The Veil Below

Chapter 4 - Runes and Imps

Light reached the room without ever becoming daylight.

It filtered in through the tall, sloping window in bands of colour—muted purples threaded with gold, a softer silver sheen drifting lazily between them.

I stood just inside the doorway.

The room smelled faintly of wood, a hint of something floral I couldn’t name, and him.

I shifted my weight, taking it in.

The bed dominated one side of the room—wide, solid, draped in linens that looked impossibly soft. Near the window sat a small writing desk carved directly from stone, its surface smooth and worn as though it had been used often. Shelves were built into the walls, stacked neatly with books and scrolls, their spines marked with unfamiliar symbols.

A pair of deep chairs faced a large stone fireplace along the far wall. The hearth was empty but clean, the stone pale and polished. A low table sat between the chairs, its edges rounded by time rather than design.

High above, three lanterns hovered near the ceiling, suspended without chains or hooks, emitting a soft, steady light.

My gaze lingered there a moment longer than I meant it to.

“The orbs can be instructed,” Alaric said, catching my interest without looking. “Brightness. Tone. They respond to preference.”

I lifted a brow. “You talk to the lights.”

A faint hint of amusement touched his mouth. “They listen.”

He stepped past me with unhurried ease and set my bag carefully at the foot of the bed.

“Your things,” he said.

I turned, watching him as he straightened. The breadth of his shoulders and the easy confidence in his movements tugged uncomfortably at my attention, heat settling low before I could dismiss it. His knowing smile caught me off guard, and I turned away to hide my blush.

“You’ll be staying in this room,” he continued. “You’re safe here.”

Something in his tone made it sound less like reassurance and more like fact.

I hesitated. “And… you?”

“I’ll give you time,” he said instead. “There’s food in the kitchen when you’re ready. Take a look around. Settle in.”

He paused, his gaze flicking briefly toward the window before returning to me. “I’ll be downstairs.”

Then he turned and left, his footsteps fading into the stone corridors beyond.

I waited until his presence had fully receded before I let out the breath I hadn’t realised I’d been holding.

As I stepped further inside, I noticed an arched opening set into the stone along one wall—no door, just a smooth curve leading into a bathroom beyond. Pale stone and polished marble caught the light, the curved rim of a deep tub visible beneath a sloping window that reflected the city’s coloured glow. I registered it and felt suddenly self-conscious about the openness of the space—and about sharing it with him.

I moved further into the room, letting my fingers trail along the edge of the desk, then the spines of the scrolls, before stepping closer to the window.

Beyond the glass, the city stretched and curved in ways my mind still struggled to conceive. Streets leaned into one another. Towers tilted at impossible angles, their surfaces etched with golden symbols that glimmered faintly—subtle, but impossible to miss once noticed. Low-hanging points of light drifted far above the streets—too distant to be lanterns, too low to be stars.

There was no sun.

No moon.

And yet the city was awake.

I pressed my palm lightly against the stone beside the window. The constant tightness I’d carried for as long as I could remember—something I’d never been able to name—had eased.

That unsettled me more than fear ever had.

I glanced at my bag, then at the empty drawers, and left everything where it was. I didn’t know how long I’d be staying.

Questions crowded my thoughts: the city, the creatures I’d glimpsed in passing, the way some had gone still when I walked by.

And Alaric.

I squared my shoulders and turned toward the door.

Whatever this place was—whatever I was becoming—I wasn’t going to hide from it.

The corridor beyond sloped gently downward, the stone beneath my boots smooth and cool. The walls curved subtly, guiding me forward. There were no grand halls or echoing chambers. Instead, the space unfolded naturally from one room to another, each doorway arched, each wall etched with faint markings that felt structural rather than decorative. The light shifted as I walked, the orbs deepening in colour, and the corridor opened into a wider space that could only be the kitchen.

It was spacious and clean, built of pale stone and smooth surfaces, with a large central island and a quiet hearth set into the wall. Arched stonework framed the space, soft orbs set into the walls casting a warm light, and touches of greenery trailed along the stone, breaking up the lines.

And in the centre of it all—

Alaric stood at the counter, sleeves rolled to his forearms, flipping pancakes.

I stopped short.

“You find your way alright?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder.

I stared at him. At the pan. At the small stack of golden pancakes resting on a plate beside him.

“You’re… making breakfast.”

“Yes.”

My mouth opened. Closed. “You just saved me from a shadow assassin, brought me to a hidden city beneath the world… and now you’re making pancakes.”

He poured the coffee without looking at me. “Eat.”

I huffed a soft, incredulous laugh and accepted the mug, fingers wrapping around the warmth.

On the counter beside me sat a plate of pancakes already drizzled in honey.

