Thorns Beneath The Veil Novels & Stories

Hilda Cerelia reads the entry aloud so Arlo and Soren are also brought up to speed. “5th Night of the Harvest Moon. The veil grows thin with the turning of the seasons, and again, I feel the weight of my duty. The Veilbreaker rests as it has for generations, untouched beneath the watchful gaze of the whispering stones. There, where the moonlight spills unbroken upon the earth, it lies within the roots of the lone ash, its heart wrapped in silver-threaded cloth. Only the blood of our line may stir it from slumber, and only in dire need shall it waken.

“We’re not your enemy, Convergence. The city’s heart is our last hope.” Aelys steps forward, her aura blazing, her voice resonant. “The Veil trusts us, Theryn. Help us, or step aside.” Her lunar mark glows, a wave of starlight and shadow washing through the hall, and Theryn hesitates, their eyes flickering, but a crystalline trap springs—Overveil-touched vines, their void lashing, the city’s defenses waking.

Without another word, Thorne excused himself to retrieve the secret volume from the underground library—a room I’d tried to break into as a teen more times than I’d admit, and failed every time. Mom squeezed my hand once, then stood. “I’ll step outside,” she said softly. I frowned. “Why?” “I’m not Moonveil by blood. And the reading ceremony… it’s not for me. That’s the rule.” She gave me a sad little smile. “But whatever you find—I’ll be waiting.” She kissed my forehead and left the room with quiet, heavy steps. Not long after, Thorne returned. This time, he carried a book older than any I’d seen. The cover was cracked black leather, the crescent moon emblem etched deep like it had been carv

The Black Bloom At the edge of the Grove, where Elin’s group had planted a meditation circle, something had bloomed overnight. Not flowers. Not Spiral leaves. Thorns. Dozens of black stemmed thorns had sprouted in a perfect ring around the seed chamber. They pulsed with the same rhythm as the seed itself. When Elira tried to cut one, it screamed. Not aloud. In memory. Everyone near it fell to their knees, clutching their heads. Visions. Names. Lost moments. All unraveling at once.

“I am a descendant of those who once doubted. Tonight I renounce doubt. The bond is not weakness. It is the reason we still stand.” Ela’s voice carried across the gathering. “The Iron Veil comes for our power. Let them come. They will find not an army, but a family that remembers how to love through darkness.” War came anyway. On the twelfth day, the Iron Veil’s vanguard crested the southern ridge five thousand soldiers in star-iron armor, siege engines groaning behind them. Their war drums echoed like thunder. Thornwood did not meet them with steel. Ela and her mates led a delegation under a banner of white and living emerald leaves. Behind them walked hundreds—elders, children, scholars, w

In the heartbeat of the tomb-watcher outside the gate. She closed her eyes in the void. --- The thistle bloomed in the wind and snow of the Northern Territories. Silver-white petals, the edges tinted with a faint purple. The wind flipped the petals over, exposing the silver-white down on their undersides. The thistle's roots burrowed deeper and deeper into the stone seam. Her scent coiled around the roots and followed them downward. Into deeper frozen earth, into more ancient layers of ice. She waited there. Waited for that person of the same frequency to come. Waited for her to push open this gate, now without a lock. Waited for her to pull the thistle from the stone and carry it back into

The thorns seemed to pulsate with a dark energy, as if they were alive, waiting to ensnare their next victim. The thorns were a warning to any who entered the dungeon - a warning that this was a place of pain and suffering, a place where only the strongest could survive. Bree shivered as she looked around the dungeon, feeling a sense of dread wash over her. She knew that she was in for a long and brutal punishment, and that the thorns would be her constant companions throughout her time in the dungeon.

He slides in first, leaving the door open. I climb in. Blue stays outside, leaning against the hood, her arms crossed. Torres doesn't waste time. He pulls a slim folder from the seat beside him and sets it on his knee. "The veil," he begins, "is the barrier between the living realm and the Underworld. It's not solid. It's more like a membrane. For centuries it's been thinning in places, letting spirits slip through. Possessions, hauntings, and power leaks. Your husband is one of the worst leaks."

He would never. Her words might as well have been a neon sign pointing at Holly. The servants had gathered, their eyes filled with a mix of scorn, contempt, and the thrill of gossip. Their stares felt like a thousand needles jabbing at Holly all at once. She felt a chill run through her, and as she met Melissa's searching gaze, she immediately wanted to deny it all. Luke leaned in close, his voice a hushed plea in Holly's ear. "Cover for Cecilia, will you? Please, Holly, I need your help just this once.

"Stop following me." "I have the right to freedom of movement." Keane took Dante's hand and pulled him. Dante kept trying to wriggle his hands out but Keane's grip was strong. "You'll only hurt your wrist if you keep struggling." "Where are we going?" "Shh" They took the backdoor. A "Wow" escaped Dante's breath when they got out. The water fountain took Dante's breath away. The dark sky added to the scenery's beauty. "Look at you gawking at this little fountain. The one at my place is bigger and better."