’s still one place we can go,” Vaelith said. “Aether’s Rest.”

Eryndor frowned. “The floating city?”

Vaelith nodded. “The Gilded Concord controls it. And they’ve been tracking relics like the Heart for years. If anyone knows how to stop Lirien, it’s them.”

Eryndor hesitated. He had heard of the Gilded Concord, a powerful merchant empire that profited from selling ancient artifacts, no matter the cost.

“They won’t help us out of goodwill,” Eryndor murmured.

Vaelith smirked. “No. But everyone has a price.”

Eryndor exhaled. “Then we better hope we can afford it.”

With that, they set off toward Aether’s Rest.

And unknowingly, straight into a trap.

4 – The Gilded Concord’s True Intentions

Aether’s Rest was unlike anything Eryndor had ever seen.

The city floated above the land, suspended by Veil-bound magic. Massive chains anchored it to the earth below, swaying gently in the wind. Golden spires gleamed under the sun, and airships hovered lazily between the towering platforms.

At first glance, Aether’s Rest seemed beautiful. But beneath its splendor was something colder.

Greed. Power. Secrets.

And the Gilded Concord controlled it all.

Eryndor and Vaelith were led through the grand halls of the Concord’s council chamber, flanked by heavily armed guards. The air smelled of incense and polished gold.

At the far end of the room sat Lord Asric Valcoris, the current head of the Concord.

He smiled as they approached.

“Vaelith Draymor,” he mused. “It’s been some time.”

Vaelith bowed slightly. “Lord Valcoris.”

The merchant lord’s gaze flicked to Eryndor. “And this is?”

Vaelith hesitated. “An ally.”

Valcoris chuckled. “Is that what we’re calling him?” His golden-ringed fingers tapped against the armrest of his chair. “Tell me, Draymor, what brings you to my city?”

Vaelith didn’t hesitate. “The Heart of the Sundering.”

The room fell silent.

Valcoris’s expression did not change. “Ah. So you were the ones stirring trouble in Veylthorne.”

Eryndor’s blood ran cold. “You knew?”

Valcoris smiled. “My dear boy, the Concord knows everything.”

Vaelith’s jaw clenched. “Then you know it’s been taken.”

Valcoris leaned forward, his gaze turning sharp. “Indeed. And that is why you are here, isn’t it?”

Eryndor felt unease crawl up his spine. Something about Valcoris’s tone was wrong.

Vaelith frowned. “What are you saying?”

Valcoris exhaled, as if disappointed. “Come now, Draymor. Did you really think I would allow you to walk into my city, ask for my knowledge, and leave?”

Eryndor’s pulse quickened.

The guards moved.

Chains wrapped around Vaelith’s wrists, binding him in an instant.

Eryndor tried to react, but suddenly, the Veil wrenched open behind him.

A wave of magic crashed into him, and the world flickered.

Everything went black.

5 – The Price of Knowledge

When Eryndor woke, his head was spinning. The room was cold, the air damp. He was underground.

A prison.

He groaned, pushing himself upright. Across from him, Vaelith sat, bound by Veil infused chains.

Eryndor’s voice was raw. “What happened?”

Vaelith smirked, despite the situation. “The Gilded Concord happened.”

Footsteps echoed. The door creaked open.

Lord Valcoris stepped inside, hands folded behind his back. He studied them calmly.

“You sought knowledge,” he said. “But knowledge has a price.”

Eryndor’s fists clenched. “And what is that price?”

Valcoris smiled coldly.

“The Heart of the Sundering.”

Eryndor’s breath caught.

“You will bring it to me,” Valcoris continued. “Or you will never leave this place alive.”

Eryndor’s heart pounded.

He had escaped the Veilborn only to fall into the hands of a different kind of monster.

And now, he had a choice.

Obey.

Or find a way to break free.

Chapter 6 – Escape into the Twilight Isles

1 – The Price of Knowledge

Eryndor had been in cages before.

