The world around them had vanished.
No sky. No ground. Just the creature—and the crushing weight of its gaze.
It stood between them, impossibly tall, shadows swirling around its skeletal frame. Its fingers were curled around something pulsing and warm. Two somethings. Two heart-shaped lights—one glowing violet, the other a deep crimson. Lyra's and Raven's. Held like fragile stars in the monster's grasp.
They couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.
A thick silence pressed in, so heavy that even thoughts felt muffled.
Lyra tried to scream, but no sound came. Her mouth moved in slow motion, as though trapped underwater. Panic surged inside her like wildfire, licking up her spine. She reached for her magic—but her fingers passed through herself like mist.
"I am the in-between," the creature's voice slithered into their minds. "Born of what should not be. Sustained by what you deny."
The hearts it held pulsed in response—beating faster. Connected. Synchronizing.
Raven tried to reach for his blade, but his arms refused to obey. Still, his mind—always sharper in the quiet—searched for reason.
The creature wasn't flesh. It was made of veilstuff. Not fully real. Not fully dream.
"You feed me," it hissed. "With every glance. Every pull."
"Let them go," Lyra choked out, her voice breaking through the pressure like a crack in glass. "You don't belong here."
The creature tilted its head. "Neither do you."
With a sudden twist, it crushed the two hearts together—fusing the lights into one violent burst of white.
Lyra screamed. Raven collapsed.
The world exploded.
Then darkness.
When Lyra opened her eyes, she was lying on stone. Real stone.
Her fingers trembled as she pressed them to her chest—her heart still beat, frantic but intact. She turned, gasping.
Raven was beside her, curled like a wounded animal, blood trickling from his nose.
She crawled toward him. "Raven!"
His eyes fluttered open. "Still here," he rasped. "Barely."
She laughed, the sound wet with tears. "What was that?"
He sat up slowly, staring at the empty space where the creature had stood. "A warning."
"No," Lyra said, voice steadying. "A message.
They both looked down at the ground between them. A mark had been burned into the stone. A sigil—neither fully witch nor vampire. Something... old.
The Veil had answered.
They had crossed a line, and something had taken notice.
Still breathing hard, Lyra reached into her satchel and pulled out the locket she wore when dreaming. The metal was scorched.
Their connection had fused. Not just in dream, but in reality.
Raven's gaze met hers, unreadable. "This... changes everything."
She nodded. "We need answers. And fast."
In the distance, the wind carried whispers through the cracks of the Veil. And the mark between them pulsed once—like a heartbeat.