The Kingdom Beyond the Veil

The veil shimmered like mist over still water, rippling in the windless night. No one else could see it — not the villagers gathered at the edge of the meadow, not even the priest who clutched his charms and prayed under his breath. But Alira saw it, clear as moonlight on snow.

And she felt it calling her.

The old stories had said nothing about the veil singing. They spoke of the Shadowed Realm as a place of peril, a prison of things that should never cross into the mortal world. But they also said that beyond the veil burned the Heartlight, the eternal flame that gave breath to all life. And now that flame was faltering. The forests had withered. The river had dried to a trickle. If no one passed through and rekindled it, the world would end.

Alira took a step forward. The veil parted soundlessly, and the mortal world vanished behind her like a snuffed candle.

She stood in a place of endless dusk. The air smelled of rain and iron. Shadows stretched impossibly long across the ground, though there was no sun nor moon to cast them. Slowly, they lifted, pulling free from the soil and the rocks, rising like ink come to life.

“You should not be here.”

The voice came from nowhere and everywhere at once. One of the shadows had formed a figure — not quite human, but close enough to make Alira’s heart pound. Its edges frayed like smoke, but its eyes were two perfect shards of silver.

“I have to be,” she said, forcing her voice to stay steady. “The Heartlight is dying.”

The shadow tilted its head. “The light dies every age. It is the way of things.”

“Not this time,” Alira said. “This time it’s failing too soon. If I don’t reach it, my world will burn to ash.”

The shadow was silent, then drifted closer until its shape towered over her. It could have been a guardian or an executioner — she could not tell which.

“Follow,” it said at last.

Alira obeyed.

The path twisted through forests where the trees whispered warnings, through valleys where mist clung to her skin like cold fingers. Sometimes, other shadows followed — some watching, some laughing, some whispering in voices too low to understand.

Her guide never looked back.

Days — or what passed for days in this half-light — blurred together. Alira grew hungry, then hollow, then strangely light, as though her mortal body were slowly slipping away. The shadow finally stopped at the mouth of a canyon. Beyond, a faint radiance glowed — not gold, not fire, but the pure white-blue of starlight.

“The Heartlight,” she breathed.

But as she stepped forward, another shadow dropped into her path, this one sharper, darker, and bristling with fury.

“She cannot pass,” it hissed.

“She must,” said her guide.

“She is flesh. She will taint the light.”

Alira’s hand went to the amulet around her neck, a relic her grandmother had pressed into her palm before the journey. Its surface was warm now, pulsing softly like a heartbeat.

“I don’t want to taint it,” she said. “I want to save it. Let me through — or show me how to do it without crossing.”

The hostile shadow wavered, its edges trembling like wind-tossed smoke. Then it lunged — not at her, but at her guide, and the two collided in a storm of writhing darkness.

Alira ran.

She stumbled into the canyon, the glow growing blinding, searing her eyes. In the center stood the Heartlight: a crystal flame, suspended in midair, its brilliance flickering like a dying lantern.

Without thinking, she pressed the amulet to it.

The world exploded in light.

When her vision cleared, she was back in the meadow, the dawn just breaking. The air smelled of grass and rain again. Behind her, the veil was gone.

But when she looked down, her shadow stretched long and silver-eyed, and for a heartbeat, it smiled at her.