between the veils

Chapter Eleven: Between the Veils

I didn't breathe for a full ten seconds.

Not because I was afraid—but because I didn't know how.

The room shimmered around me, soft at the edges like a dream. My fingers, still cold from tracing the frost symbol, felt alive with energy. Something had awakened. Something ancient. Something heavy.

I blinked, and the world split.

My bed remained. My books, my walls, the soft blue of the blanket Parker once gave me—still there. But overlaid on it all was something else. A second reality. Threads of light and shadow ran through the space, like a spider's web dancing on a breeze. I reached out instinctively, and the strands trembled beneath my touch.

Then the whispering started.

At first, it was soft—like leaves brushing each other in a forest. Then louder, until it filled my ears with voices. Familiar and not.

"Help her."

"Find me."

"He knew. He always knew."

I stumbled back, hitting the edge of my desk. My heart beat wildly, not from fear, but recognition. These weren't voices from outside me. They were calling from through me, around me.

And somewhere within the chorus, I heard Parker's voice.

Low. Almost inaudible.

But it was his.

"Not yet. You're not ready."

I spun around, searching the room. "Parker?" I called out.

Silence.

Then... stillness. The shimmer dissolved, and the world snapped back into place. Just my room. Just me. But I knew now—I'd touched something real. I had crossed some invisible line.

The veil between worlds wasn't just real.

It had chosen me.

---

By midday, I couldn't shake the feeling that the symbol on the window was a summons—an invitation into something deeper.

I sat in the back corner of the university library, barely hearing my professor's voice over the buzz in my head. The lecture on structural engineering blurred into the background. I stared at the spiral I had redrawn in my notebook, over and over, until the pen wore a hole in the page.

Someone cleared their throat beside me.

I looked up and met a pair of sharp eyes—light brown, with flecks of amber.

The girl had tight, coiled hair that bounced with her movements and an aura that felt too intense for a stranger. She leaned in.

"You've seen them, haven't you?"

I blinked. "Seen what?"

She glanced around, lowered her voice. "The marks. The in-between. The dead who whisper."

My skin went cold.

She smiled, as if my silence confirmed everything. "You're not alone. Andra, right?"

I stared at her. "How do you know my name?"

"We're not supposed to meet yet," she said, standing again, "but the veil thinned too soon. You should come to the old art building after dark. Third floor. Room with the broken skylight."

Then she walked away.

No name. No explanation.

Just a chilling certainty that my world had changed again.

---

Night fell like a cloak. I left the rentals quietly, telling my roommate Happy I had a group project. She didn't press further, though I caught her staring at me for longer than usual.

Moi University campus at night had always had its pockets of silence, but tonight felt different. Alive. I made my way toward the art building, my breath visible in the cold air. The building stood like an abandoned cathedral—half-forgotten, stained with time and whispers.

I climbed the creaking stairs to the third floor. A single broken skylight bathed the hallway in moonlight.

And then I saw her.

The girl from earlier, waiting in the shadows.

"You came," she said. "Good. Then we don't have time to waste."

I stepped inside.

The room was circular, the floor painted with old symbols—some spirals like the one on my window, others jagged and incomplete.

She lit three candles, placing them in a triangle.

Then, she looked at me with strange reverence.

"My name is Nyah," she said. "And you, Andra Summers, have been Called. By the veil. By the voices. And by those who remain tethered."

"Tethered?"

"Spirits," she explained. "Spirits who can't move on because they're tangled in obsessions. Regrets. Grief. Rage. The dead who still feel too much. You're what they call a Threadbearer."

I sat, trying to process the flood of information.

Nyah continued, "Your brother's death wasn't random. His spirit is among them—but he's deeper. Hidden. Bound by something he refused to speak of."

Tears welled in my eyes before I could stop them.

"He told us not to cry," I whispered. "Before he died. I didn't cry. I thought I was honoring him. But now... I don't know what I'm doing anymore."

Nyah reached out, pressing a warm palm to my chest.

"You're not lost," she said. "You're waking up. The first mission always reveals itself through the spiral."

The spiral.

The frost on my window.

I looked down—and for a brief moment, I saw it glowing faintly beneath the candlelight.

"What now?" I asked.

She smiled faintly.

"Now, we untangle the first obsession. And you begin your journey... not just as a sister, but as a guide between the dead and the living.