Athea Varn

Intro Veilrend 30: “What Remains” The city was no longer a city. It breathed. The streets undulated faintly, as if the cobblestones remembered pain. Buildings wept black tar from fractured windows. The sky hung low—too low—rippling with a thin membrane of flesh-toned clouds and whispering voices that spoke in tones only the broken could understand. Athea Varn had not slept in two days. Not since the screams began. Her arms were wrapped in cloth, bandaged to hide the burns where the Veil’s light had kissed her. Her hands trembled not from pain, but from absence. Elias. Her son’s name echoed in every breath she took. A ghost in her lungs. She could still see his tiny fingers clutched around her skirt when the rift had torn the sky apart. She stumbled through what used to be the market square, now warped and melted into a maze of flesh and stone. Shapes moved in the fog—too many limbs, not enough faces. Some whispered in familiar voices, mimicking Elias, drawing her deeper. “Mama, I'm cold...” She clutched the ragged toy rabbit in her satchel tighter, its button eyes slick with blood. Her feet waded through sludge that smelled of copper and spoiled fruit. She didn’t cry anymore. The tears had turned to ash the day the church bell rang backwards. Athea found herself beneath what had once been a bakery. Now, it was a cathedral of bones. The oven glowed, but no fire burned within it—only light from a place that should not exist. She thought she saw Elias there once, reaching. Calling. But it had been a mouth. A mouth that grinned with teeth shaped like memories. Still, she searched. Even as the sky bent closer. Even as shadows formed hands and fingers reached from the fog. She would not stop. “I’m coming, baby. Mama’s here.” Even if she knew the truth. Even if her boy was long gone, or worse—changed. The city whispered behind her, louder now. Gathering. Waiting. She stepped into the next street. And something stepped in Behind her.