CHAPTER 34: When Shadows Break

Author's POV

The shadows parted like breath on glass, the blackness receding as though exhaling its final curse. Selvara lay trembling on the blood-soaked ground, her slender form curled around the dagger still lodged in her side. The wound was deep—vicious—and blood pooled beneath her in stark defiance of everything the group had tried to hold together.

Nylessa's hands glowed, trembling but firm as she poured healing magic into the wound. A golden shimmer laced her fingers, pulsing with urgency. "Stay with me," she whispered, voice cracking. "You're not a failure, do you hear me? I said those things because I'm broken, not because you are. You're not a failed creation, Selvara. You're—"

Her throat tightened. She dared not speak what Selvara truly was to her.

Across the clearing, Clive, pale and reeling from his own memories—his dead daughter's laugh, the weight of his own blade at his throat—stumbled forward. He fell to his knees beside Selvara, gripping her hand like a man clutching the edge of a cliff.

Grimpel appeared next, visibly shaken but trying to keep his usual wise-cracking demeanor. His skull twitched as though resisting something unspoken. "Bloody hell," he muttered, eyes fixed on the blood-soaked soil. "This veil nearly did us in."

Verrin, as always, stood apart—unscathed, untouched, unmoved.

As the last of Selvara's wound sealed shut with a final pulse of golden light, the suffocating darkness of the veil evaporated entirely, like ash caught in a windstorm. The air lightened, the tension uncoiled, and color returned to the sky above them.

A whisper of wind passed through the shattered clearing. The Veil of Wrath had lifted.

"I think…" Verrin said softly, brushing dust from his robes, "we've passed the third veil."

"Love conquers wrath," Grimpel muttered, standing now. "Guess whoever made this damn gauntlet had a flair for dramatic irony."

But Nylessa's head snapped toward Verrin, her voice laced with something sharper than magic. "You didn't move. You saw her bleeding out and did nothing."

Verrin blinked, his expression unreadable. "She was in good hands."

Nylessa stood, shaking. "Don't deflect. You weren't affected by this veil either. I watched you. No tremble, no blood, no whispers crawling through your skull. The rest of us were drowning in our own screams—where were yours?"

"I've passed this trial before," Verrin said calmly. "The Veil does not test twice."

"Convenient," Nylessa growled. "So the last veil—the one where you vanished—what was your excuse then?"

Verrin opened his mouth to answer, but Selvara stirred. A weak breath. Then another. Her lashes fluttered.

Clive gasped. "Selvara…?"

She blinked slowly, her violet eyes hazy but alive. Nylessa collapsed beside her again, pressing her forehead to the woman's. "Thank the stars…"

All the tension broke like a dam in Clive's chest. He let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding and grasped Selvara's hand. "You're okay. You're going to be okay."

And just like that, the questions died in the air.

Suspicion still lingered in Nylessa's gaze as she turned back to Verrin, but the moment had passed. The priority now was keeping the group alive—there would be time for interrogations later.

Selvara's chest rose and fell with shallow, uneven breaths. Her skin was pallid, lips tinged faintly blue. The magic was holding her together, but barely. Nylessa kept both hands on her, whispering small spells and apologies.

"Rest," she murmured, brushing a strand of hair from Selvara's forehead. "Please, just rest."

Clive sat beside them, sword in his lap, his eyes far away. He said nothing.

Grimpel cleared his throat quietly. "I'll go scout ahead. We need shelter, badly. Don't wait up."

No one responded.

Grimpel trudged away alone into the dark passage ahead, muttering to himself. The soft click of his boots eventually vanished into silence.

Time passed strangely after that.

The group sat in a broken ring, not speaking. The air was heavy with the aftertaste of fear. No one wanted to be the first to speak—to break the silence and risk shattering whatever fragile hold on reality they still had.

Verrin leaned against a stone wall, unreadable as always. If he felt guilt, he didn't show it. His arms were crossed, and his eyes lingered on Selvara only briefly before staring ahead.

Clive eventually broke the silence, speaking without looking at anyone. "I heard her voice. My daughter. In the veil."

Nylessa didn't respond.

"She said… she asked why I didn't come for her. Why I didn't save her." His fingers curled into fists. "And I almost believed her."

A long breath passed between them. Then Nylessa said softly, "They know what to say to make us break."

Clive nodded, lips tight.

Even Grimpel—usually the first to jab a joke into any tense moment—was silent. He returned almost an hour later, his bony silhouette limping into view with slow steps.

"Found something," he said, voice hoarse. "Took a while to be sure it was real. Thought it might be another trick. But it's there. Solid. Doors, roof, beds."

"A ruin?" Clive asked.

Grimpel shook his head slowly, eyes wide with disbelief. "No. An inn. Big one, too. Stone and dark wood, still standing. Not crumbling. Not haunted. Didn't bite me when I knocked."

"A whole inn?" Nylessa narrowed her eyes. "This deep into the Veils?"

"It's real," Grimpel said. "I touched it. Smelled something like soup. Might be from an old illusion, but… it felt warm."

Verrin stirred then, finally pushing off the wall. "A hotel"

Nylessa scoffed. "You say that like it's normal."

"I've stayed in one before," Verrin said. "It will hold."

Nylessa didn't bother replying. She turned back to Selvara, who was now unconscious again, her breathing steadier.

"She'll need a bed. Somewhere clean."

Clive stood slowly, nodding. "Then let's go. Before this place turns on us again."

Grimpel led the way, and the group moved like ghosts behind him—quiet, slow, heavy. The path twisted beneath their feet, winding through unnatural shadows and the lingering remnants of despair, but the further they walked, the lighter it became.

And then… they saw it.

A building—massive, elegant in a way that felt impossible down here—loomed at the end of the trail. Its sign was faded, words lost to time, but soft light glowed behind shuttered windows.

The hotel stood alone, timeless, like a mirage made real.

Clive paused. "Weird place for a miracle."

Grimpel snorted. "I'll take weird if it comes with blankets."

Nylessa didn't speak. She looked back once more, eyes on the empty dark where they'd left the Veil of Wrath behind.

Then she followed the others.