Amara Riven stood at the edge of the forest, the cool twilight casting long shadows over the familiar, winding path to her village. Ahead, faint lights flickered in the cottage windows scattered across the valley, each one a small promise of warmth. But she kept her distance, lingering just out of sight.

The air held a chill, and the light was fading fast. It was better this way, with only the wind and the quiet rustle of leaves as her companions.

A sound broke the silence—a soft crunch of footsteps approaching. She turned, hand instinctively tightening around her staff. But it was only Orin, his boyish face flushed from the climb up the hill. He skidded to a stop, his dark eyes full of mischief.

“Mother’s worried about you,” he said, catching his breath. “She told me to make sure you’re not sneaking off somewhere.”

Amara huffed softly, ruffling his hair. “I’m not sneaking off. I’m checking the wards along the Veil. It’s what I always do.”

Orin’s playful expression faded, his gaze sharpening. “You mean...because of the curse? The Ember?”

The Ember. The word alone was enough to cast a shadow over them both. Stories of it had drifted down from the north, chilling tales of villages turned hollow, people left as empty shells—places that felt too close to home. But it wasn’t just stories anymore. She’d felt it, lurking at the edges of the Veil, each day drawing nearer.

“Don’t worry about the Ember,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “The wards will hold, and I’ll make sure of it.”

Orin gave her a skeptical look, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he reached into his coat, pulling out a small, silver dagger. “Take this, just in case.”

Amara frowned. “That’s yours.”

“So? It’s for luck. Besides, if something happens to you, Mother will have my head.” He tried for a grin, though it faltered around the edges.

She couldn’t say no, not with the way he looked at her. Silently, she tucked the dagger into her belt, giving him a nod.

“I’ll be back before dawn,” she promised, though she couldn’t shake the weight of the words. With one last look, she turned back toward the forest, the path before her twisting into darkness.

Stolen story; please report.

The woods were silent, save for the soft whisper of leaves overhead. Each step carried her further from home and closer to the Veil—the thin, invisible line between her world and the shadowed realm that lay just beyond it. Most people never felt it, but for her, the Veil’s presence was as real as the air she breathed. She could feel it pressing against her senses, humming with a strange, restless energy.

She reached a small clearing where the ground sloped downward. Here, the air felt different, heavier. This was the place where the Veil ran thinnest, close enough to cross if she needed to. For anyone else, stepping through would be deadly, but her blood carried the strange, ancient magic of the Veilwalkers—a gift that allowed her to cross back and forth. The price, though, was never clear-cut.

As Amara extended her hand, a faint pulse ran through her fingers, like the ghost of a heartbeat. She focused, reaching out with her senses, brushing against the Veil’s edge. The familiar thrumming rose around her, steady and calm.

Then she felt it—wrongness, creeping in from somewhere close. The air grew warmer, heavy with a sickly, unnatural heat. Her pulse quickened, the hair on her arms prickling.

The Ember was here.

She forced herself to stay still, letting her senses guide her. It wasn’t fully in this realm—more like a shadow slipping through a doorway, seeking any weakness it could exploit. Her fingers moved instinctively, tracing a warding symbol in the air, a soft glow flaring to life between her hands.

But it wasn’t enough.

A flicker of movement caught her eye. She spun around, heart pounding, as a figure took shape at the edge of the clearing. It was dark, almost indistinct, as if carved from shadow, but faint glimmers of ember-like light traced along its edges, pulsing softly in the dark.

“Who’s there?” she called, keeping her voice steady.

No answer. The figure moved closer, its hollow gaze fixed on her. It was like nothing she’d ever seen—no human, no spirit. This was the Ember, twisting itself into a form that could cross the Veil, a manifestation of the curse that had already stolen so many lives.

It took another step forward, the embers tracing along its edges flaring brighter.

Amara’s mind raced. She couldn’t let it reach the village, couldn’t let it take root here. She planted her feet, lifting her staff. With a murmured incantation, shadows coiled around her hands, a defensive ward sparking to life. The air grew colder as she forced her magic into place, weaving a barrier between her and the figure.

The creature paused, its head tilting slightly. It seemed to sense her magic, the barrier she’d created, and for a brief moment, it hesitated.

But then it vanished, slipping back into the shadows.

She held her breath, listening, but the clearing was silent once more, the warmth of the Ember’s presence fading as if it had never been there. Yet she knew better. This wasn’t the last time it would come. It was only the beginning.

Amara took a steadying breath, lowering her hands. She’d felt its power—enough to know that her wards wouldn’t be enough to keep it at bay forever. But she couldn’t let herself falter. Not now.

As she turned to make her way back, the last of the twilight slipped below the horizon, casting the forest into darkness. Her thoughts lingered on Orin, on the promise she’d made to keep him safe, to keep them all safe.

No matter the cost