The chasm’s shard lay on Nimrielle’s workbench, its faint, unnatural glow casting eerie shadows across her hut. She sat stiffly in her chair, staring at the object, unable to shake the unease that had followed her since returning from the Heartstone. It pulsed faintly, an unsettling rhythm that seemed to whisper in time with her own core.

  ‘This can’t just be an accident,’ she thought, reaching out with cautious fingers. Her hand hovered over the shard, its energy brushing against her like a cold wind. Pulling back, she retrieved a tool instead—a thin silver probe Yeva had once used for testing volatile substances—and pressed it to the shard. The reaction was immediate.

  A sharp hiss filled the air as black tendrils lashed out from the shard, spreading across the probe like creeping vines. Nim jerked her hand back, dropping the tool as the tendrils dissolved into a noxious vapor. Her eyes widened as the cloud drifted toward her carefully cultivated plants along the windowsill.

  "No!" she cried, scrambling to shield the greenery. But the damage was done. The vapor withered the tender leaves of her Silverleaf and Marrowthistle, leaving them brittle and gray. A pang of loss stabbed through her chest. Those plants had taken months to grow, their survival a small victory in her otherwise lonely existence.

  ‘If the shard alone is this destructive, what’s happening to the rest of the forest?’ The thought chilled her. Whatever this corruption was, it wasn’t staying confined to the chasm. It was spreading, faster than she’d imagined.

  The next morning, Nim ventured into Cedorin with a heavy heart. She needed supplies—new tools to replace the damaged ones, and more ingredients for her experiments. The villagers, as always, avoided her. Whispers trailed in her wake, their words sharp and cutting.

  “Look at her, skulking around again.”

  “Probably brought that sickness with her.”

  “She should just stay in that cursed hut.”

  She clenched her fists, forcing herself to keep walking. She had more important things to focus on. But as she moved through the village, her sharp eyes began to notice subtle signs of something far worse.

  The wheat fields lining the outskirts bore blackened veins along their stalks, faint but unmistakable. In a nearby pen, a cow stood listlessly, its usually bright eyes dull and unfocused. Even the air felt heavier here, tinged with an unnatural chill that bit through her skin.

  ‘It’s here too,’ she realized, dread settling over her like a leaden cloak. ‘The corruption is reaching the village.’

  She approached Garrin, the farmer who owned the afflicted cow. “Your fields… they’re not normal,” she began cautiously.

  Garrin scowled, stepping between her and the animal. “What are you saying, doll? That it’s your magic doing this?”

  “No!” she said quickly, though his accusation stung. “I think—”

  “I don’t care what you think.” His voice was firm, final. “Stay away from my farm, Nimrielle. You’ve done enough harm.”

  Her shoulders slumped as she backed away, retreating toward the forest path. No one would listen, not while they already blamed her for every shadow that fell across their lives.

  Back in her hut, Nim buried herself in Yeva’s old notes, searching desperately for answers. The shard sat in its protective casing, its dark energy an oppressive presence in the room. She found what she was looking for in an incomplete map, sketched hastily in the margins of a spellbook.

  The map depicted leyline nodes beneath the Forest of Astram. One, marked as the “Spire of Silent Rebirth,” aligned with the chasm where she’d found the shard. Another, far deeper into the forest, bore the ominous label “The Veil of Night’s Shadow.”

  ‘If the corruption is spreading this quickly, then restoring the Heartstone won’t be enough,’ she thought, tracing the map with trembling fingers. ‘I’ll need to go deeper. To the Veil.’

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Later that evening, a soft knock startled her from her work. She opened the door to find Isira standing hesitantly on the threshold, a small basket in her hands.

  “I noticed the crops,” Isira said quietly, glancing down. “And the livestock… it’s getting worse.”

  Nim stepped aside, gesturing for her to enter. “You’ve seen it too, then,” she said, her voice heavy with exhaustion.

  The two women sat together in silence as Isira unpacked the basket, revealing simple supplies: dried herbs, bandages, and a loaf of bread.

  “I thought you might need these,” Isira murmured.

  Nim hesitated. She wanted to refuse, to prove she could handle this alone. But the weight of her isolation had grown unbearable. “Thank you,” she said finally.

  They worked side by side, preparing supplies for Nim’s journey. It was a fragile truce, unspoken but understood.

  That night, Nim dreamed. She stood in a field of blackened flowers, the fractured Heartstone at her feet. A shadowy figure loomed before her, its voice a whisper that echoed in her mind.

  “You were made for this.”

  The words sent a shiver through her, and as the world shattered around her, she woke with a start.

  The shard pulsed faintly on her workbench, its rhythm matching the pounding of her heart. Nim rose, determination hardening her resolve.

  She stepped into the forest as dawn broke, her path clear. Whatever awaited her at the Veil, she would face it.

  Nim walked beneath the towering canopy of the Forest of Astram, the familiar, muted sounds of the woods barely reaching her ears. Her breath was steady, but her mind churned, a knot of uncertainty forming deep within her. The forest had always been a place of solace, its magic intertwined with her own. But today, it felt different. The air was thick with something heavier than the usual silence.

