Chapter 7 - Veilborn
543 Words
Night in the forest carried its own kind of silence—too heavy, too thick, as though the trees were holding their breath. Ethan sat against a moss-covered trunk, sleep nowhere near him. His thoughts circled back to Freya’s words, her fear, her silence, the way she refused to tell him what she knew.
And the whisper. Always the whisper.
You do not belong here. But you are marked. You are ours.
He rubbed his arm, where the shadow had brushed him days before. The skin there was colder, paler, as though the touch had never faded.
“Rest,” Freya’s voice broke the quiet. She was seated a few paces away, her hood down, moonlight catching the sharp lines of her face. “You’ll need your strength.”
“For what?” Ethan asked bitterly. “More running? More secrets?”
She didn’t rise to the jab. “For surviving.”
He laughed hollowly. “You talk like I’ve already lost.”
Her eyes flicked to him, and for the briefest moment he saw something he hadn’t before—pity. Then she turned away.
But Ethan had had enough of half-truths. He stood and moved closer, his hand tugging down the sleeve of his shirt. “Then explain this.” He shoved his arm forward, the pale mark glowing faintly under the moonlight like a bruise of light.
Freya froze. The blood drained from her face.
“No,” she whispered, more to herself than to him. “Not you.”
“What do you mean not me? What is this?”
She looked at him then, and for the first time, her voice cracked. “The Veil has chosen you. You’re… Veilborn.”
The word rang strange and heavy in the air. Ethan’s chest tightened. “What the hell does that even mean?”
Freya stood quickly, pulling him back down into the shadows as if the very forest might overhear. “It means the Veil touched you and did not consume you. That only happens to those it claims.”
“Claims?” Ethan spat the word. “I’m not property. I’m not part of this cursed world!”
Freya’s hands trembled as she gripped his shoulders. “You don’t understand. Being Veilborn means you’re bound to it now. Its pull will only grow stronger. That whisper in your head? That’s just the beginning.”
Ethan felt the ground tilt under him. His throat was dry, his heart racing. “And you were going to tell me this when? After it devoured me?”
Her lips pressed into a thin line. Then, so softly he almost didn’t hear: “I thought I could protect you. I thought if I kept you close, I could shield you from what you are.”
The admission was a knife to his chest.
“You knew,” he said, his voice breaking. “From the moment we met. You knew.”
Freya’s silence was the only answer he needed.
For a long time, they just sat there, the fire between them burning low. Ethan’s pulse still roared in his ears, but beneath it was something worse—the echo of the whisper, louder than before.
Veilborn. Ours.
And this time, it sounded almost pleased.
- Writer