He had been trapped in the fractured spaces between worlds, held prisoner by Veilborn hunters, and haunted by the whispers of Exiled Gods.

But this was different.

The Gilded Concord had no use for magic or prophecy. They only wanted power.

And now, Lord Valcoris held his fate in a gilded hand.

"You will bring me the Heart of the Sundering," Valcoris had told them. "Or you will never leave Aether’s Rest alive."

Eryndor had no intention of serving the Concord.

But that meant they had to escape.

And they had to do it tonight.

2 – The Cell Beneath Aether’s Rest

The prison beneath Aether’s Rest was carved from black stone, its walls pulsing with Veil-bound sigils that suppressed magic.

Eryndor sat with his back against the cold stone, his mind racing. Across from him, Vaelith sat calmly, wrists bound in enchanted chains.

"Well," Vaelith mused, "this is an unfortunate setback."

Eryndor shot him a glare. "Setback?"

Vaelith smirked. "Come now, Vale. You didn’t really think the Concord would just let us walk in and ask for help, did you?"

Eryndor exhaled through his nose. "We need to get out of here."

Vaelith leaned forward. "I agree. And as it happens, I may have a plan."

Eryndor frowned. "A plan that doesn’t involve handing the Heart to Valcoris?"

Vaelith’s smirk widened. "Oh, absolutely. But it does require something risky."

Eryndor narrowed his eyes. "What?"

Vaelith’s gaze flicked toward the guard standing outside their cell.

And then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he said:

"We let the Concord think we’re escaping."

3 – A False Escape

It started with a fire.

Vaelith had hidden a small alchemical vial in the lining of his coat. One filled with smoke powder and emberroot.

A few whispered words, a flick of his fingers, and suddenly

The cell burst into thick, suffocating smoke.

The guards panicked.

The moment the door creaked open, Eryndor lunged. His fist colliding with the first guard’s jaw before he even had time to react.

Vaelith snapped his fingers, and the smoke thickened, obscuring their movements. "Move quickly!" he hissed.

They ran.

Down the twisting corridors of the prison vaults, past confused sentries and alarm bells ringing in the distance.

But they weren’t escaping.

Not yet.

They were going up, straight into the Concord’s archives.

4 – The Concord’s Secret

The archives were a vast hall of glass cases and golden lockboxes, filled with artifacts from across Elarion.

Vaelith barely glanced at them. He led Eryndor toward a hidden door at the back of the chamber, pressing his hand against an ancient Veil-marked sigil.

The door rumbled open.

Beyond it was a vault, and inside...

Eryndor’s breath caught.

It wasn’t just a collection of artifacts.

It was a map of the Veil itself.

Dozens of floating crystals and enchanted parchments hovered above a golden table, displaying every known fracture in the Veil—every realm that had bled into Elarion, every hidden passage between worlds.

And at its center...

A projection of the Heart of the Sundering.

Vaelith’s expression was grim. "Valcoris already knows where Lirien is taking the Heart."

Eryndor’s pulse quickened. "Where?"

Vaelith turned to him.

"The Twilight Isles."

5 – The Leap into the Unknown

The Twilight Isles were dangerous.

A place where time unraveled, where the past, present, and future blurred together. A place where shadows whispered secrets, and memories took shape.

And Lirien was taking the Heart there.

They had no choice.

Vaelith grabbed an enchanted scroll from the vault. "This is our way out," he said. "A portal sigil. But it won’t be stable for long."

Eryndor could hear guards approaching. "Then open it. Now."

Vaelith didn’t argue. He unrolled the parchment, speaking the words of power.

The air rippled.

A portal tore open before them, swirling with violet mist.

"Go!" Vaelith shouted.

Eryndor didn’t hesitate. He leapt through the rift.

And fell into the unknown.

6 – The Twilight Isles

Eryndor landed on soft earth, his vision spinning. The sky above him was a vast, endless horizon of twilight — neither day nor night.

The air shimmered with illusions. In the distance, he could see floating islands, broken bridges that led nowhere, and statues that shifted whenever he looked away.

