WHAT LIVES BENEATH THE VEIL
Book One: The Unblooded Lamb
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CONTENT WARNING: This series contains explicit sexual violence, human sacrifice, psychological torture, murder of innocent characters (including children and family members), ritualistic killing, and extreme horror. No character is safe. Read at your own risk.
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Chapter Sixty-Three: The Warrior in the West
Year 13 – One Hundred Twenty Months After the First Sacrifice
Five years.
Fifty-three kills.
Countless drainings.
And Liora Veyne, age thirteen, had become something that the world had never seen before.
Not a child. Not a woman. Something in between. Something other. Her body had changed—not just from the dark, but from nature. She was tall now. Her curves had formed. Her voice had deepened.
She was beautiful.
Not the beauty of a girl—the beauty of a predator. The kind of beauty that drew people in, that made them want to be near her, that made them trust her.
The old texts called this stage The Flowering.
At fifty sacrifices, the blood changes. At seventy-five, the bones. At one hundred—
She closed the book.
Five more, she thought.
Five more until the curse.
If I follow the faster way.
If I consume the powerful.
If I drain the strong.
If I take the innocent.
Five more.
The whispers had told her about a warrior in the western mountains. A woman. Old. Powerful. Her soul was worth three.
She was a legend. A hero. She had saved kingdoms, slain monsters, defeated dark lords. She had retired years ago, living in a small cabin, waiting for death.
She did not know that death was coming.
And that death wore the face of a thirteen-year-old girl.
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The Western Mountains – Night
Liora traveled west, invisible as always.
The whispers guided her. Fifty-three souls, bound to her, serving her, hungry for more.
She is close, they said. Her cabin is ahead. She is inside. She is alone.
She is perfect.
She found the cabin.
It was small, made of stone and wood, surrounded by mountains and the smell of pine.
She knocked on the door.
"Who is it?" a voice called.
"Someone who wants to make you an offer."
The door opened.
A woman stood in the doorway. Old. Gray-haired. Her face was lined with age, but her body was strong.
"You're the princess," she said.
"Yes."
"I've heard about you."
"Good things, I hope."
She laughed.
"No. Not good things."
Liora smiled.
"May I come in?"
She hesitated.
Then she stepped aside.
"Come in."
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The Warrior's Cabin
Liora stepped inside.
The cabin was warm, lit by a fire, smelling of old wood and older memories.
"Sit," the warrior said.
Liora sat.
"You're not here to make an offer," the warrior said.
"No?"
"No. You're here to kill me."
Liora tilted her head.
"What makes you say that?"
"I can feel it. The darkness in you. It's stronger than anything I've ever felt."
"You should be afraid."
"I've killed a thousand monsters. I'm not afraid of a child."
"I'm not a child."
"No. You're not."
The warrior reached for her axe.
Liora moved.
Faster than the warrior could follow. Faster than she could react.
Her hand closed around the warrior's wrist.
"Please—"
"Shh."
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The Fight
The warrior was strong.
She had spent a lifetime fighting, killing, surviving. She did not go down easily.
She swung her fist.
Liora dodged.
She swung again.
Liora caught her arm.
"You're fast," the warrior said.
"I know."
"But not fast enough."
She kicked Liora in the chest.
Liora staggered back.
She smiled.
"Good," she said. "I was hoping you'd fight."
She reached into the warrior's mind.
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The Draining – The Legend
The warrior tried to resist.
She had no training in protecting her mind—she was a fighter, not a mage. But her will was strong. Her rage was strong.
...kill her...
...kill her now...
...before she...
...before she...
...no...
...I can't...
...I can't move...
...what is she...
...what is...
Liora pulled.
The memories flowed into her.
The battles.
The monsters.
The glory.
...a thousand monsters...
...ten thousand...
...the screams...
...the blood...
...the glory ...
...always the glory...
...never enough...
...never...
...she wants it...
...she wants it all...
...and she will take it...
...take it from me...
...take...
She pulled again.
The warrior gasped.
Her body convulsed.
Her eyes rolled back.
She pulled again.
The warrior went limp.
She withdrew from her mind.
She looked down at the body.
Still breathing. Still alive. But empty.
The legend was no more.
Just a shell.
Another victim.
Another name for Finn's list.
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The Fifty-Fourth Ritual
She performed the ritual in the cabin, surrounded by fire and the memories of a thousand battles.
The whispers watched.
They had been waiting for this. Hungry for this. The dark demanded blood, and the dark would have it.
She spoke the words.
She made the cuts.
She collected the blood.
And when it was over—
The darkness roared.
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The Power – Fifty-Four
The fire in her veins burned brighter.
Fifty-four sacrifices. Fifty-four souls. Fifty-four streams of darkness flowing into her, merging with her blood, becoming part of her.
But this soul was different.
Stronger.
Worth three.
She could feel it. The warrior's essence was thicker, richer, more potent than the others.
Three, she thought.
Three in one.
Three more.
If I take another warrior—
None.
If I take a mage—
None.
If I take a noble—
None.
If I take a king—
None.
If I take a child—
None.
She released the spell.
The shadows retreated.
She looked at the body.
A warrior. Old. Powerful. Dead.
No one is safe from me, she thought.
No one.
She smiled in the darkness.
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The Disposal
She burned the warrior's body in the cabin's fireplace.
The fire was hot. The smoke was thick. She worked quickly, efficiently, scattering the ashes before dawn.
No one saw her.
No one ever saw her.
She walked back to the castle as the sun rose, smelling of smoke and blood and darkness.
She washed her face.
She braided her hair.
She chose a white dress.
She practiced her smile.
Eyes wide. Innocence.
Mouth soft. Gentleness.
Head tilted. Curiosity.
Perfect, she thought.
She went down to breakfast.
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Finn – The List
Finn added another name to the list in his head.
The warrior. Western mountains. Fifty-four.
He recited the list every night before bed.
Fifty-four names.
Fifty-four faces.
Fifty-four souls.
Fifty-four, he thought.
She's killed fifty-four people.
She's getting stronger.
Faster.
More dangerous.
No one is safe.
No one.
He lay in his corner, staring at the darkness.
He did not sleep.
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Liora – The Evening
She sat in her chamber, reading by candlelight.
Fifty-four sacrifices.
Three more until the curse.
If she followed the faster way.
If she consumed the powerful.
If she drained the strong.
If she took the innocent.
Three more.
She closed the book.
She looked at her reflection.
The girl in the mirror was gone.
Something else was looking back.
Something ancient.
Something hungry.
Three more, she thought.
And then—
Then the curse.
Then forever.
But first—
The powerful.
The ones whose souls are worth the most.
The noble in the east.
The child.
She stopped.
Not yet, she told herself.
Not until I'm ready.
Not until I have no other choice.
But the thought lingered.
The hunger lingered.
She wanted to consume a child.
She wanted to taste that innocence.
She wanted to feel that power.
Soon, she thought.
Soon.
She smiled.
The darkness smiled with her.
And somewhere in the depths of the castle, in a cellar that no one visited and no one remembered, fifty-four souls whispered her name.
Liora.
Liora.
Liora.
She heard them.
She always heard them.
They were hers now.
Forever.
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End of Chapter Sixty-Three