Chapter 1 Into The Veil

The night was never silent in the Borderlands, but tonight-it howled like it was mourning something already lost.

Cold wind tore through the trees like a living thing, lashing across Ayla's cheeks, biting her ears, whipping her hair into her eyes. Her breath came in short, ragged bursts as she stumbled through the half-frozen underbrush. The wind didn't care that she was shaking. The sky didn't care that her dress was soaked and shredded. The gods-if they even existed-had stopped caring about her a long time ago.

Branches clawed at her like hands. Twigs snapped beneath her feet. Her ribs throbbed with every step, bruises blooming like violet curses beneath her skin. She didn't know how long she'd been running-only that every heartbeat felt stolen.

Her feet were bare. Bleeding. Frostbitten.

She didn't remember when she lost her shoes. Or her scarf. Or the pendant her mother gave her before the fever took her. She didn't even remember falling the last time-only the taste of blood in her mouth and the sting of cold mud against her cheek.

But she got up.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Because giving up meant going back.

And going back meant him.

Ayla clenched her jaw as a memory sliced through her like a blade: the cold press of fingers around her wrist, the weight of him breathing threats into her skin, the flash of torchlight in his eyes as he leaned in and whispered-

> "No one's going to save you, Ayla. Just accept your place."

Her place.

The words curled in her stomach like rot.

No.

Not this time.

Not this girl.

Not again.

She was done being quiet.

Done being the one who hid her bruises and apologized for breathing.

So she ran.

She ran into the only place left to run.

A place even monsters feared to tread.

The Veil.

Even thinking the name made most people whisper. A stretch of ancient forest older than the kingdom itself-wild, endless, and wrong. Mothers warned their children about it. Hunters never crossed its edge. Maps avoided its name altogether.

It was cursed, they said. Alive.

A forest that fed on fear.

A place where even wolves forgot who they were.

There were tales, of course. Silly ones. Horrific ones.

Of voices in the wind.

Of children who disappeared.

Of men who entered whole and came out hollow-or didn't come out at all.

But Ayla... she hoped it was all true.

Because the forest, no matter how haunted, wouldn't hurt her the way he had. The trees might twist and turn, the shadows might whisper-but at least they wouldn't call her weak. At least they wouldn't hold her down and spit lies like love into her ears.

No.

If death lived in the forest, she would greet it with open arms.

But somewhere deep inside her-the part that hadn't been crushed by bruises or broken promises-something else stirred.

Not surrender.

Not fear.

A flicker.

Small. Silent.

Like a candle in the dark.

She wasn't just running to die.

She was running to be free.

Even if it killed her.

The deeper Ayla ran, the thicker the silence grew-like the forest itself was holding its breath.

No birds.

No rustling of leaves.

Not even the echo of her own frantic footsteps.

Only her heartbeat, loud and uneven, like a war drum calling something ancient to rise.

Here, the wind didn't howl anymore. It watched, curling low and slow around her ankles like it had eyes. The trees no longer swayed. They stood still, tall and skeletal, as if turning their heads to listen.

Ayla stumbled to a halt, chest heaving. Her legs quivered under her weight. Every inch of her body ached from cold and terror and everything she'd left behind. She pressed a hand to the nearest tree, the bark rough and strange beneath her fingers-too smooth in some places, almost slick like skin.

The fog was growing thicker, pooling around the bases of the trees like breath from a sleeping beast. Each breath she took felt heavier than the last. She blinked hard, trying to clear the haze from her eyes, but the exhaustion dragged at her like hands around her ankles.

She pressed her back to the tree and slid down until she was crouched low to the ground. For a second, she let her forehead rest against her knees.

> "Just a few more steps," she whispered to herself, voice cracked and barely audible. "Then I'll stop. Just a few more..."

But even she didn't know if she meant a few more steps forward...

or just a few more until the forest swallowed her whole.

Her body trembled, both from the cold and something she couldn't name. Not quite fear. Not quite hope.

Something brushed her ankle.

Light.

Soft.

Intentional.

She froze.

Her breath caught mid-exhale.

Her blood went cold.

It hadn't felt like a leaf.

Or a branch.

Too smooth. Too precise.

Like fingers. Or claws.

Slowly, without lifting her head, she tilted her gaze downward.

Nothing.

The mist curled lazily past her boots. The forest lay still around her, thick with shadows and silence. But the air had changed. It had gone heavier, tighter-like the moment before lightning strikes.

She straightened slowly, rising from her crouch, every muscle in her body tight with tension. Her hands curled into fists, nails digging into her palms for some kind of anchor.

The hairs on her arms rose. A chill slithered down her spine.

She wasn't alone.

Something was here.

Something that didn't want to be seen.

Her eyes darted between the trees-nothing moved.

She took one shaky step backward. The mist whispered against her calves like it was urging her to stay.

> "I'm not afraid," she whispered again.