Vaelith stumbled beside him, catching his breath. "Well," he said, "that worked."

Eryndor turned in a slow circle. "Where are we?"

Vaelith adjusted his coat. "Welcome to the Twilight Isles."

Eryndor shivered. The very air here felt unreal.

And then.

A whisper.

Not from the Exiled Gods.

Not from the Veil.

But from something else entirely.

"You should not have come here."

Eryndor froze.

From the mist, figures began to emerge—cloaked in silver robes, their faces hidden behind veiled masks.

Vaelith stiffened. "Twilight Keepers," he muttered.

Eryndor swallowed. "Who?"

Vaelith exhaled. "The last guardians of the Isles."

One of the Keepers stepped forward. His voice echoed with unnatural calm.

"You seek the Heart of the Sundering."

Eryndor hesitated. "Yes."

The Keeper nodded. "Then you must face the cost of your own past."

And with those words, the world around them shifted.

The mist deepened.

The past began to take form.

And Eryndor realized

In the Twilight Isles, no secret stayed buried.

Chapter 7 – The Sundering Ritual Begins

1 – The Twilight Keepers’ Warning

The Twilight Isles were neither part of the mortal world nor fully beyond the Veil.

Here, time twisted. The sky never changed, trapped in an endless dusk. The air shimmered with illusions, and memories took form as reality.

Eryndor and Vaelith stood before a gathering of Twilight Keepers—cloaked figures whose faces were hidden behind silver veils.

The leader spoke, their voice calm yet hollow:

"You seek the Heart of the Sundering. But you do not understand its cost."

Eryndor clenched his fists. "Then tell me."

The Keepers did not move. Their shadows did.

"The Heart is not merely a relic. It is a wound in the Veil, a fragment of the first Sundering. To wield it is to invite the will of the Exiled Gods."

Eryndor’s breath caught.

He had known the Heart was powerful. But he had not realized what it truly was.

"It is not a tool of restoration," the Keeper continued. "It is a doorway. And it is already opening."

Vaelith cursed under his breath. "Lirien’s already begun the ritual."

Eryndor swallowed hard. "Where?"

The Keepers raised their hands, and the air around them shifted.

The mist parted, revealing a distant floating island, its surface cracked with raw, glowing fissures. At its center stood a towering Veilborn obelisk, and before it—

Lirien.

She stood atop a raised platform, her arms outstretched, the Heart of the Sundering floating above her hands, pulsing with a dark, twisting energy.

The ritual had begun.

And they were already running out of time.

2 – Visions of the Past

Eryndor turned to run—but the Keepers raised their hands, and suddenly, the world broke apart.

A wave of silver mist swallowed him whole.

And when it cleared

He was no longer in the Twilight Isles.

He was somewhere else.

A ruined village.

The sky above him burned a deep crimson, split apart by a massive Veil rupture. Houses lay in ruins, and the air reeked of magic and ash.

Eryndor’s pulse pounded.

He knew this place.

It was Hollowmere.

But it was not Hollowmere as it was now.

It was Hollowmere on the night of the Sundering.

3 – The Truth of Eryndor’s Origins and

Eryndor turned in a slow circle, his chest tightening.

This was the past.

His past.

And then, through the smoke he saw them.

A woman, standing at the center of the ruins, holding a small child in her arms.

Eryndor’s heart stopped.

Because he recognized her.

She had his dark hair. His storm-gray eyes.

His mother.

And she was running.

Behind her, Veilborn hunters moved through the wreckage, their forms shifting between worlds. They were hunting her and hunting the child she carried.

Eryndor’s breath hitched.

The child.

Him.

"The Veilforged was not born. He was made."

The words of the Twilight Keepers echoed in his mind.

And suddenly, he understood.

He was not just touched by the Veil.

He was created from it.

A child born from the first Sundering itself.

A living fracture in reality.

He staggered back, his mind spinning. "No. No, that’s not—"

But then.

