Prologue: The Fading Light

Before there was darkness, there was a blinding light—a purity that cloaked the world and kept the shadows at bay. But even in those earliest days, darkness lay in wait, patient and silent, lingering beyond the edges of sight.

The monks believed in this truth—the world had once been pure, untouched by the shadows that now crept ever closer, like a tide pushing against a crumbling shore. The ancient texts spoke of an era when the veil between worlds was woven thick and unbreakable, yet even in those days, darkness had waited, patient and lurking.

In the high monastery of wind-worn stone, the monks sensed the subtle tremors of an impending doom. Torches flickered in long corridors, casting strange shapes on the walls that seemed to breathe with every gust. Their mission had always been clear: protect the veil—the barrier separating their world from the forces beyond.

But the barrier was weakening.

Small cracks, thin as hair, pulsed with an energy that unsettled even the strongest among them. Whispers in forgotten tongues slid through the halls at night, like voices pressing against a door, waiting to be let in.

The Nythrall—creatures of hunger, bone, and shadow—waited on the other side.

And they had waited long enough.

Below the monastery, hidden in a vault of dust and candle soot, lay a tome that had been sealed away for centuries. Faded ink. Unfinished warnings. A history forgotten because it was too painful to remember.

At the altar, Evan Hartwell knelt in the failing light, gripping the talisman that had been passed to him as both burden and promise. The candle before him sputtered—then dimmed.

A shadow moved behind him.

He did not turn. He did not breathe.

Something whispered his name from the dark.

The veil was thinning.

But the veil does not break quietly.

It tears.

And when it does… something awakens with it.

— End Preview —

The Veil is thinning. The Nythrall are waking. And the fate of both worlds soon rests in Evan’s hands.