irisandtheveilkeepers

[irisandtheveilkeepers]

Chapter 5: Failing Two Schools at Once (An Overachiever's Guide)

Roland's study door closed behind us, the weight of his revelations about the goblin interrogation still hanging in the air. Someone had targeted me specifically, paid in "divine currency," and directed creatures to bring me to an abandoned theater in Montmartre. The implications swirled in my mind as Selene and I made our way through the winding corridors of Veilkeeper headquarters.

The first week was a blur of emergency crash courses in magical theory. I barely slept, my dreams haunted by strange symbols and whispers in languages I shouldn't understand. By the second week, Selene helped establish a tentative schedule that would let me continue my university studies while beginning formal training.

Now, three weeks since that fateful night, morning light streamed through the magical window of my quarters, casting golden patterns across the stone floor. I groaned, fumbling for the alarm that chimed softly beside my bed. Four-thirty in the morning felt inhumane, yet here I was, dragging myself upright for another day.

"The early mage catches the wisp," Felix had quipped when I complained about the schedule. Easy for a half-werecat with seemingly boundless energy to say.

I splashed cold water on my face, wincing at the reflection in the mirror. Dark circles hung beneath my eyes, and a small burn mark on my cheek from yesterday's failed illumination exercise stood out against my pale skin. Three weeks of training, and I still couldn't reliably control the most basic magical techniques.

My morning routine had become mechanical: training clothes laid out the night before, hair pulled back in a tight braid, a quick breakfast grabbed from the small pantry Roland had stocked in my quarters after I kept missing meals. Then the long trek through winding corridors to the training hall where Instructor Adeyemi waited with an expression that suggested every minute of sleep I'd sacrificed still wasn't enough.

Today's session focused on basic protection runes. I knelt on the cool stone floor, chalk in hand, carefully replicating the angled pattern Adeyemi had demonstrated.

"Smaller angles on the third junction, Miss Paige," Adeyemi corrected, crouching beside me. Her copper-wire braids emitted tiny sparks of disapproval. "Protection runes require precision. The difference between a thirty-degree and forty-degree angle might be the difference between deflecting an attack and merely dampening it."

I adjusted my chalk lines, erasing and redrawing until the angles matched her specifications exactly. My art training should have made this easy, but my hands trembled with fatigue, making precise lines difficult.

"Better," she nodded, the copper wires in her hair quieting. "Now, activation."

I placed my palm over the center of the rune, careful not to smudge the chalk. "Scutum," I whispered, focusing my intention on protection, on safety, on a barrier between vulnerability and harm.

The chalk lines glowed weakly, flickering with a pale blue light that pulsed uncertainly before stabilizing into a dim shimmer. A transparent dome formed above the rune, but it was thin and wavering, barely extending two feet instead of the standard three.

Adeyemi sighed, making no effort to hide her disappointment. "Again, Miss Paige. You're not committing your full intention."

"I am," I protested, frustration burning in my chest. "I'm doing exactly what you showed us."

She raised an eyebrow at my tone. "Evidently not. Observe."

She gestured to Eli, a second-year trainee who had been practicing nearby. With casual confidence, he activated his protection rune, creating a brilliant blue dome that extended the full three feet and shimmered with solid strength.

"Mr. Sidana has been practicing for less than a year, and he is fully human," Adeyemi noted pointedly. "Your progress should be significantly more advanced given your... apparent affinity."

The unspoken criticism hung in the air: why couldn't I, with my mysterious light powers, master even basic protective magic?

I tried again, forcing more energy into the rune. This time the chalk lines glowed brighter—too bright, suddenly flaring with painful intensity. The dome formed and immediately expanded beyond its intended boundaries, pushing against a nearby practice table before collapsing with a sound like breaking glass. Chalk dust exploded outward, covering my face and clothes.

Nervous laughter rippled through the training hall. From across the room, Naia, the half-naiad, rolled her eyes. "Control issues again, Light-girl?"

I brushed chalk from my face, cheeks burning with humiliation. Either too weak or too strong—I couldn't find the middle ground that seemed to come naturally to everyone else.

"Disproportionate power without proportionate control is arguably more dangerous than no power at all," Adeyemi said with clinical detachment. "Clean this up and start again."

From across the training hall, I felt Roland's eyes on me. He stood in the shadows near the entrance, his tall figure unmistakable. Though he rarely interfered with training sessions, he'd been a constant observer of my progress. Today, his expression held not approval but concern—perhaps even disappointment.

When our eyes met briefly, I looked away first, unable to bear the weight of his expectations. He turned to speak in hushed tones with another Veilkeeper, their gestures suggesting urgency.

As the training session ended, a will-o'-wisp messenger darted into the hall, circling Roland's head frantically before whispering something that made his shoulders stiffen. Without another word, he strode from the hall, his hand moving to Olifant at his belt as the heavy doors closed behind him.

The morning training session left me with exactly forty-five minutes to shower, change into my university clothes, and sprint through the Shakespeare and Company exit portal back into the human world. From there, it was a breathless dash across the Latin Quarter to make my 8 AM Art History lecture, chalk dust still clinging to my fingernails and the smell of magical residue in my hair.

