Veil Red Novels & Stories

​The Violet Veil ​In the village above, the Salt-Bloods and Bloom-Kin watched in awe as the invisible Aegis shroud suddenly ignited. A dome of violet fire erupted over the island, stretching miles into the sky. It wasn't a solid wall; it was a shimmering, liquid lattice of energy that pulsed in time with the Weaver’s frantic heartbeat. ​The ships of the blockade—the Consolidators—immediately opened fire. ​Kinetic slugs slammed into the violet veil, but instead of shattering it, they were absorbed. The resonance of the "Tuning Fork" caught the slugs, vibrating them until they turned into harmless dust that drifted down like snow onto the harbor.

Blown away by the beautiful arrangement of dresses. As they walked in, her eyes settled on a dress, and for a full minute, she didn’t look away. “That’s the seventh edition of the Astra Veil from the House of CẾLESTE NOIR.” The brunette stepped in front of her, running her fingers through the sleek dress that caught the light with a soft opalescent shimmer. “We have seven of these in the world. This is the only one in Morvane. Do you want to take it?”

Only a name, soft as breath, sharp as longing, passed from one to the next like a forbidden secret: Seren. They did not wear armor. They wore veils, every colour borrowed from the palette of loss: ember-grey, soot-black, blind-silver, bloodless red. Each veil was heavy with meaning. Some stitched with runes, the sigils of kin lost to fire or frost. Some bore only a blank square, unadorned—grief without a name. Others were cut from remnants of banners, repurposed as reminders that the old world was gone.

Rio. “N-nothing, alpha.” Veil stutters. She's lying, I can already detect it. Those marks aren't nothing. “Nothing? What woman out there has such marks on her body?” She looks away, trembling. I know there’s more than meets the eye. What is she not telling me? “Veil?” “It's nothing, alpha!” She shouts, anxious. “Can we just forget about it?” Over my dead body. I'd be the last man on earth that would pretend I didn't see marks I've never seen before on my woman. The last man who'd keep quiet about it.

The gown is simple yet very elegant. The upper part was slim-fitting, hugging my body. It had just one hand that wrapped around my right shoulder, holding onto the cup of the bra. The upper part of the gown was adorned with beautiful gemstones. From, my lower waist down is a puffy bottom. I wear red gloves, reaching my elbow, with a transparent red veil on my head covering my face. The gown was worth the wait; I have never seen a simple yet luxurious gown before. When I saw it, I couldn’t stop looking at it; it was perfect.

People were running, dropping, pressing themselves against walls, and the whole of it crashed over me in waves that I could not organize into anything coherent. All I could see was the woman on the floor. The blood had spread further now, patient and unstoppable, reaching the hem of my wedding dress and climbing the lace in a slow red tide. The veil was still pinned in my hair, its long cathedral length pooled around my feet, the white tulle settling against the edge of the stain like it was part of the same image. I could not look away from her eyes. Open. Fixed on the ceiling. Seeing nothing at all. A broken sound came out of my throat that I did not decide to make.

Celine shrugs, “It was mostly out of spite in the end. He was a part of a group called ‘The Veil.’. As far as we understand it ‘The Veil’ was originally a group dedicated to encouraging all peoples to work together for the betterment of all, but there are parts of it that have become ‘corrupt’ for want of a better term. The aim of those sections is the subjugation of humans, if not their outright extermination. We dismantled the one in England.” Eva puts her cup of tea down.

I asked. She turned slightly. “The veil,” I said, gesturing to my own face. “I thought that tradition had mostly died out across the packs.” She shrugged. “Some still practice.” “What are the central tenets?” I asked. “I’m curious.” A pause. Slightly longer than it should have been. “Prayer. Devotion to the Goddess.” She stopped, then continued, “the veil is a commitment. The removal of vanity before the divine.” “And the name?”

The forest around it has gone quiet, animals absent, insects silent. The land itself seems uncertain whether it exists. Arthur circles the perimeter cautiously. “This isn’t Veil magic.” “No,” I agree. “It’s responding to the absence of sacrifice.” The thought settles heavy in my chest. The Veil was a filter. A pressure valve. Without blood to regulate it, power is redistributing—and not everything likes change. I step closer. The Mark warms. The rift reacts. It pulses—not aggressively, but curiously. Like something sniffing the air.

“Why can’t she just open the Veil now and end this now before it starts?” “Because the Veil is a cage, not a weapon.” I explained. “It requires a lot of strength, and so does sealing Baelor.” “Indeed,” Aelius nodded. “It needs to happen quickly or else the Veil will collapse. If he enters before the rest, the Veil won’t hold.” Claire didn’t speak, but I could tell by her paled expression that she was beginning to understand what was happening. She knew that I had asked her to protect Violet with a reason.