The past blurred.

His mother turned, and for the first time, her eyes met his.

She did not look at him in shock.

She knew he was there.

"Eryndor," she whispered.

And the vision shattered.

4 – The Ritual Begins

Eryndor gasped as the Twilight Isles returned, his body shaking.

Vaelith stood beside him, looking concerned. "What did you see?"

Eryndor swallowed hard. "The night I was born." He clenched his fists. "I was never meant to exist."

Vaelith’s brow furrowed. "You’re Veilforged," he said carefully. "A child of the Sundering."

Eryndor nodded. "And that means Lirien was not meant to be."

Vaelith’s eyes widened. "Then we have to stop her."

They turned toward the floating island. The air around it rippled, the sky above it fracturing.

The ritual was accelerating.

A distant boom echoed across the Isles as cracks split through reality itself, spilling Veil-light into the world.

They had minutes, maybe less.

Vaelith tightened his grip on his satchel. "We’ll never get there in time."

Eryndor took a deep breath. He could still feel the echoes of the past inside him—the knowledge of what he was.

For the first time, he did not try to push it away.

Instead, he embraced it.

The Veil trembled around him.

Vaelith took a step back. "What are you—"

Eryndor reached out—and the world bent to his will.

The air rippled—and suddenly, they were falling.

Straight toward the heart of the ritual.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
5 – The Final Confrontation

They landed hard on the floating island, the ground beneath them cracking as magic pulsed through the air.

Lirien stood before the Veilborn obelisk, her eyes glowing silver. The Heart of the Sundering hovered above her hands, spinning faster and faster.

"You’re too late," she said calmly.

Eryndor staggered to his feet. "You don’t have to do this."

Lirien smiled. "Don’t I?"

The sky above them tore open.

Beyond the breach, a thousand burning eyes watched from the darkness.

The Exiled Gods were waiting.

And Lirien was about to set them free.

Kaelen’s voice rang out "ENOUGH!" as he leapt from the mist, his sword blazing with Veil-bound light.

Vaelith threw a warding sigil into the air, his magic crackling with power.

And Eryndor—

Eryndor felt the Veil shudder, the voices of the Exiled Ones calling to him.

He had one chance.

One choice.

To stop this.

Or to embrace what he was meant to be.

And as the ritual reached its climax, Eryndor made his decision.

Chapter 8 – The Price of Power

1 – The Veil’s Breaking Point

The sky was unraveling.

Eryndor stood on the floating island, the wind howling around him, as the Heart of the Sundering pulsed with raw, primordial power.

Above him, the Veil had been torn wide open. A vast, shimmering rift in the sky. Through it, something ancient watched.

A thousand burning eyes in the dark.

The Exiled Gods were waiting.

Lirien stood at the edge of the ritual platform, her silver eyes glowing with Veil-light. She had done this.

She had started the Final Sundering.

And Eryndor was the only one who could stop it.

Or finish it.

Behind him, Kaelen and Vaelith fought desperately against the Veilborn sentinels, their weapons flashing as they cut through shifting figures of half-shadow and half-light.

But none of that mattered now.

Because Eryndor’s choice would decide the fate of everything.

And the Exiled Ones were calling to him.

"You were born of the Sundering, Veilforged."

"You were never meant to be mortal."

"You are one of us."

Eryndor clenched his fists, feeling the pull of the Veil, the raw power of what he truly was.

For the first time in his life, he stopped resisting it.

And the world shook in response.

2 – The Three Choices

Lirien turned to him, smiling softly. "Do you feel it now?"

Eryndor’s heart pounded. The Veil itself was responding to him, shifting around him, waiting for his command.

He could feel three paths before him.

1 – Restore the Veil

He could take the Heart and use its power to repair the Veil, to seal the fracture forever. It would stop the Exiled Gods from returning. It would save the world.

But it would mean severing his own connection to the Veil.

If he did this he would be mortal. He would be ordinary.

And he would never be whole again.

