In the quiet town of Elmsworth, where the trees whispered secrets and the fog clung to the streets like a second skin, there were those who knew about the Hollow Veil. Not many, but enough to keep it alive in hushed conversations over coffee or in the flicker of candlelight at midnight. It started with a boy named Elias, who was always late for school. He would appear in the morning with his coat buttoned all the way up, his eyes hollow and distant. The teachers dismissed it as sleep deprivation, but the students noticed something odd—Elias never brought lunch, and when he did, it was always the same kind: a single slice of bread with no filling, wrapped in yellowing paper. One evening, a girl named Lila followed him through the woods behind the school. She had seen him walk that path before, but never dared to follow. This time, she did. The air grew colder, the trees taller, and the silence heavier. When she finally caught up, Elias was standing before an old iron gate, rusted and half-buried in the earth. He turned, as if sensing her, and smiled—a strange, knowing smile. “Why are you here?” he asked, his voice like wind through dead leaves. “I… I wanted to know what you’re doing,” she said, trembling. He stepped aside, revealing a narrow path that led into the darkness. “Come with me,” he said. “You’re already part of it.” Lila hesitated, but curiosity won. She stepped through the gate and into a world she didn’t understand. The trees parted to reveal a clearing bathed in pale light. A circle of figures stood around a stone altar, their faces obscured by masks made of woven branches and feathers. They moved in slow, deliberate motions, chanting in a language that wasn’t quite human. Elias introduced her to the Circle of the Hollow Veil, a secret society that had existed for centuries. Their purpose was not to harm, but to protect—the balance between the seen and unseen. They guarded the boundaries of reality, ensuring that the forces beyond could not seep too far into the world. Lila watched as they performed rituals, some of which involved symbols carved into the bark of ancient trees, others involving offerings of salt and ash. She learned that the Veil was not just a metaphor—it was a thin layer between worlds, and the Circle was its guardian. But not all members were benevolent. Some sought power, believing that the Veil could be opened for personal gain. These were the ones who disappeared, swallowed by the unknown. Elias warned her that the Circle had its own rules, and that crossing them meant losing yourself entirely. Over time, Lila became more involved. She learned to read the signs in the wind, to hear the echoes of voices from another realm. But with each lesson came a deeper sense of unease. The more she understood, the more she realized that the Circle’s knowledge came at a cost. One night, as she sat alone by the fire, she saw something move in the shadows. It wasn’t one of the members. It was something else—something watching. She felt it before she saw it, a presence that pressed against her mind, whispering in a language she almost understood. The next morning, Elias was gone. His room was empty, his belongings untouched. No one spoke of him, as if he had never existed. Lila tried to find answers, but the Circle refused to acknowledge her questions. They told her to forget, to return to her normal life. But she couldn’t. The Veil was still there, waiting. And now, she could feel it more than ever. She began to see things—flickers of movement in mirrors, shapes in the corners of her vision. The world felt different, as if she were walking through a dream. She wondered if Elias had crossed the line, or if she was the one who was beginning to lose herself. And so, she waited. For the next ritual. For the next sign. For the moment when the Veil would open again. Because somewhere, deep in the forest, the Circle still gathers. And the Veil is still thin.