4,99 €
Mehr erfahren.
Three years ago, Elyra watched the boy she loved vanish through the Veil—a forbidden boundary between worlds. His name was erased from every scroll, temple, and mind… except hers. Now, hunted by those who claim the Veil must remain closed, Elyra discovers a long-buried prophecy that ties her fate to his—and to the unraveling of the gods’ most dangerous secrets. As her memories ignite forbidden magic and her name begins to fade from the world, Elyra is faced with an impossible choice: surrender to a fate the gods have written for her, or follow the tether of love into a realm no one has ever returned from. But crossing the Veil demands more than courage. It demands everything.
Das E-Book können Sie in Legimi-Apps oder einer beliebigen App lesen, die das folgende Format unterstützen:
Seitenzahl: 57
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025
Ähnliche
C. F. Lark
THE NIGHT HE VANISHED THROUGH THE VEIL
He left her a memory. The Gods left her a curse
First published by C.F. Lark
Copyright © by C. F. Lark
Cover design by: CANVA
Publishing label: Favvy_MRC publications
Printing and distribution on behalf of the author:
tredition GmbH, Heinz-Beusen-Stieg 5, 22926 Ahrensburg, Germany
This work, including its parts, is protected by copyright.
The author is responsible for the content. Any use without his consent is prohibited.
The publication and distribution are carried out on behalf of the author, who can be reached at: No 13, Balogun Road, 200242, Ibadan, Nigeria.
Germany Contact address according to the EU Product Safety Regulation
C.F.LARK asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. This is a work of fiction and the names and places are not real but entirely coincidental.
First edition
Editing by Favvy_MRC Publications Typesetting by Reesdy.com
First edition
This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy Find out more at reedsy.com
For the ones who remember what they were never supposed to,
who love across silence, time, and ruin—
and who would follow a vanished soul through fire,
even if the world forgot their name.
> “Some stories are not carved in stone or sung in temple halls.
They are burned into memory—
and memory does not ask permission to endure.”
— from the Lost Prophecies of Mnemosyne
Prologue
The Curse and the Kiss
“He left her a memory. The gods left her a curse.”
—-
They told her not to speak his name.
Not before the shrines, not under moonlight, not even in the stillness between dreams. His name was a prayer the gods would not tolerate. A blasphemy against the order they had fought so hard to build.
And yet, she whispered it anyway.
She whispered it into the crook of her elbow when the scent of wild honey and burnt cedar still lingered on her skin. She carved it into the inside of her heart like a vow she never meant to break. Because forgetting him was never an option—not when his disappearance had ripped open the sky, the Veil, and something inside her that had never truly healed.
He vanished on the night the gods fell silent.
One moment, he was there—laughter low in his throat, his fingers tracing lazy circles over her palm as they hid in the ruins of the old Temple of Nyx. The next, the stars flared violently, and the sky split apart like paper set to flame.
She remembered the wind first—how it changed.
How it began to whisper in a language only the gods should’ve known, curling around them like a warning too late to heed. How he stood so still, as if listening to something far away, something only he could hear. And then his hand slipped from hers, and he turned to her with eyes full of sorrow and something else—
resolve.
> “If they take me,” he’d said, voice low and sure, “don’t follow.”
But of course, she did.
The curse was born the moment she ran after him. The very second her feet crossed the Veil’s threshold, chasing a boy with shadows in his blood and prophecy in his bones. A boy she was never meant to love. A boy who—by all accounts—never existed.
That’s what they told her, afterward. That there was no record of him. No oracle’s mark. No divine lineage to trace. His name erased from the Temple archives. His existence blotted out like ink spilled over parchment.
Only she remembered.
And memory, it turned out, was punishable by divine law.
They tried to burn it out of her. They carved protection runes into her skin with cold silver blades. They took her to the Temple of Lethe and made her drink from the fountain until her thoughts stuttered, blurred, and vanished.
But not all of them.
Because his name was not written in ink or water.
It was carved into her soul.
—-
Now, three years later, the girl who remembers walks the border of realms, marked by what the gods would call defiance—and what she now calls destiny.
She bears the Veil’s stain like a scar. Her magic—fractured, volatile—buzzes beneath her skin, unruly and half-awake. The stars no longer look the same. The constellations tilt wrong, like they, too, have begun to question the gods.
And deep in the marrow of her bones, something stirs.
A pull. A promise. A name.
The world believes he’s dead.
The gods have tried to forget him.
But she remembers.
And she will cross every realm, challenge every prophecy, and risk the wrath of Olympus itself—
to find him.
Because the night he vanished through the Veil wasn’t the end.
It was the beginning.
Chapter 1
A Name Not Spoken in Olympus
Three years had passed, and still, no one dared say his name.
Not in hushed corners of Delphi’s temple markets. Not behind the golden-veiled walls of the Academy of Divine Inquiry. Not even in the shadowed silence of her own mind—where his voice sometimes returned like a breath half-held.
Even she didn’t say it aloud anymore.
Not because she had forgotten.
But because names had power.
And his had almost destroyed her.
Elyra pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders as she stepped into the shimmering light of the Agora. Above her, Olympus floated like a city of fire and marble, casting long golden shadows across the streets of Athens. Mortals bustled between enchanted scroll kiosks and Theo-link stations, but they moved in careful rhythms, always glancing upward—because when the gods watched, they expected obedience.
Elyra had stopped giving it to them a long time ago.
She passed beneath a statue of Hera, its stone eyes weeping ivy. The goddess’s likeness held a tablet inscribed with the tenets of the Divine Concordance, its script glowing faintly with celestial enforcement runes.
> All who trespass upon divine memory shall be silenced.
All who recall forbidden names shall be marked.
All who defy the order of Olympus shall fall.
She paused just long enough to spit at the base of it.
—-
They called her Veil-touched, though not to her face. In court records, she was labeled unstable. To the Academy, she was a minor magical anomaly with post-traumatic delusions. But behind closed doors, the whispers said more:
> That girl who crossed realms for a ghost.
The one who saw the Veil break.
The one Olympus couldn’t unmake.
Elyra had lived under constant scrutiny since that night—the night lightning split the sky and something more than a boy vanished.
Since then, she had been watched by priests, questioned by oracles, and once nearly dissected by a scholar who believed her blood held traces of divine contamination.
They hadn’t found what they were looking for.
Not because it wasn’t there.