2 – Shatter the Veil

He could embrace what he was, give himself to the Exiled Ones, and let the Veil collapse completely.

He would become something more than mortal.

But Elarion would never be the same.

The realms of gods and mortals would merge, and the world as it was would end.

3 – Rewrite the Veil

A third option whispered at the edge of his thoughts.

Something no one had considered.

What if he did not restore or shatter the Veil?

What if he changed it?

What if he rewrote the laws of existence itself?

The power was there. The Heart of the Sundering was not just a key.

It was a pen.

And reality itself was the page.

Eryndor’s breath came fast and sharp.

His choice had to be made now.

Because the Veil was breaking apart, and soon.

There would be nothing left to save.

3 – Kaelen’s Warning, Lirien’s Plea

"Eryndor!"

Kaelen’s voice cut through the storm, fierce and commanding.

He stood at the edge of the ritual platform, blood running down his arm, his sword flashing with Veil-light.

"If you break the Veil, nothing will be the same!" he shouted. "Think about the people you’d be condemning! Think about Hollowmere!"

Eryndor flinched.

His home.

The people who had feared him, rejected him. But still, they were his people.

Kaelen took a step forward, eyes burning with conviction. "You have the power to end this, Eryndor. Don’t let them control you."

Then

Lirien spoke.

"Eryndor," she whispered, her voice soft as shadow.

She took a step closer, her silver eyes locked onto his. "You were born from the Veil. You were never meant to be part of their world."

Her gaze was gentle, pleading.

"This is your destiny. To bring balance. To bring change. To finally end the suffering that the Veil has caused."

Her hand reached out.

"Let me show you."

Eryndor felt his heart tearing in two.

Kaelen.

Lirien.

One path to preserve the world.

One path to change it forever.

And in the center.

Himself.

4 – The Price of Power

Eryndor took a deep breath.

He turned toward the Heart of the Sundering, letting its power flow through him.

For the first time, he did not fear it.

He commanded it.

"Enough."

The Veil trembled.

Lirien gasped as the magic pulsed outward, knocking her back.

Kaelen shielded his eyes as reality itself bent around Eryndor’s will.

Eryndor lifted his hands and the entire world froze.

The storm stopped.

The sky went still.

The Exiled Gods in the dark ceased their whispers.

Because for one single moment, Eryndor was not just Veilborn.

He was the Veil itself.

He looked up at the shattered sky.

And he made his choice.

5 – The Choice That Changed the World

With a single command

Eryndor rewrote the Veil.

It did not shatter.

It did not close.

Instead, it changed.

The Heart of the Sundering exploded with light, sending ripples of new magic across the world.

The Exiled Gods screamed, not in anger, but in surprise.

The Veil remained, but no longer as a barrier.

Now, it was a bridge.

For the first time in history, gods and mortals could walk between realms, without war.

Without suffering.

Without fear.

Lirien staggered back, her eyes wide. "What have you done?"

Eryndor met her gaze.

"I ended the war," he said softly.

And with those words, the sky closed, the storm ceased, and the Heart of the Sundering vanished. Its purpose fulfilled.

The battle was over.

And the world had changed forever.
Chapter 9 The Collapse of the Veil

1 – A World Rewritten

Eryndor stood at the center of a changed world.

The Veil was no longer a barrier. It was now a bridge. The old boundaries between the mortal realm and the divine had blurred, allowing gods, spirits, and forgotten entities to walk freely among men.

For the first time in history, mortals and the Exiled Ones could coexist.

And that terrified everyone.

A great stillness hung over the battlefield where the ritual had taken place. The storm had ended, the sky was whole, but the silence was not peace.

It was fear.

Kaelen still gripped his sword, his knuckles white. Vaelith stood beside him, eyes dark with calculation. And Lirien…

Lirien had fallen to her knees, her silver eyes wide, staring at Eryndor as if she did not know whether to worship him or kill him.

"You," she whispered. "What have you done?"

Eryndor met her gaze. "I did what needed to be done."