But she was.

Not just of the forest.

Not just of the shadows.

But of what she might become if no one stopped her.

Of what she might be if no one saved her.

And deep down, beneath the layers of fear and fight, a single, desperate thought curled in her chest:

What if something did hear her?

What if something was already watching?

The pain came like a lightning strike-sudden, searing, and from nowhere.

Ayla cried out, her hands flying to her chest as if she'd been stabbed. She dropped to one knee, gasping, her fingers clawing at the fabric of her dress. The pain wasn't external-it came from inside her, like fire blooming beneath her skin.

Her breath hitched as she tugged the neckline down just enough to see.

And what she saw made the world tilt.

There, on the curve of her collarbone, something shimmered. A symbol. A mark.

Faint at first, like light under skin.

Then glowing.

Alive.

A perfect crescent moon, etched like it had always been there-waiting. Pulsing softly in rhythm with her heart.

Her pulse stuttered.

> "What... is this?"

The light flared for a breath, like it had heard her voice-and then settled, glowing low but steady.

Ayla stumbled backward, away from the tree, away from herself. Her hand hovered over the mark, afraid to touch it. Her skin was hot-burning-but there were no blisters, no wounds. Just that impossible light.

Her thoughts raced in spirals.

Was it magic?

A curse?

Some ancient sickness that fed on lost girls in haunted woods?

> "No-no, no, no-" she whispered, voice cracking.

She turned, desperate to run, to escape this place and the thing now living beneath her skin.

But the forest wasn't finished with her.

Her foot caught on a thick, unseen root, twisted up from the earth like a snare.

She cried out as she fell-arms out, breath ripped from her lungs-and slammed into the ground with a sickening thud. Pain flared in her hip and shoulder as she landed hard against cold, unyielding soil.

The impact knocked the air from her lungs. For a moment, all she could do was lie there-gasping, blinking against the mist curling above her like breath from some unseen mouth.

Then-

Silence.

A deep, absolute stillness settled over the forest, heavier than before. The trees stood like statues. The air itself seemed to hold its breath.

The burning in her mark faded, replaced by a throbbing warmth that hummed beneath her skin.

Ayla lay motionless, cheek pressed to the cold earth, heart pounding against the weight of everything she didn't understand.

Her fingers twitched.

Something had changed.

She didn't know what the mark meant.

She didn't know who had put it there.

But something inside her-something ancient and wild-had awakened.

And the forest knew.

It was no longer just watching her.

It was waiting.

A rustle behind her.

Heavy. Intentional.

Not the wind.

Ayla froze, every muscle tensed. She wasn't alone anymore.

Footsteps moved closer-slow, steady. Deliberate.

She pushed herself upright, heart pounding, eyes scanning the mist.

Then-eyes.

Not red. Not blue.

Gold.

Glowing from the shadows, sharp and unblinking. Watching her.

A shape followed. Broad shoulders. Towering. Drenched in shadow. His skin shimmered faintly with runes like starlight, and the air around him seemed to tighten with power.

He was beautiful. Terrifying.

Not fully human.

> "You shouldn't be here," he said, voice like thunder wrapped in silk.

Ayla swallowed hard, forcing herself to stay standing.

> "This forest isn't mercy," he added. "It's a grave."

> "That's the idea."

His brow lifted. A flicker-surprise or curiosity-flashed in his golden eyes.

> "You want to die?"

> "I want to be free."

> "Freedom and death aren't the same."

> "They've always looked the same to me."

They stared at each other-still. Silent.

And in that stillness, something ancient stirred.

Recognition.

He stepped closer.

Ayla's body reacted before her mind could make sense of it. Heat surged through her chest, her knees weakening. Her hand flew to her collarbone just as it burned again.

She looked down.

The crescent moon was glowing-brighter, pulsing like it was alive.

> Mate.

The word echoed inside her. Not spoken. Felt.

His eyes locked on the mark. His expression darkened.

> "You're marked."

> "I didn't ask to be," she said, breath shaky.

He stared at her like she didn't belong-yet like he somehow knew her.

> "You're not supposed to be here," he muttered.

> "Well, I am," she shot back. "So kill me or let me go."

A beat passed. The air tensed.

> "You're shaking," he said.

She scoffed. "That happens when you run from monsters."

> "You think I'm the monster?"

She opened her mouth-but didn't get to answer.

Because the ground shuddered beneath them.

A growl-low, guttural-ripped through the fog.

The man stiffened. The trees behind him trembled.

Ayla backed away as something massive crept through the mist.

And then-it lunged.

A beast-all fangs, muscle, and madness-raced from the shadows, twisted beyond reason. Her scream tore free-

But the golden-eyed man stepped between them.

His cloak dropped. Bones cracked.

And he shifted.

Not into a wolf.

Into a nightmare wrapped in moonlight and fury.

Her protector.

Her monster.

Fade to black.