The transition between worlds grew more jarring each day—from ancient runes to Renaissance painting techniques, from conversations about Veil mechanics to discussions about brush strokes and pigment composition. One moment I was failing at channeling magical energy; the next, I was just another exhausted student struggling to stay awake in a lecture hall.

As I slid into my usual seat at Université Paris-Sorbonne, Professor Moreau was already deep into a lecture on Caravaggio's use of chiaroscuro. I fumbled with my notebook, accidentally dropping it to the floor with a loud thud that drew annoyed glances from nearby students.

"Ms. Paige," Professor Moreau called, pausing his lecture. "How kind of you to grace us with your presence."

"Sorry," I mumbled, shrinking into my seat.

"Your essay on Dutch Renaissance techniques was due yesterday," he continued, eyebrow raised. "I don't suppose it materialized overnight?"

My stomach sank. The essay—completely forgotten amid protection rune practice and Veil theory exams. "I—I can have it to you by tomorrow," I stammered.

"See that you do," he replied coolly before returning to his lecture.

Selene arrived ten minutes later, slipping into the seat beside me. Her skin was strikingly pale today, almost translucent in the harsh fluorescent lighting, highlighting the dark circles under her eyes. Small blue veins were visible at her temples, pulsing faintly.

"Rough morning?" I whispered.

"You have no idea," she murmured, her voice carrying a slight rasp. "Roland had me tracking anomalies near the Sacré-Cœur all night."

"Anything interesting?"

She shook her head almost imperceptibly. "Later."

Halfway through the lecture, her phone vibrated. She glanced at it, then slid it back into her pocket with a barely audible sigh.

"I need to go," she whispered. "Veilkeeper business. Can you cover for me in Medieval Literature?"

"Again?" I said, perhaps more sharply than intended. This was the third time this week.

"I'm sorry." Her expression softened. "I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important."

I nodded, already formulating another excuse for Professor Durand. "Just be careful."

"Always am." She gathered her things silently and slipped out, drawing curious glances from several classmates. I caught Mathieu, a fellow art history student, watching her exit with narrowed eyes.

"Your friend disappears a lot lately," he commented as we filed out after class. His tone was casual, but his eyes held unmistakable suspicion.

"Family issues," I replied with the practiced lie. "Her father's been ill."

"For three weeks?" Mathieu raised an eyebrow. "And yet she never mentions it except when leaving suddenly."

I shouldered my bag, uncomfortable with his scrutiny. "What are you implying?"

He shrugged. "Nothing. Just that people are talking. First Selene starts disappearing, then you both start showing up with strange bruises, looking exhausted..."

"We've been helping with renovations at her family's place," I improvised. "Old house, lots of heavy lifting."

Mathieu clearly didn't believe me, but he let it drop. His observation lingered, though—a reminder that our absences were becoming noticeable. The human world had its own kind of vigilance.

Later, in Medieval Literature, I explained Selene's absence with what was becoming a well-rehearsed lie about her family emergency. Professor Durand's skeptical expression suggested my delivery was less convincing than I'd hoped.

"Perhaps you could deliver these readings to Miss Rousseau," he said, handing me a packet of papers. "And remind her that even family emergencies don't excuse one from the midterm next week."

"Yes, Professor," I mumbled, adding the papers to my already overflowing bag.

After class, I retreated to a quiet corner of the university courtyard and pulled out my phone. I hesitated before tapping my mom's contact. We'd spoken only briefly since the goblin incident, and I'd been careful to keep our conversations light.

She answered on the third ring. "Iris! This is a lovely surprise."

"Hi, Mom," I said, my throat suddenly tight. "Just checking in. How's Mama?"

"Oh, you know her. Grading papers, complaining about the neighbor's cat, planning her garden for next spring." Her voice warmed my chest like sunlight. "How are your classes? Still enjoying that art history professor you mentioned?"

"They're good," I lied, glancing down at my hands where traces of chalk from this morning's runic practice still lingered beneath my fingernails. "Busy with midterms coming up."

"You sound tired, sweetheart." My mother's perception had always been uncanny, even across phone lines. "Are you getting enough sleep?"

"Just studying late," I said, wondering what she would think if she knew I'd been training to manipulate magical energy instead of just analyzing Renaissance paintings. "Mom, do you... do you ever think about my biological parents?"

The question slipped out before I could stop it. Three weeks of discoveries about my own strange abilities had resurrected questions I'd long since made peace with.

A pause. "Sometimes," she said carefully. "When you were younger, we wondered what traits you might have inherited from them. Your artistic talent, perhaps. Why do you ask?"

"Just curious," I said quickly. "Been thinking about heritage lately. For a... a class project."

"We've always told you everything we know," she said gently. "Which isn't much, I'm afraid. Just that the adoption agency said you were special and needed a home with people who would nurture your talents. Though I always suspected they specifically chose us because we were a same-sex couple—they mentioned something about you thriving in an environment that embraced non-traditional identities."

Special. If only they knew how special.

"I know," I assured her. "I'm not searching or anything. I love you and Mama."

"We love you too, Iris. So much." I could hear her smile through the phone. "You know, your mama always said that your understanding of your own identity came so naturally. She thought maybe that's why you found your path with such clarity when you came out to us."

I smiled, recalling how supportive they'd both been during my transition. "You two made that part of my life so much easier."

