Chapter 1
The soft hum of the city seeped through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the gallery, a quiet reminder that the world outside continued unaware of the small chaos brewing inside. My heels clicked over polished concrete as I made my final adjustments to the display labels, running a nervous hand over the smooth frame of my newest painting.
The canvas itself seemed almost alive tonight, streaks of violet and gold catching the gallery lights in a way that made the abstract shapes shimmer as though they might move if you looked at them long enough.
I stepped back, wiping a bead of sweat from my brow, and let myself inhale. Chicago’s skyline glittered beyond the glass, a familiar anchor in a night that already felt charged. Tonight, after months of painstaking planning, I would finally reveal The Veil of Dreams, my magnum opus, to the world. Guests had been arriving steadily, the low murmur of conversation filling the air with a kind of expectant electricity.
Cameras flashed intermittently as patrons posed with glasses of champagne, their voices buzzing like static in my ears. I tried to focus on their excitement, on the pride I should have felt. Instead, I felt a gnawing tension deep in my stomach, an unnameable premonition that something in this evening was already off-balance.
I tucked a strand of my dark hair behind my ear and straightened my jacket, my fingers brushing against the sleeve where the crystal pendant I always wore, my lucky charm, rested against my chest. “Just breathe, Evryn,” I muttered under my breath. “It’s just an exhibit. Nothing more.”
But then, without warning, the air around me fractured.
It started as a faint shimmer in the center of the gallery, directly in front of the largest canvas. The space between the polished floor and the vaulted ceiling seemed to ripple, like sunlight dancing over a pond. My guests paused mid-sentence, glasses trembling in hands that had only moments before been poised and confident. I blinked, unsure if my exhaustion was bending reality, but no. The shimmer intensified, a jagged pulse of violet light that cracked through the room like lightning frozen in midair.
“Is… that part of the exhibit?” someone asked nervously, their voice tight.
I opened my mouth to answer, but the shimmer solidified into a swirling vortex, spinning faster and faster. The edges burned with an otherworldly luminescence, casting long, jagged shadows across the walls. My heart caught in my throat as figures began to step through the portal.tall, elegant, impossibly symmetrical, their forms glowing faintly as if carved from starlight itself. Their eyes shimmered with unnatural hues, and the moment they moved, the room’s temperature seemed to drop, the air itself thickening with raw magic.
The crowd’s chatter became a cacophony of screams. People stumbled back, their heels clattering against the polished floor as cameras flashed frantically. Violet light reflected off lenses, bouncing wildly across the gallery walls, and for the first time, I realized the gravity of what was happening. This was not an exhibit, not a performance. This was something else entirely.
One of the figures stepped forward. A herald, I realized in an instant, their tall, regal frame moving with impossible grace. The sound of their voice was like chimes echoing inside my skull rather than my ears.
“Evryn Ashwood,” they intoned. “You have been chosen.”
The words hit me with the force of a physical blow. My stomach clenched, and my limbs felt like lead. “Chosen… for what?” I managed, my voice shaking more than I wanted.
The herald said nothing further. Instead, they raised a hand, delicate yet commanding, and a shard of crystalline light extended toward me. It pressed against my wrist, and I screamed—sharp, involuntary—as a burning cold lanced through my veins. The crystal sank into my skin, embedding itself just beneath the surface with a faint, almost musical hum. My wrist throbbed violently, pain unlike anything I had ever known, though it wasn’t entirely sharp; it was deep, insistent, intrusive, like my body had been suddenly marked as belonging to someone else.
Impossible. That was the word that clawed its way into my mind. Nothing in the natural world could pierce human flesh like that, nothing could bind someone in a crystal seal meant for beings far beyond my own kind. And yet it had. It truly was happening.
Panic surged as I stumbled backward, yanking at my sleeve as if I could tear the crystal from my wrist with sheer will. The herald’s gaze held mine, unflinching, almost serene in its inevitability. Behind me, the audience was shrieking, flashing lights from phones blindingly bright as they tried to record the impossible. And then the magic struck.
The memory of those moments began to fade. Faces turned blank, eyes widened in confusion but no longer screamed. Cameras flashed futilely, caught in the echo of fae enchantment. The gallery had returned to its familiar order, as though nothing had happened, but I knew better. My wrist still burned, the crystal throbbing like a heartbeat, and my own terror was far too real.