  The shard pulsed faintly in the pack strapped to her back, a constant reminder of the task ahead. Every step she took carried her deeper into unfamiliar territory—toward the Veil of Night’s Shadow. The trees thinned as she neared the edges of the forest, and the path became less distinct, almost as though the earth itself was conspiring to obscure it.

  ‘I’ve never been this far before,’ she thought, tightening her grip on her staff. ‘But I have to go. For the forest. For the village. I need to stop whatever’s spreading before it reaches them.’

  The deeper she ventured, the more unsettled she became. The usual chirps and rustling of the forest were absent, replaced by an unnatural stillness. The very air seemed to hold its breath. Even the trees, once so alive with movement, stood motionless. She stopped in her tracks, her senses straining.

  ‘Something’s wrong,’ she thought, scanning the surroundings.

  The shadows around her shifted, the fading light of day growing dimmer still. A mist was creeping in from the edges of the path, its pale tendrils curling up like fingers against the earth. The mist smelled faintly of decay, of long-forgotten things, and it made her skin prickle with unease.

  With cautious steps, she pressed on. The mist thickened as she neared a clearing, the trees growing gnarled and twisted, their roots clawing at the earth as though trying to escape the corruption that lay within the heart of the forest. In the center of the clearing stood an ancient stone archway, its surface covered in moss and overgrown vines.

  ‘The Veil of Night’s Shadow,’ she thought, a shiver running down her spine. She was standing at the threshold of something much older than she had imagined—something far more dangerous than she had been prepared for.

  The archway loomed ahead, dark and foreboding. As she stepped closer, a wave of cold washed over her, a chill that seeped deep into her bones. The mist pressed in, swirling around her like a living thing, whispering in a language she couldn’t understand. The further she went, the louder the whispers grew, until they became an unintelligible chorus that clawed at her sanity.

  Nim’s grip tightened on her staff. She was no stranger to the whispers of magic, but these felt different—hostile, distorted. The very air seemed to distort around her, thick with the weight of ancient forces she couldn’t comprehend.

  “I’m not afraid,” she whispered, her voice sounding small against the overwhelming presence of the mist.

  Her hand hovered over the shard at her side. It had been silent since the journey began, its pulse barely noticeable, but now she felt it. A faint tremor, like the heartbeat of the forest itself, pulsing in time with her own. It was drawn to something, to the archway, as though it sensed its purpose.

  Nim stepped through the arch, feeling the strange energy tingle against her skin. The moment her foot crossed the threshold, the mist surged, thickening into an almost tangible fog that clouded her vision. She blinked and squinted, the mist growing heavier, until she could no longer see the path behind her.

  ‘It’s like walking into a dream,’ she thought, trying to steady her breath.

  The further she moved into the clearing, the more the air seemed to press in on her. Her steps slowed, the ground beneath her feet shifting in ways that made her feel unsteady. It was as though the forest itself was alive with malevolent intent, and the Veil was the heartbeat that powered it.

  Suddenly, the ground trembled, a low, distant rumble that seemed to vibrate through the very bones of the earth. The mist parted for a brief moment, revealing a dark figure standing in the center of the clearing—a silhouette that seemed to pulse with shadows.

  ‘No…’ Nim’s heart skipped a beat as the figure straightened, revealing the unmistakable shape of a creature far too familiar.

  It was an Etherling, but this one was different. Its form was not the same amorphous, ethereal creature she had encountered before. This one was solid, its body twisted and contorted in a grotesque shape, its eyes glowing with a malevolent light.

  ‘This isn’t right,’ she thought, her breath quickening. ‘It’s evolved... it’s like the one from the Heartstone.’

  The Etherling’s eyes locked onto her, its mouth opening in a twisted, jagged grin. It stepped forward, the mist swirling around it like a living cloak, until it was standing before her. The air crackled with its energy, and for the first time in a long while, Nim felt a surge of true fear.

  ‘I need to fight,’ she thought, her heart pounding in her chest. The magic within her stirred, eager to respond, but it felt… heavier. More difficult. Her connection to the forest, the very life force she had relied upon, was slipping.

  In a desperate motion, she reached for her staff, preparing to cast a spell. But as her fingers brushed its surface, a sharp pain shot through her hand. The shard—its energy—was draining from her, twisting it into something that made her head spin.

  With a gasp, she realized the truth. The Etherling wasn’t just a creature of the forest; it was part of the corruption that had taken root in the land. It was feeding off the same dark energy that had infected the Heartstone. And now, it was feeding off of her.

  ‘I can’t fight this,’ she thought, her breath ragged. ‘Not like this. I need to get to the source. I need to heal the Heartstone before it’s too late.’

  With a final, defiant glance at the Etherling, Nim turned, her resolve hardened. She had no choice but to push forward, deeper into the heart of the Veil. The danger was only just beginning.