"We just gave you space to be yourself," she said. "Now tell me about your art projects. Are you still working on that series of mythological studies?"

I glanced at my watch. "Actually, I need to run to the studio now. But I'll call this weekend, okay? Give Mama my love."

"Of course. Take care of yourself, sweetheart."

I ended the call with a lump in my throat. The conversation left me feeling both comforted and more isolated than before—a bridge between worlds indeed, but increasingly distant from one shore.

Back at the university that afternoon, I settled into the bright, airy studio for my Advanced Drawing class. The art building was all clean lines and modern architecture—a stark contrast to the ancient stone chambers where I'd practiced runic magic just hours earlier.

Today should have been a relief—drawing had always been my refuge, the one thing that came naturally. But as I stared at the blank page, my hands trembled with fatigue. The still life arrangement before me seemed to waver, the objects' shadows momentarily taking on the distinctive pattern of a Veil disturbance.

I blinked hard, trying to focus. My first attempt at sketching the composition resulted in wobbly, uncertain lines. I erased and tried again, frustrated by my lack of control. I'd never struggled with basic drawing before.

What had begun as a simple still life gradually transformed under my hands. The shadow beneath a vase elongated, coiling like the serpentine form of Professor Quetzal. The reflection in a metal bowl took on the distinctive pattern of a Veil disturbance. Without conscious thought, I'd incorporated a subtle runic pattern into the drapery folds—a basic protection sigil I'd been practicing all week.

Professor Laurent, in her paint-splattered smock and perpetually messy bun, paused behind me, studying my work with narrowed eyes.

"This is... different, Iris," she said, the fluorescent studio lights reflecting off her glasses. "There's a metaphysical quality to your shadows now. But your technical execution is suffering—these lines lack your usual confidence."

I glanced down at my drawing, suddenly seeing it through her eyes—the strange mystical elements contrasting with the hesitant, almost amateurish quality of the basic rendering.

"Sorry," I muttered, flipping to a clean page. "I'm a bit tired today."

"It's not just today," she said gently. "Your last three submissions have shown similar issues. Is everything alright? This isn't like you."

"Just... adjusting to some changes in my schedule," I said, avoiding her eyes.

"Well, whatever's happening, it's affecting your work. Your concepts are actually becoming more interesting—there's power in how you're rendering the interplay of light and shadow lately—but your technical execution is declining." She tapped the page. "You can't neglect fundamentals, Iris, no matter how compelling your conceptual ideas become."

The critique stung, especially because she was right. My drawing skills—the one thing I'd always excelled at—were deteriorating as I stretched myself between worlds.

After my last class finished at the university, I gathered my textbooks and art supplies, silently mourning the studio time I would have once used for personal projects. Instead, I made my way through the bustling streets of the Latin Quarter as the afternoon light faded, arriving at Shakespeare and Company just as they were preparing to close for regular customers.

With a practiced casualness, I slipped past browsing tourists to the unmarked side door, performing the secret knock that had become second nature over the past weeks. The elderly gatekeeper recognized me immediately and ushered me through to the hidden entrance. After the familiar sensation of passing through the Veil—like stepping through a cool waterfall without getting wet—I was back in the stone corridors of the Veilkeeper headquarters.

Evening training sessions were supposed to focus on physical conditioning and practical applications of morning theory. Today, Instructor Varenne had us running obstacle courses designed to simulate field conditions while maintaining magical focus. For most trainees, this meant keeping a small illumination rune active while navigating a series of physical challenges.

"The field doesn't care if you're tired, injured, or distracted," Varenne called as we lined up at the starting point. "Your magic must remain consistent regardless of physical duress."

I tried to ignore the burning in my muscles from this morning's training as I chalked a basic illumination rune onto my palm—the simplest magical task, one that first-day trainees could master.

Naia went first, her movements fluid and graceful as she leaped over barriers and rolled under obstacles, her water-based illumination rune maintaining a steady blue glow throughout. She finished the course in record time, not even breathing hard.

"Excellent work, Miss Nereus," Varenne nodded. "Steady output maintained throughout."

My turn came. I activated my rune—the one magical technique I'd shown any natural affinity for—and began the course. The first obstacle, a six-foot wall, left my palms scraped raw as I hauled myself over. The illumination flickered but held.

Halfway through, as I ducked under swinging pendulums designed to test reaction time, exhaustion crept in. My focus wavered, and the light from my rune suddenly flared painfully bright, temporarily blinding not just me but several nearby trainees.

"Control, Miss Paige!" Varenne shouted as I stumbled, crashing into the next obstacle—a balance beam suspended over a pit of harmless but humiliating soft foam cubes.

I fell hard, landing face-first in the foam. Laughter erupted from several trainees as I struggled to extract myself, my rune now completely extinguished. When I finally climbed out, Varenne's expression was one of clinical assessment rather than sympathy.

"Your primary weakness isn't physical, Miss Paige," he noted. "It's consistency. You allow fatigue to disrupt your magical focus."

"I'm trying," I said through gritted teeth.

"Trying isn't sufficient. In the field, inconsistent magic is potentially lethal—to yourself and your teammates." He made a note on his tablet. "You'll repeat this exercise daily until improvement is demonstrated."

