Chapter 13: Shadows Beyond the Veil.

The aftermath of the Crownless Road was not peace.

Kaelen and Lyra traveled in silence, the weight of the world's ruin growing heavier with each mile. The air felt thin, as if the heavens held their breath, watching two mortals who had cheated death and destroyed gods.

Beneath their feet, the earth cracked in strange patterns, veins of silver light seeping through like ancient wounds. Forests stood frozen mid-motion, branches twisting toward the heavens as if begging for mercy that would never come.

"I dreamed of this place," Lyra muttered, her voice strained.

Kaelen glanced at her. He noticed the color had drained from her cheeks and how her gaze drifted to things he couldn't see. She had crossed into death's realm and returned, but she hadn't come back unscathed.

"We should rest," he suggested, though sleep was a luxury neither could afford.

"No. There's something out there. I can feel it."

They pressed on.

By nightfall, they reached a place known in the oldest maps as Eryndor Hollow, a forgotten valley shrouded in perpetual mist. Legend claimed it was a gateway between worlds, a tear where the Veil thinned so much that even the dead could whisper to the living.

A half-collapsed chapel stood at its center, draped in flowering vines and pale ghostgrass. A single figure waited for them by its shattered doors.

Avelar.

The exile. The lost prince. The man Kaelen thought had died ten years ago.

"I wondered how long it would take you," Avelar called, his voice a mix of shadow and light.

Kaelen tensed. Lyra's hand moved to the hilt of her dagger.

"You should be dead," Kaelen growled.

"I was," Avelar replied with a smile. "But death, it seems, is a tricky jailer."

The prince gestured to the chapel.

"Come. There's much you don't know."

Kaelen hesitated. Every instinct warned him it was a trap. But Lyra touched his arm.

"If he wanted to kill us, he'd have done it already."

Together, they entered.

The chapel smelled of ancient dust and lost prayers. Sunlight filtered weakly through broken stained glass, casting blood-colored patterns on the stone floor.

Faint whispers surrounded them, the voices of the long dead.

Avelar stood at the altar, his hand resting on a blade made of bone and starlight.

"This was never about crowns," he said, getting straight to the point. "Not about gods, not about rebellion."

Kaelen scowled. "Then what is it about?"

"The cycle," Avelar whispered. "The endless chain. Mortals rise. Gods fall. The Veil breaks. It has happened before, and it will happen again. Unless we end it."

"And how do you plan to do that?" Lyra asked, her eyes sharp.

Avelar pointed to the sword. "This is the Shard of Origin. The first weapon forged when the world was young. It can unmake the Veil itself."

Kaelen's breath caught.

"To what end?"

"To erase everything that binds the realms. To rebuild the world anew, no gods, no chosen bloodlines, no destiny."

Lyra's hand trembled. "You'd kill millions."

"I'd save the generations to come from this endless war."

Silence fell between them.

"I won't let you," Kaelen said coldly.

"I hoped you'd say that."

And Avelar struck.

The battle within the chapel was fierce, the air thick with power and ancient curses. The very walls seemed to bleed light and shadow as Kaelen's sword met Avelar's Shard of Origin.

Lyra moved through the clash, her magic snapping in arcs of violet lightning.

Avelar was no longer completely mortal. Death had marked him. He moved like mist, his strikes uncanny. But Kaelen was driven by grief, rage, and an urgent need to protect the woman he loved.

Steel clashed. Blood fell.

And then, Avelar's blade found Kaelen's side.

Lyra screamed.

Kaelen staggered, the cold of the Shard sinking into his bones.

"End it, Lyra," Kaelen gasped.

Tears blurred her vision. She summoned every ounce of magic left in her blood.

A single, perfect bolt of stormfire.

It struck Avelar square in the chest.

The prince's eyes widened in shock as the bolt ripped through him, searing his soul from his flesh. He crumbled to ash.

Silence took over the chapel.

Kaelen collapsed into Lyra's arms.

At Dawn

When the sun rose, Kaelen lay feverish, the wound from the Shard poisoning his blood.

Lyra did not sleep. She kept vigil, her hands never leaving his.

She knew the battle for the world was far from over. The true war lay ahead, in places neither gods nor mortals dared to tread.

But for now, she whispered old lullabies and prayed to no one at all.

Because sometimes, love was a rebellion all its own.

And though the world would bleed again, it would remember this night.

Where a forsaken prince fell.

Where two lovers clung to each other.

Where the last hope of a dying realm still burned.