She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "You think you’ve saved the world?" Her voice was filled with something between awe and rage. "You’ve doomed it."

Eryndor’s jaw tightened. "No. I’ve given it a chance."

But even as he said it he wasn’t sure if he believed it.

Because the sky above them was not empty.

The Exiled Gods had not left.

They were still watching.

And they were waiting.

2 – The Divided World

Word of Eryndor’s actions spread like wildfire.

Some called him a savior, a Veilforged king who had ended centuries of suffering. They believed he had ushered in a new golden age, where gods and mortals could walk together without war.

Others called him a blasphemy, a destroyer, the one who had damned reality itself.

Entire factions rose in the aftermath:

The Veilborn Reclaimers – Worshippers who saw Eryndor as a prophet, believing he had freed the divine and should now rule as the first true Veilforged Emperor.

The Astral Wardens – Once scholars, now warriors, who saw his actions as an abomination. They sought to undo what had been done, even if it meant killing him.

The Gilded Concord – With their control over relics shattered, they turned to a new mission. Harnessing Eryndor’s power for themselves.

And deep in the shadows, the Umbral Courts whispered of a darker path.

Because there was one truth that no one could ignore:

The Exiled Gods had not simply accepted this new world.

They were testing it.

And soon, they would decide its fate.

3 – The Gods That Walk Among Us

Eryndor sat alone on the edge of a ruined cliff, staring out at the horizon.

The world felt different now. The air shimmered with latent magic, and he could see things he never could before. Veil-spirits drifting through the forests, forgotten gods awakening from their slumber, shadows that did not belong.

He had changed everything.

But had he done the right thing?

A voice spoke behind him.

"You’re afraid."

Eryndor turned.

A figure stood in the dying light. A tall woman, clad in a cloak of stars, her skin dark as midnight, her eyes burning with cosmic fire.

He knew her name.

A god.

One of the Exiled Ones.

He did not bow.

"I did what I had to," he said carefully.

The goddess smiled. "Perhaps. But do you truly think your mortal world is ready for us?"

Eryndor’s hands tightened into fists.

"I don’t know," he admitted. "But I won’t let you destroy it."

The goddess chuckled. "You misunderstand."

She stepped forward, her presence vast and overwhelming, like standing before a storm given flesh.

"We do not seek to destroy, Veilforged."

She tilted her head.

"But we do not serve you, either."

Eryndor’s chest tightened. "Then what do you want?"

Her eyes burned brighter.

"To see if this world can stand on its own."

And with that, she vanished, leaving Eryndor alone with his thoughts.

And for the first time, he realized

The war was not over.

It had only changed.

4 – The Final Betrayal

Eryndor returned to his camp, where Kaelen and Vaelith waited.

He had barely spoken when a sharp pain exploded in his side.

He staggered.

A blade had been driven through him.

Eryndor gasped, choking on blood, as he turned to see—

Kaelen.

The knight’s gray eyes were cold, his face unreadable.

"I’m sorry," Kaelen murmured. "But this world was never meant to be like this."

He twisted the blade.

Eryndor collapsed to his knees, his vision blurring.

Vaelith shouted in fury, his magic crackling to life, but Kaelen was faster.

The last thing Eryndor saw before the world went dark was the sky above him, fractured and endless.

And the distant laughter of gods.

Chapter 10 – The Veilforged

1 – Death and Rebirth

Eryndor was dying.

He lay in the dirt, the scent of blood and smoke thick in his lungs, Kaelen’s betrayal still a sharp pain in his chest.

His vision faded, not into darkness, but into the space between worlds. The place where the Veil unraveled, where gods whispered and forgotten things waited to be reborn.

"You are not done yet, Veilforged."

The voice echoed in his skull, a voice that did not belong to any mortal.

He felt cold hands press against his heart, and in an instant—

The pain was gone.

He gasped, sitting up, the wound in his side already closing with unnatural speed.

He was no longer in the mortal world.

He was in the Veil itself.