By the time I returned to my quarters that evening, my body ached from training and my pride stung from repeated failures. I barely had the energy to shower before collapsing onto my bed, but sleep eluded me as I stared at the ceiling, replaying each humiliation of the day.

Eventually, I surrendered to restlessness and slipped from bed. The magical window in my quarters currently showed Notre Dame, its gargoyles moving subtly along the roofline in their nightly patrol.

I had to do better. I couldn't keep failing at both my worlds.

Closing my eyes, I focused on the warmth in my chest that I now recognized as my innate magic. Rather than letting it surge forth as it had during the goblin attack, I tried to channel it carefully, imagining a gentle stream rather than a flood.

Light bloomed between my palms—not the blinding flash of my first manifestation, but a controlled sphere that pulsed gently, responding to my breathing. I held it steady, experimenting with its intensity, making it brighten and dim according to my will.

This part came naturally—the illumination aspect of my abilities seemed to respond intuitively. The light was an extension of myself, responding to my intention without the mechanical interface of runes.

But then came the part that still eluded me completely. I tried to transform the light into a protective shield—the most critical application according to Roland. Concentrating fiercely, I attempted to expand the sphere outward, to create a barrier of light around myself as I'd seen full Veilkeepers do.

The light flickered violently, then collapsed inward with a painful snap that sent needles of heat shooting up my arms. I gasped, the sensation like touching a hot pan. The sphere of light disappeared entirely, leaving me in darkness with burning palms and a crushing sense of failure.

This had happened every time—I could create light, shape it, even direct it with increasing precision, but I couldn't form it into protection. The skill that might actually save my life in a confrontation remained frustratingly beyond my grasp.

"Stupid," I muttered, rubbing my stinging hands together. "You're channeling the energy wrong."

It was maddening. According to Adeyemi, protective magic should be my natural strength given my apparent affinity for light. "Light is the foundational element of all protective barriers," she'd lectured just yesterday. "One who commands light should find protective enchantments to be an extension of that same power."

Yet here I was, brilliant at illumination but utterly incapable of forming even the most basic protective barrier with my innate magic. I could almost hear Adeyemi's disappointment: "Your runic protection work is adequate, Miss Paige, but your inability to manifest innate protection is... concerning."

Concerning indeed, especially when Roland believed I was being hunted by entities powerful enough to command goblins and pay in divine currency.

The following days fell into a rhythm that bridged both worlds—dawn training sessions in the ancient halls of Veilkeeper headquarters, then rushing through the portal to attend my university classes on the surface world. After my final lecture each day, I would return to the hidden realm beneath Paris for evening practice sessions followed by increasingly desperate attempts to master protective magic. Then came stolen hours in the vast Veilkeeper library whenever I could manage it, searching not just for information about my abilities, but specifically for anything that might explain my block with protective magic.

The library itself was a marvel—a seemingly endless chamber with shelves that shifted positions when no one was looking directly at them, books that whispered their contents as you passed, and ancient scrolls preserved in bubbles of magic that maintained perfect atmospheric conditions.

On my third visit, I discovered a dusty section dedicated to prophecies and divination records. Most were written in languages I couldn't decipher, but I found one volume in archaic French that contained a section on manifestations of light magic.

I was deep in concentration, struggling through the antiquated prose, when Felix appeared between the stacks.

"Advanced research already?" he asked, peering over my shoulder. "That's a seventh-century text on divine manifestations."

"I was hoping to find something about... what happened to me. With the light." I gestured to my palms, still faintly red from my latest failed attempt at protective magic.

Felix settled beside me, glancing at the page I'd been studying. "This section deals with celestial beings specifically. Is that what you think you are?"

"I don't know what I am," I admitted. "That's the problem."

"Here," he said, reaching for a different volume bound in what appeared to be silver-threaded fabric. "This might be more relevant. It catalogues unusual magical manifestations across pantheons."

The book was written in a script I didn't recognize—angular symbols that seemed to shift slightly on the page.

"Norse runic script," Felix explained. "I can help translate. I had to learn it for advanced shapeshifting theory last semester."

Together, we pored over the text, Felix translating passages that seemed potentially relevant. Hours passed as we moved from book to book, following reference trails through increasingly obscure texts.

"Wait," Felix said suddenly, his finger tracing a line in a leather-bound tome that smelled of cedar and something metallic. "Look at this passage."

He indicated a section written in the same Norse runic script, but arranged in a distinctive poetic form.

"It's a prophecy," he explained, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "Written in formal verse structure." His brow furrowed in concentration as he carefully translated:

"When fire and mischief join their dance, The twilight walker treads the chance. Silent paws beside the threshold stand, While crowned shadows reach with grasping hand. What guards shall fall when darkness wakes, The prisoner stirs as the boundary breaks. The fractured radiance shall part the veil, Where three paths meet beyond the pale. One bridge built where two ways end, Against the void that seeks to rend."

I stared at the words, a chill running down my spine. "That phrase—'fractured radiance'—it reminds me of something from my dream."

Felix looked up sharply. "What dream?"

"After my first night here," I admitted, "I dreamed about light forming patterns, and a voice called me 'child of divided light.'"

Felix closed the book carefully, his amber eyes widening. "We should tell Roland about this."

