Page 48 of Orc's Veil

But we’re all the Veil has. And we’re not going to let it fall without a fight.

“The other guards.”Varkhul’s voice has gone hard. Professional. The executioner resurfacing, tempered now by grief and purpose. “I dismissed five more when I chose you.They’ll be at the encampment, waiting for Draveth. If the Sovereign can reach them?—”

“It will pick them off one by one.” I finish the thought, seeing the strategy clearly. “Grow stronger with each death. By the time it attacks us again, it’ll be twice as powerful.”

“We need to warn them.”

“They won’t listen. Not to you—not after you chose me over the order.”

“Then we make them listen.” His jaw sets. “Or we kill the Sovereign before it can reach them.”

Kill the Sovereign. A creature made of centuries of stolen memories, fed by every soul the Veil has consumed since its creation. A thing that exists in the space between worlds, that can possess guards from the inside, that’s been growing stronger with every tithe I’ve ever taken.

It’s impossible.

But so was surviving last night. So was the claiming. So was any of this.

“Then we kill it.” I square my shoulders, feel the mark on my chest pulse in agreement. “Before it kills everyone else.”

Varkhul’s hand finds mine. Our fingers intertwine, blood-stained and scarred, marked by sins neither of us can erase.

But maybe we can atone for them.

Maybe that’s what redemption looks like—not forgetting the blood on your hands, but using those hands to protect what’s left.

Outside, the dawn that never quite arrives grows lighter. We have work to do.

TWENTY-EIGHT

VARKHUL

The Sovereign sends everything it has.

The attack comes at dusk—the liminal hour, when the boundary between worlds is thinnest. I feel it in the mark before I see it: a surge of wrongness that makes my chest burn and my teeth ache. Beside me, Eirene gasps, her hand flying to the matching brand over her heart.

Then the Veil tears open.

Not one breach. Not dozens. Hundreds. The entire boundary splits apart like rotting fabric, darkness hemorrhaging through every crack. The sky turns black with shadow-forms—a tide of Veilspawn that blots out the silver moons, that fills the air with the stench of decay and the screaming of stolen voices.

They’re not just attacking the stone circle. They’re attacking everywhere.

The warden encampment had moved closer—Draveth had arrived at dusk, exactly when his two days were up, and his first order had been to advance the camp within a mile of the stones. He’d had perhaps three hours on the ground before the Sovereign struck. The entity had been watching his approach too, it seemed. It had been waiting for reinforcements to arrive before it committed everything it had.

In the distance, toward the encampment, I hear the clash of steel and the roar of orcs in battle. Iron and bone and warded banners—the defenses I helped build over years of service—were crumbling under the onslaught of shadow.

The Sovereign isn’t probing. It isn’t testing. It’s trying to end this. Now. Tonight.

“The encampment.” Eirene’s voice is tight with strain. “The guards?—”

“Can’t help them.” I draw my execution blade, feel the familiar grip settle into my palm. “We hold here. The stones are what matter.”

“If the encampment falls?—”

“If we fall, nothing else matters.” I meet her eyes—pale gray and gold-threaded now, the claiming woven into every part of her. “You’re the anchor. I’m the blade. We hold.”

She nods. Pulls her ritual knife. And cuts.

Blood wells from her palm—not the hesitant offerings she’s been making for eight years, but a deep slash that sends crimson pouring down her wrist. The Veil responds immediately, shuddering with power, the stones around us flaring bright with ancient light.