Story 727: The Veil

The Rotting Cathedral lay in ruins. The once-majestic structure, laced with bone and decay, had become nothing more than a shattered grave.

From the wreckage, a single hand emerged.

It was pale, marred with dried blood and arcane sigils. Selene Nocturna rose from the rubble, her hood still intact, shadowing her face save for the eerie smirk curling her blackened lips.

"Ending my reign?" she mused, dusting herself off. Her voice carried no fear. Only amusement.

The Harbinger stood several feet away, their form still fluctuating—caught between life, death, and something far worse. The plague they had consumed had reshaped them, molding them into something that even Selene did not recognize.

For the first time in centuries, she had lost control of the disease.

Selene licked the blood from her lips, intrigued. She had never imagined a pawn breaking free from her game.