"Not yet," I said, thinking about how busy Roland already was with the investigation into the theater and the goblin attack. "Let's see if we can find more concrete information first. This is just a vague prophecy."

"Prophecies like this are dangerous, Iris," Felix warned, his expression unusually serious. "They have a way of coming true whether you understand them or not."

"All the more reason to understand as much as we can before bringing it to Roland," I replied. "Keep looking."

We might have continued searching for hours, but a commotion near the library entrance drew our attention. Selene had returned from her mission, her expression grim as she spoke urgently with another Veilkeeper.

"I should go," I said, closing the book carefully. She looked troubled.

"We'll continue this later," Felix agreed. "But Iris—be careful. If this prophecy is about you..."

I nodded, understanding his concern. "I know."

Later that evening, a will-o'-wisp messenger appeared at my door, its blue-white light pulsing urgently. The message it carried was brief: Roland requested my presence in his study immediately.

Trying to ignore the sting in my palms and the heaviness of exhaustion, I made my way through the winding corridors, wondering what new challenge awaited me. The day's failures weighed on me, the constant sensation of falling short in both my worlds. Was I truly meant to be a bridge between them if I couldn't fully function in either?

Despite my uncertainties, I squared my shoulders as I approached Roland's door. The prophecy's words echoed in my mind—"fractured radiance," "child of divided light." Perhaps there were answers waiting for me, explanations for why magic that should come naturally remained frustratingly beyond my grasp.

I knocked, and as the heavy door swung open, I promised myself I would find a way to overcome these obstacles—not just to protect myself from whatever forces hunted me, but to prove I belonged in this strange new reality I'd discovered.

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⟨ Start from Beginning ⟩

Story Hub | By @nyaleph Other Platforms

[irisandtheveilkeepers]

Iris Paige and The Veilkeepers

What if every myth, legend, and fairy tale you've ever heard was real—just hidden behind a magical veil?

About the Story

When art student Iris Paige instinctively blasts a goblin with light from her bare hands, she discovers two shocking truths: Paris is home to creatures straight out of mythology, and she possesses powers no human should have.

Now Iris must navigate a hidden world of gargoyles, werecats, and ancient beings while uncovering the truth about her mysterious heritage. Someone is hunting her specifically, and the fate of both the human and mythical worlds may rest on her shoulders.

Guided by her friend Selene Rousseau (who's apparently been a Veilkeeper agent all along) and the enigmatic Roland (who might be THE Roland from medieval legends), Iris learns that her ability to perform magic without runes isn't just rare—it's unprecedented.

As she trains at the secret Veilkeeper headquarters beneath Paris, Iris must decide who to trust and what role she'll play in the prophecy of the "child of divided light" before an ancient threat uses her powers to tear reality apart.

🌙 What Makes This Different:

A magical Paris where Notre Dame's gargoyles come alive at night and the Seine houses water nymphs

A trans protagonist whose understanding of identity gives her unique insight into magical transformation

A richly developed magic system combining innate powers and runic crafting

Mythological creatures from multiple pantheons coexisting in modern society

Ancient conspiracies, divine politics, and prophecies tangled across worlds

📖 Current Chapters:

Chapter 1: How Not to Wear a Trenchcoat

Chapter 2: When "Staff Only" Really Means It

Chapter 3: Getting lost in Magical Hallways (No GPS Needed)

Chapter 4:I think I took bright student too literally

Chapter 5: Failing Two Schools at Once (An Overachiever's Guide)

🔗 Available on:

Tumblr: You are here

Wattpad

Scribble Hub

AO3

Royal Road

Written by @nyaleph (carrd)

[irisandtheveilkeepers]

I've found someone else for the commission. I'll let you all know if I need more art

Artist Wanted: Urban Fantasy Book Cover Commission

Hello artists of Tumblr! I'm looking to commission cover art for my urban fantasy novel set in Paris. The story follows Iris, a trans art student who discovers she has magical abilities...

Project Details:

- Front book cover

- Urban fantasy style

- Professional quality for publication

- Budget: ~100 euros

- Timeline: No deadline

Cover Concept:

I envision a nighttime Paris scene with Notre Dame Cathedral in the background, its gargoyles subtly animated. In the foreground, Iris stands on a cobblestone street with glowing light emanating from her hands, illuminating the surrounding area. The magical "Veil" that separates the mythical and human worlds could be represented by subtle reality distortions or magical effects around the edges.

If your style fits with urban fantasy and you're interested in this project, please DM me with:

- One or two examples of previous work

- Your rates and availability

- Any questions about the project

Please boost to help me find the right artist! 💙💗🤍💗💙 Edit: I've found someone for the commission. I'll let you all know if I need more art!

[irisandtheveilkeepers]

Artist Wanted: Urban Fantasy Book Cover Commission

Hello artists of Tumblr! I'm looking to commission cover art for my urban fantasy novel set in Paris. The story follows Iris, a trans art student who discovers she has magical abilities...

Project Details:

- Front book cover

- Urban fantasy style

- Professional quality for publication

- Budget: ~100 euros

- Timeline: No deadline

Cover Concept:

I envision a nighttime Paris scene with Notre Dame Cathedral in the background, its gargoyles subtly animated. In the foreground, Iris stands on a cobblestone street with glowing light emanating from her hands, illuminating the surrounding area. The magical "Veil" that separates the mythical and human worlds could be represented by subtle reality distortions or magical effects around the edges.