“This feels,” I said slowly, “absurdly normal.”

A corner of his mouth lifted. “Good.”

I glanced around again—the stone walls, the faint markings etched into the counters, the hearth that didn’t smoke—then back to him, calm and unhurried, as though this were just another morning.

“So,” I said carefully, “is there a… time here? A day and night?”

“Cycles,” he replied. “The light shifts. The city responds. But it doesn’t sleep the way humans do.”

I set my mug down slowly. “So what is this place?” I asked. “Really.”

He leaned back against the counter, arms folding loosely across his chest.

“It’s a kind of refuge,” he said. “A place where we’re allowed to exist without hiding.”

We. I clocked the word but didn’t interrupt.

“There are humans who know about us,” he continued, “but most don’t. It wasn’t always this way.” His gaze drifted briefly. “The world was harsher, once.”

He looked back at me. “The city is divided now. Not by walls, but by allegiance. Factions. Different kinds of beings settled here long before the surface city grew above it.”

My attention sharpened. “Beings.”

“Yes.”

The word settled uncomfortably.

“And you?” I asked. “What are you?”

His gaze flicked to mine, quick and unreadable, before drifting away again. “We’ll talk about that later.”

“That wasn’t an answer.”

“It was a postponement.”

I huffed. “Convenient.”

“For now,” he said evenly. “What matters is that you understand where you are.”

He straightened, reaching for his jacket. “Seeing is better than explanation. I’ll take you for a walk. We’ll stay within the faction I reside in. It’s safer.”

“For me.”

“Yes.”

“And after?”

“After,” he said, opening the door and gesturing for me to pass, “we’ll talk.”

I hesitated only a moment before moving toward him, the word beings echoing in my thoughts.

As we walked, I noticed the faint markings etched into the stone beneath my feet.

I slowed and for a heartbeat, the symbols brightened. I froze. They dulled again, settling back into the stone as if nothing had happened.

“You saw that,” I said quietly.

Alaric stopped. “Saw what?”

“The symbol. It changed.”

He didn’t answer immediately.

“Runes.” He said instead. “You see them?”

“I shouldn’t?”

His gaze dropped briefly to the floor before lifting back to me.

“No,” he said carefully. “Most don’t.”

I hesitated. “Then what am I seeing?”

“The foundations,” he replied. “The structure that holds the city together.”

“Everyone here lives inside it.”

“Yes. They feel it. Some notice more than others.” He paused. “But seeing it clearly is rare.”

“Rare how?”

“I’ve read that powerful Weavers can.”

The word landed heavily.

“Weavers?” I repeated. “I’ve never heard of them.”

“Few have,” he said. “And fewer still remember them accurately.”

“But they don’t see the tapestry the way you do.”

I swallowed. “Then what am I seeing?”

“The weave itself,” he said. “Not the magic. The pattern that binds it.”

The stone beneath my boots felt suddenly less solid.

—

We stepped outside.

At street level, the city felt closer, heavier than it had from the window. A small marketplace curved ahead, stalls shaped to the street rather than against it. Water spilled from a high ledge into a shallow pool below.

Small, brightly coloured imps darted along the edge, laughing as they splashed one another before scattering at the approach of passersby.

“Keep hold of your valuables near the pools,” Alaric said, following my gaze. “They’re magpies for anything shiny. And they have quick hands.”

“Noted,” I said, a breath of laughter escaping despite myself.

One imp lingered.

Smaller than the others, its skin a vivid blue-green that shimmered faintly in the coloured light. It perched on the stone edge, black eyes fixed on me.

I felt it before I saw it move.

“Hey—”

The imp lunged.

Its fingers brushed my bracelet—and I reacted without thinking. My grip tightened, not on the imp, but on the space between us.

The world hesitated.

The imp froze mid-motion, eyes wide. Water sloshed against the stone.

I gasped and released whatever I’d done.

The imp squeaked and fled.

“I didn’t touch it,” I said quickly.

“I know.”

“How did I do that?”

“You reacted,” he said. “Instinct.”

“I didn’t think. I just—”

“Exactly.”

I glanced back at the pool. A few people had gone quiet. Others were suddenly very interested in anywhere but us.

“They noticed.”

“Yes.”

“Is that bad?”

“No,” he said calmly. “But you should be more aware of yourself out here.”

I looked at him. “You’re not going to explain.”

“Not now,” he said. “Later.”

I exhaled. “Fine.”

I didn’t like that answer—but I trusted he’d keep his word.

As we moved deeper into the city, I glanced down once more and saw the faintest shimmer beneath the stone—threads intersecting, weaving together—before vanishing the moment I focused on them.

When I looked up, Alaric was already watching me.

This time, he said nothing.