Chapter 6 “Through The Veil”
I used to think storms ended when the rain stopped.
I was wrong.
Some storms don’t fade — they settle. They sink into the soil, into the bones of the world, into the hollow spaces inside your ribs. They wait. They watch. They change everything they touch.
The night Elara vanished, the sky cracked open — and it’s never been the same since. The clouds moved like living things, twisting in shapes that made my skin crawl. The lightning didn’t fall from the sky; it rose from the forest. And when the thunder finally came, it felt like the world was splitting in half.
Now, weeks later, the air still hums with that same strange vibration. It crawls under your skin, slithering down your spine. You can feel it near the border forest — like the trees are listening, like the ground remembers.
Everyone else pretends they don’t notice.
I can’t.
I’ve been out there every day since she disappeared. Searching. Listening. Hoping. The search parties ended after the third day, once the tracks stopped making sense. They said the forest swallowed her whole. That no human girl could survive whatever lived in those woods.
But Elara wasn’t just any girl.
And she wasn’t the kind of woman you just lose.
She chose everything she did with purpose. Her steps always meant something. Her silences held stories. If she was gone, it wasn’t by accident — something took her. Something bigger than any of us understood.
And I’m going to find it.
The border forest rises before me now, dark and endless, its canopy twisting into a ceiling that blocks out the sun. The rain from last night still clings to the leaves, dripping slow and steady, soaking into my clothes. Wet pine fills the air, sharp enough to sting.
My boots sink into the mud as I push deeper, past the markers the searchers left weeks ago — ribbons tied to branches, now bleached and torn. A reminder of how quickly hope rots.
The forest is silent.
Too silent.
No birds. No rustling. No insects.
Just the slow beat of my heart and the whisper of my breath.
I stop near the old creek — the last place anyone found a piece of her. That’s where they discovered her satchel, tossed on the rocks like someone ripped it from her shoulder. And next to it, the footprints that led nowhere. Perfect human prints that suddenly… ended. As if she stepped into thin air.
I crouch and touch the earth, brushing aside a layer of wet leaves. The soil is damp — but warm. Throbbing, almost. A faint pulse beats against my fingertips.
My stomach drops.
That’s not possible.
I pull back quickly, wiping my hand against my coat. The forest watches. I feel it. Waiting. Breathing.
Then the wind shifts.
At first it’s just a sigh, soft enough to ignore. But then it threads between the trees, curling around my ears like a voice carried by mist.
“Liam…”
My blood runs cold.
I spin, scanning the shadows. “Elara?”
Nothing answers — no footsteps, no branches breaking, no movement. Just drifting mist and the aching echo of her name fading in the air. But I heard her. I know her voice like I know my own heartbeat.
It was her.
It had to be.
I take a step forward, and something gleams ahead — half-buried in mud near the base of a fallen log. I approach slowly, muscles tight, breath caught halfway between fear and hope.
When I kneel and brush it free, my throat closes.
A chain pendant. Silver. Worn smooth from years of use. A crescent moon carved into its face — her symbol. Elara never went anywhere without it.
My hand trembles as I lift it. The moment my fingers close around the metal, a shock tears through me — electric, icy, alive. My vision blurs. For a single heartbeat, I see her — pale, frightened, surrounded by swirling silver light, reaching out to me.
“Elara—”
But the image rips away as fast as it came, leaving me gasping, heart crashing against my ribs.
The pendant feels heavier than before, as if something ancient coils inside it.
The air trembles.
Clouds gather above the treetops, bleeding red where the sun should be rising. The sky looks wrong — bruised and feverish. A sign. A warning. Or a beginning of something much worse.
I don’t stay to study it. I shove the pendant into my pocket and turn back toward the village, walking fast. Too fast.
By the time I reach the edge of town, most doors are already shut. People peer through cracks in their curtains, whispering prayers or curses or both. Mothers pull their children inside. Men guard their thresholds with old rifles and older fear.
They say the Blood Moon is returning.
That the veil between worlds is thinning again.
That those who disappear now… don’t come back human.
I don’t believe in omens.
I believe in Elara.
Her cottage sits at the far end of the village, small and quiet, its herbs still hanging from the rafters. When I step inside, the smell of rosemary, smoke, and pine oil hits me so hard my chest tightens. It feels like she’s still here — just in the next room, humming under her breath.
I light a candle and set the pendant beside her worn journal. The flame catches on the metal, painting it in warm gold. But after a moment, the glow shifts — turning faintly red. Blood-red.
I swallow hard.
“If you’re out there, Elara,” I whisper, leaning close, “just hold on. I’m coming for you. Whatever took you — whatever this is — I’ll find it. I swear it.”
The candle flickers violently.
The flame bends toward the window.
Outside, the wind stirs — not wild, not random. Purposeful. Like fingers dragging across the walls of her home. A low growl rolls through the air, so distant I almost doubt it. Almost.
But I know the sound of a predator.
And this wasn’t any beast I’ve ever heard.
I grab my coat and the pendant, shoving it against my chest. My pulse is a steady roar in my ears.
The forest wants to scare me away. It wants me to stop looking.
It should’ve chosen someone else.
The storm took her.
The storm left me with a trail.
And this time…
I’m following it.