If your style fits with urban fantasy and you're interested in this project, please DM me with:

- One or two examples of previous work

- Your rates and availability

- Any questions about the project

Please boost to help me find the right artist! 💙💗🤍💗💙

Edit: I've found someone for the commission. I'll let you all know if I need more art!

[irisandtheveilkeepers]

Extra: Divided Worlds

A glimpse into Selene Rousseau's thoughts

The setting sun painted Notre Dame in amber and gold as I leaned against the stone balustrade of Pont Saint-Michel. To the tourists around me, I was just another Parisian watching the evening light play across the water. They couldn't see how I tracked the movements of the gargoyles already stirring on the cathedral's roof, preparing for their nightly patrol.

I checked my phone - a text from Iris: Still meeting for coffee tomorrow? I finished those sketches I told you about!

I smiled, typing back quickly: Wouldn't miss it. Le Café des Ombres at 2?

The weight of my dual life felt heavier lately. With Iris, I was just Selene - art history enthusiast, coffee addict, the friend who knew all the hidden galleries worth visiting. But as twilight deepened, my other responsibilities called.

My Veilkeeper badge hummed against my skin, a silent alert. A small breach somewhere in the 5th arrondissement needed attention. Nothing serious - probably just a minor spirit crossing where it shouldn't.

I pushed away from the railing, already calculating the fastest route. Three more hours of patrol, then I could go home and prepare for tomorrow's coffee date like any normal university student.

Except normal students didn't carry runic-inscribed staffs in their backpacks. They didn't see the shadows move against the light. They didn't feel the constant, quiet tension of the Veil stretching thinner each year.

And they didn't lie to their best friends about who they really were.

Someday, I'd have to tell Iris the truth about both our worlds. But not yet. Not until I had to.

For now, I'd savor our friendship for what it was - the one honest thing bridging my divided worlds.

First chapters of "Iris and the Veilkeepers" available now on AO3, Royal Road, ScribbleHub, and Tumblr!

Chapter Navigation

⟨ Start from Beginning ⟩

Story Hub | By @nyaleph Other Platforms

[irisandtheveilkeepers]

Chapter 4: I think I took bright student too literally

A gentle knock pulled me from dreams filled with shifting light and strange symbols. I blinked awake to find the magical window now showing a sunny Parisian morning, the Notre Dame Cathedral bathed in golden light. For a moment, I could almost believe last night had been nothing but an elaborate dream.

The knock came again.

"Come in," I called, sitting up and running a hand through my tangled hair.

Selene entered, looking far more put together than anyone had a right to at this hour. She carried a small stack of folded clothes and what appeared to be a leather messenger bag.

"Morning," she said, setting the items on a nearby chair. "How did you sleep?"

"Surprisingly well, considering everything." I gestured vaguely at the room, the window, the entire impossible situation. "Though I had strange dreams."

"Oh?" Selene raised an eyebrow, suddenly alert. "What kind of dreams?"

I hesitated, unsure how much significance dreams held in this new reality. "Mostly light. Patterns of light that seemed to form symbols. And a voice saying something about... a 'child of divided light'?"

Selene stilled, her expression carefully neutral in a way that immediately told me this meant something.

"Just stress dreams, probably," I added quickly.

"Probably," she agreed, but her tone lacked conviction. "I brought you some clothes. Nothing fancy, just standard training gear."

I examined the pile: sturdy charcoal pants with multiple utility pockets that appeared both practical and stylish, a fitted long-sleeved shirt in a deep sapphire blue that reminded me of the midnight sky, and a lightweight jacket that caught my eye immediately. Its fabric shifted subtly between slate gray and indigo depending on how the light hit it, with delicate runic patterns embroidered along the cuffs and collar in silver thread. Most striking was the trim along the edges—a distinctive band of pink, pale blue, and white that mirrored the colors of the pendant I always wore. I touched the trim, wondering if someone had noticed my trans pride colors and deliberately included them, or if it was mere coincidence. Either way, seeing those familiar colors made the strange garments feel more like they belonged to me—a small bridge between my old life and whatever this new one would become.

"Training gear?" I asked.

"I figured you might want to see how things work around here," Selene said. "Roland suggested you attend some basic classes today—get a feel for what Veilkeepers actually learn."

"Like a supernatural university?"

"Something like that." She smiled. "Don't worry, I'll stay with you. Think of it as... orientation."

As I dressed, Selene browsed the bookshelf beside the fireplace. The clothes fit surprisingly well.

"How did you know my size?" I asked, adjusting the jacket.

"Roland had Matthias prepare them," she replied, turning from the books. "Golems have an uncanny eye for detail."

I traced one of the runes on my sleeve. "What do these do?"

"Basic protective enchantments. Nothing fancy—just enough to alert headquarters if you're in danger." She handed me the messenger bag. "Some supplies in here. Notebook, writing tools, a few reference guides."

"All the essentials for magical university," I said, attempting a smile that probably looked as uncertain as it felt.

Selene studied me for a moment, her expression softening. "How are you really doing with all this, Iris?"