And he was not alone.

Before him, five towering figures stood in a circle, their forms shifting between light, shadow, and something far older.

The Exiled Gods.

The one who had spoken—the goddess in the cloak of stars—tilted her head.

"You have rewritten the Veil. But now, you must decide what you will be."

Eryndor’s pulse pounded. "I already made my choice."

The gods did not move.

"No. You changed the world. But now you must decide your place in it."

Eryndor clenched his fists. "I’m not like you."

The goddess smiled. "You could be."

"Or you could return to the mortals who have betrayed you."

"Or"

Her silver eyes burned.

"You could become something entirely new."

The Veil trembled, waiting for his answer.

For the last time, Eryndor had a choice.

2 – The War Below

Far beneath the Veil, Elarion burned.

The Gilded Concord had declared war on the Veilborn Reclaimers, while the Astral Wardens hunted Eryndor’s followers, blaming him for the collapse of their world.

The sky above them all still shimmered with the echoes of his power, the scars of what he had done.

And at the center of it all Kaelen stood at the gates of Hollowmere, his sword dripping with blood.

He had done what he believed was necessary.

But the world had not healed.

It had only grown more divided.

And deep in the shadows, Lirien still waited, her silver eyes watching the sky, wondering if Eryndor would return. Or if he had become something else entirely.

The world held its breath.

The sky split apart.

3 – The Return of the Veilforged

Lightning ripped through the heavens as Eryndor descended from the Veil, his form wreathed in raw magic, his presence vast and unknowable.

He was no longer mortal.

And he was not a god.

He was something in between.

His feet touched the ground at the battlefield’s center. The moment he landed, everyone stopped.

The soldiers of the Gilded Concord lowered their blades.

The Veilborn Reclaimers knelt, whispering his name like a prayer.

The Astral Wardens hesitated, unsure whether to bow or run.

And Kaelen—

Kaelen stood frozen, his sword trembling in his hand.

"You’re alive," the knight whispered.

Eryndor’s eyes burned with a power beyond comprehension. "Yes."

The wind howled. The Veil rippled around him.

The world itself seemed to hold its breath.

And then Eryndor spoke.

4 – The Final Decree

"I have seen the other side," he said, his voice carrying through the battlefield, through the world itself.

"I have seen the gods you feared."

"I have seen the world that could be."

"And I will not let you destroy it."

Kaelen gritted his teeth. "You don’t understand what you’ve done."

Eryndor lifted his hand, and suddenly—

Kaelen was frozen in place, held by unseen force.

"You betrayed me," Eryndor said softly.

Kaelen’s jaw clenched. "You betrayed the world."

Eryndor stared at him for a long moment. Then he let him go.

Kaelen staggered back, panting.

"I am not here for revenge," Eryndor said. "I am here to end this war."

His voice thundered across the battlefield.

"The Veil is no longer a barrier. It is a bridge."

"Mortals and gods will walk together. No more fear. No more exile."

He spread his arms, and the Veil itself answered him, rippling across the sky.

"This is my will."

And when he spoke those words, the world itself changed.

5 – The New Age

The war ended that day.

The factions scattered, their leaders forced to accept the new world Eryndor had forged.

The Gilded Concord fell, their influence shattered.

The Astral Wardens withdrew, no longer able to enforce their old ways.

And the Veilborn Reclaimers?

They waited.

They watched.

Because even though Eryndor had refused to become a god, he had still become something more than mortal.

And some still whispered his name in prayer.

But Eryndor did not rule.

He did not stay in Hollowmere.

He did not take the throne they offered him.

Instead—

He walked the world, between realms, ensuring that mortals and gods kept the peace he had created.

Some called him a guardian.

Some called him a wanderer.

But most called him what he truly was.

The Veilforged.

The one who had rewritten fate itself.

And though centuries passed, his legend never faded.

Because as long as the Veil remained, as long as the bridge between worlds stood unbroken—

Eryndor Vale’s name would never be forgotten.

The End