Veilstone City Novels & Stories

Their breath curled in the cold. “This place gives me hives,” Petrov muttered, fingering his blade. The ruins weren’t like any the world had seen. Arched hallways carved into blackened stone, ceilings laced with veins of glowing silver, and murals of things with too many eyes. Words etched into the walls pulsed faintly, reacting to their presence. “According to Malthea,” Vulture murmured, “this city predates all recorded history. It was part of the First Pact. The ones who fought the Hollow King the first time.”

The forest looked warped beneath the half-light, and the air hung still, charged with invisible tension. Iris shaded her eyes. “Is it an eclipse?” Aiden’s voice was low. “No. It’s the Veil.” The Veil. An ancient omen—a curtain between the mortal world and the realm of the spirits. For it to descend now meant something catastrophic was drawing near. It meant the boundaries were cracking, and the Hollow Throne was stirring. Her mark burned. Not with the usual golden fire, nor with the black void it had flirted with before. Now, it shimmered a dusky violet—a melding of both. Balance unbalanced.

“And whose fault is that Kael?” The air between them was thick. “I didn’t drag her into anything,” Kael said, voice sharp like a blade. “The Veil called her. She saw them.” Raven’s jaw tightened. His eyes moved from Kael to me, and I felt the weight of it—like he was peeling away every layer of defense I had. “What did you see?” The bone throne flashed in my mind. The black spires. That city that wasn’t supposed to exist. I opened my mouth, but the words stuck in my throat.

Arc symbols glowed faintly in the stone like veins under skin. “This doesn’t look like a lab,” I whispered. Damien shook water—or whatever that substance was—off his hands. “No. This looks like something we shouldn’t be in at all.” A low rumble vibrated under our feet and traveled up through my spine. The floor lit up with intricate geometric patterns, forming a symbol around us—like a seal had been activated the moment we arrived. I turned slowly, taking it in. “Sector Zero wasn’t a backup lab,” I murmured. “It was a foundation. A core.”

“The Hollow feeds on death. This… feels alive. Older. Wilder.” They dressed quickly, the intimacy of the night replaced by the urgency of quiet dread. Outside, the Vale slept beneath a waning moon. Lanterns glowed like small stars along the repaired bridges and market streets. Maxim led Zara to the balcony again. The city’s new heartstone—an obsidian monolith erected where the council tower once stood—pulsed faintly, its surface etched with sigils of unity. Tonight its light flickered, dimmer than usual.

“Once.” Across the cavern rose the remains of a city. Columns of obsidian still stood, their surfaces carved with the same spiraling runes she’d seen in the Cradle. Stairways climbed to empty terraces, and streets wound between roofless halls. Faint lights flickered among them—like lanterns, but moving too smoothly to be fire. Kaelira felt her pulse stutter. “Verrithen,” she whispered. “The city below the first capital.” Zevran stepped beside her. “Looks abandoned.”

“It doesn’t.” They nod, satisfied, and leave. No signatures. No approvals. Just communication. — Later, standing on the balcony, I watch the city move. Not perfectly. But purposefully. The Veil holds—not as a wall, but as a living membrane, responsive and resilient. Arthur comes to stand behind me, arms circling my waist. “We didn’t lose control,” he says quietly. “No,” I agree. “We gave it away.” He rests his chin on my shoulder. “Think they’ll give it back?”

Here, the danger was wrapped in velvet and polite smiles. She reached an outdoor terrace that overlooked the upper tier of the district. From this height, the city looked like a circuit board, humming with neon life. But the further her eyes traveled, the darker the landscape became, until it reached the jagged, lightless silhouette of the Abribi spires in the distance. That was where Zilo was. That was where the Heartstone was being held captive in a ritual that would eventually tear the sky open. “You look like you’re contemplating a jump,” a voice said from behind her.

Zaria’s POV I looked at the building with its old bricks and ivy-covered front; the purple flag read "Moonveil Academy." The man in a suit gestured for me to enter. While I approached, I could hear the remote hum of voices sounding from inside, along with the faint ring of a bell in the halls beyond. The large doors seemed to be made of heavy wood, cool to the touch, and carved with dragon heads, wolves, and serpents. I experienced a weird jolt inside of me. Nerves.

"To the garden. When you have time. The city will teach you the rest." She nods. She goes. --- I go to the garden. Warm stone. Lavender. The tall plant doing its invisible work. I put my hands on the stone. The city hums. Not just Caldenveil's seven frequencies — the network, in the contact that Neva built and Sable maintains, running through the living document, all of it present in the root note of the seventh anchor. Vareth. Lorne. Thal. Mireth. Arien. The three hidden eastern cities that came forward through the contact. The fourteen eastern anomalous cities. The twenty-three northern Warden cities, pre-acknowledged, waiting.