I sank back onto the edge of the bed. "Honestly? I'm terrified. Fascinated. Overwhelmed." I looked up at her. "But also... it feels strangely right. Like finding the answer to a question I didn't know I was asking."

"That makes sense," she said, sitting beside me. "Most people who discover the mythical world struggle for weeks, even months. But you..." She shook her head in wonder. "You're adapting like you've been waiting for this."

"Maybe I have been." I thought about all the strange dreams I'd had growing up, the intuitive way I'd always drawn mythical creatures in my art, the sense that ordinary life never quite fit.

Selene nodded thoughtfully, then glanced at her watch. "We should probably head to breakfast if you want to make the first class. The food here is surprisingly good."

After breakfast in a dining hall filled with beings of various degrees of humanity, Selene led me through a series of corridors that gradually transitioned from ancient stone to something resembling a modern university building—albeit one with occasional floating lights and windows that definitely didn't show Paris.

"Roland suggested you spend today getting a better understanding of what Veilkeepers actually learn," Selene explained. "After everything you witnessed last night in the Observatory, he thought some grounding in the basics might help."

I nodded, remembering the sprawling magical map of Paris in the Observatory, Roland's revelation about his true age, and the mysterious way the gargoyles patrolled Notre Dame. So much to process in so little time.

"Here we are," Selene said as we entered a large central atrium. "Welcome to the Academy."

The space bustled with activity. Young people—mostly human-appearing but with occasional giveaways of their mythical nature—hurried between classrooms carrying books, scrolls, and strange devices. Instructors in different styles of clothing, from modern business casual to what looked like 18th-century formalwear, supervised the controlled chaos.

"Each trainee has a personalized curriculum," Selene explained as we navigated through the crowd. "Basic courses for everyone, then specialization based on aptitude and heritage."

"Heritage?"

"Different beings have different natural affinities. No point training a sylph in earth magic, for instance."

I noticed a young woman with faintly greenish skin talking animatedly to a tall boy whose shadow didn't quite match his movements. Another student appeared perfectly human until he laughed, revealing teeth that glinted metallically in the light.

"First up, Veil Mechanics," Selene said, stopping outside a door marked with what looked like mathematical equations floating in midair. "Theoretical but essential. Don't worry if it goes over your head—took me three attempts to pass the final exam."

The classroom resembled a university lecture hall, with tiered seating facing a central podium. About twenty students of various ages sat preparing notes or chatting quietly. No one paid particular attention to us as we found seats near the back.

The instructor who entered made me freeze in place, my breath caught in my throat. At first glance, he appeared to be a distinguished older gentleman with streaks of iridescent blue-green in his silver hair, and eyes that glinted like polished copper behind wire-rimmed spectacles. But as he moved to the podium, I noticed how his movements seemed both impossibly graceful and slightly unsettling—as though his limbs contained more joints than they should. When he surveyed the room, his neck extended several inches beyond normal human anatomy.

"That's Professor Quetzal," Selene whispered. "Former Veilkeeper, now full-time instructor. And yes, he's exactly what you're thinking."

The professor's form shimmered like heat rising from hot pavement, and suddenly where the man had stood was a magnificent feathered serpent, its body coiled elegantly around the podium. Brilliant plumage in shades of emerald, sapphire, and gold caught the light as it moved, creating hypnotic patterns that seemed to hang in the air. The wire-rimmed glasses remained perched improbably on its face. A collective groan rose from the students.

"Indeed, indeed," the creature said, its forked tongue flicking between words that somehow formed perfectly despite the inhuman mouth. "I am, as you've so astutely observed, a quetzalcoatl. Your powers of deduction are truly extraordinary." With another shimmer of light that cast rainbow reflections across the ceiling, he resumed human form, adjusting his glasses with a dramatic sigh. "Perhaps those observational skills will serve you better on last week's essays, which were, to put it charitably, creative interpretations of Veil mechanics."

He tapped a talon-like fingernail against a stack of papers on the podium, which rose and distributed themselves throughout the room, fluttering like leaves caught in a breeze.

"Today," he continued, "we address the fundamental question: How does the Veil adapt to human perception in real-time? Miss Rousseau, welcome back. And you've brought a guest?"

Every head turned toward us.

"This is Iris Paige," Selene said. "She's... observing today."

A murmur rippled through the classroom.

"The light-girl," someone whispered, just loud enough to carry.

Professor Quetzal's eyes—still distinctly reptilian despite his human form—fixed on me with unnerving intensity.

"Indeed," he said softly. "Well, Miss Paige, you've chosen an excellent day to observe. We're discussing perceptual adaptation mechanics—how the Veil reads human expectations and generates contextually appropriate cover stories."

He turned to a large screen behind him, which flickered to life showing what appeared to be a street scene in Paris.

"Consider this recorded breach from last month," he said. "A minor forest spirit wandered into the Luxembourg Gardens, drawn by the old trees."

The footage showed a greenish, translucent figure moving among the trees. Nearby, human tourists walked, completely oblivious.

"The Veil is actively reading the expectations and psychological comfort levels of each human observer," Nightingale explained. "Now watch what happens when this woman almost walks directly into the spirit."