I spun, trying to process what had just happened, when more figures emerged from the portal. Not heralds this time, but taller, more commanding forms, stepping forward with silent, predatory grace. Their hands extended, aiming for me.
“No. No, no, no!” I shouted, adrenaline spiking. My legs propelled me toward the nearest exit, the smooth concrete slippery beneath my heels. Panic made the world move faster than I could think. Each footfall echoed in my ears as my mind raced for a way out. Doors slammed open, guests still frozen in the erased haze, and yet I felt the pull of the heralds’ hands, a magnetic force that sought to claim me.
Every instinct screamed at me—run, hide, resist—but these were no ordinary kidnappers. They moved with a fluidity that defied physics, their limbs bending and stretching in ways that made my stomach churn. I ducked under one arm, twisting my body to escape another, my breath coming in ragged gasps as the crystal burned and pulsed against my wrist like it was alive.
The gallery, once a haven of calm and artistry, had transformed into a battlefield of light and shadow. Streaks of violet shimmered across the walls, reflecting from the crystal in my skin, and every surface seemed to warp, bending to the will of beings I could scarcely comprehend. My heart thundered in my chest, a frantic drum against the overwhelming power pressing down on me.
I stumbled into the crowd, grabbing the edge of a display table to steady myself. Glassware tipped and clattered, the noise echoing like cannon fire in the vast space. A chandelier above shivered violently, dust drifting down in slow, glittering clouds. My hand clenched at my wrist, trying to ignore the searing mark. Escape seemed impossible, yet I could not stop running—not when my body was so utterly fragile in the face of beings who seemed to exist beyond all human limitations.
“You cannot run,” a voice said, calm, almost a whisper despite the chaos, yet it cut through the room with undeniable authority.
I whirled around, chest heaving, and came face-to-face with one of the heralds. Their eyes glimmered with violet fire, and the faint glow of starlight traced along their jawline. They didn’t raise a hand; they didn’t need to. The air itself seemed to bend toward them, the gallery tilting as though it were no longer a building but a stage set to trap me.
I bolted again, weaving between guests frozen in the false memory of normalcy, my thoughts spinning faster than my feet could carry me. I am a human. I am a mere human being. I am freaking fragile. There is no way I cansurvive this.
And yet, instinct screamed, pushing me toward a side exit I had noticed earlier. My fingers scraped along the wall, glass panels cold against my palms, my heels clattering over the uneven concrete of the service corridor. The heralds’ pursuit was relentless, the echo of their presence a constant pressure at the edge of my senses.
Pain lanced through my wrist again. The crystal pulsed, and I realized that it was doing more than marking me—it was communicating. Or perhaps it was claiming me. Every beat of its light seemed to synchronize with my heartbeat, a reminder that I was tethered to forces I could not begin to understand.
I reached the emergency exit, my hand fumbling with the latch, and the door swung open into the night. Chicago’s air hit me like a shockwave, biting and real. The streets were empty, the faint hum of cars and distant sirens grounding me in a world that was still human, still familiar. But the portal shimmered behind me, a jagged tear in reality, and the heralds stepped through, their forms casting long, impossible shadows over the pavement.
I ran. My lungs burned. My legs threatened to collapse beneath me, but I ran anyway. The crystal seared with every movement, its glow a constant reminder that I could not hide, could not pretend. And yet, somehow, I had survived the first encounter. Somehow, I was still free—if only barely.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, fear fought with disbelief. What did this mean? Why me? The pain in my wrist reminded me that there were answers, but they were not mine to find—at least, not yet. I glanced back over my shoulder. The violet glow lingered at the gallery windows, faint but unyielding. It was a promise. No, it was a warning. And a summons I could not ignore.
For the first time in my life, I understood what it meant to be powerless. To be human that was considered fragile. A mere mortal. And yet, within that fear, an ember of resolve flickered. If these beings wanted me, if this mark tethered me to their world, I would not be easy prey. I would fight, I would hide, and I would do everything I could to survive.
But the city streets were narrow, the night deep, and the heralds moved like shadows incarnate. I realized with a cold, sinking certainty that my freedom was at stake, and it was only temporary.
And from somewhere beyond the portal, I felt a presence watching, waiting patiently, as the world itself. A weight heavier than fear settled over my shoulders. I did not yet know its name, but I knew its intent. And I knew, with every pulse of the crystal beneath my skin, that my life had just ended. Another that was stranger, darker, and far more dangerous had begun