On screen, an elderly woman with a small dog approached the translucent figure. Just before collision, the spirit became... something else. To the woman, it appeared to be a gardener pruning the trees. She nodded politely and continued walking.

"But here's where it gets interesting," Nightingale continued, rewinding the footage. "Watch the dog."

The small dog clearly saw the spirit, hackles raised, but when its owner showed no concern, it reluctantly followed, occasionally looking back.

"Animals often perceive through the Veil," he explained. "But domesticated animals typically take perceptual cues from their human companions."

The lecture continued, explaining the complex ways the Veil functions—not just hiding mythical elements but actively creating context-appropriate illusions.

"The Veil prioritizes psychological comfort," Nightingale emphasized. "It's not trying to create perfect concealment but rather to maintain sanity. Humans encountering the inexplicable experience profound psychological distress. The Veil prevents this by offering immediate rationalization."

I thought about how easily I'd accepted the goblins, the magic, all of it. What did that say about me?

As if reading my thoughts, Nightingale looked directly at me. "Some individuals, however, demonstrate unusual resistance to Veil effects. They see through the illusion more easily than others. In extreme cases, they may perceive mythical reality with minimal discomfort."

The class ended with an assignment to analyze different types of Veil adaptations. As students filed out, several cast curious glances my way.

"That wasn't so bad," I said to Selene as we joined the flow of people in the corridor.

"Just wait for Basic Runic Applications," she replied with a grin. "That's where it gets interesting."

The next classroom was smaller and arranged more like an art studio, with workstations instead of desks. At the front stood a striking woman with deep brown skin and intricate white tattoos visible on her hands and neck. Her hair was styled in dozens of small braids wrapped with copper wire that occasionally emitted tiny sparks.

"Instructor Adeyemi," Selene greeted her. "Is it alright if Iris joins today's session?"

The woman's eyes—a startling copper that matched the wire in her hair—assessed me with professional interest. "The light-girl? Of course." She gestured to an empty workstation. "We're starting with basic illumination runes today. Quite appropriate."

The workstation held various implements: chalk, ink, brushes, etching tools, and slates of different materials. About a dozen students took their places, some looking nervous, others confident.

"Runic magic," Instructor Adeyemi began, "is humanity's greatest magical achievement. Unlike innate magic, which is limited to those with specific heritage, runes allow anyone with proper training to access magical effects."

She paced along the front of the classroom, the copper wire in her braids catching the light with each movement. "Think of it as the difference between natural talent and learned skill. Innate magic flows from one's essence—it's often powerful but wild, unpredictable, and limited to specific domains based on one's heritage. A fire deity's child can manipulate flames but might never master water magic, no matter how they try."

Her fingers traced invisible patterns in the air, leaving momentary trails of golden light. "Runic magic, by contrast, is versatile and systematic. With sufficient study, a human practitioner can learn to perform virtually any type of magic—healing, shielding, illumination, transformation. The limitations lie in the precision of execution and the practitioner's knowledge rather than their bloodline."

She smiled, revealing teeth that gleamed with an almost metallic sheen. "However, there are trade-offs. Runic magic requires preparation, tools, and time. In a crisis, an innate practitioner can often respond instantaneously, while a runic mage might need precious seconds or minutes to draw and activate their symbols. And the raw power potential of innate magic typically exceeds what can be channeled through runes alone."

She studied the class with those penetrating copper eyes. "The wisest practitioners recognize that neither approach is inherently superior. Each has its strengths, each its weaknesses. And in rare cases," she added, her voice dropping slightly as if sharing a secret, "they can be combined to remarkable effect."

She picked up a piece of chalk and drew a simple symbol on a slate board—three lines connected in a pattern that somehow drew my eye and held it.

"The basic illumination rune," she explained. "Simple but precise. The angles must be exact, the proportions perfect. Intention matters, but so does execution."

She placed her finger on the center of the rune and spoke a word I couldn't quite catch. The symbol glowed softly, emitting a warm light about as bright as a candle.

"Your turn," she said. "Materials are before you. Choose what feels right."

The students began selecting their tools. I hesitated, then reached for a fine-tipped brush and liquid ink that seemed to shimmer slightly in the light.

"Interesting choice," Instructor Adeyemi commented as she passed. "Most beginners prefer chalk—easier to erase mistakes."

"I'm used to ink," I said, thinking of countless hours spent drawing. "Though not this kind."

"Indanthrone ink," she explained. "An ancient formula from the Far East, derived from rare minerals and botanical elements. Artists have used variations of it for centuries in sacred calligraphy and religious manuscripts. The pigment responds uniquely to intention and focus, making it perfect for runic work—but it's notoriously unforgiving of hesitation or error. Once it touches the surface, it bonds almost immediately."

I studied the symbol she'd drawn, noting the precise angles, the specific proportion of each line to the others. Then, with the confidence born from years of art training, I dipped the brush and recreated the rune on my slate.

As the last stroke connected to the first, I felt a strange resonance—like a tuning fork had been struck somewhere inside me. The ink seemed to settle into the slate with a satisfaction I could almost hear.

Instructor Adeyemi stopped behind me, her copper eyes widening slightly.

"Perfect execution," she murmured. "First attempt?"

I nodded, uncertain why this seemed so surprising.

"Now, to activate," she continued in a normal voice. "Place your index finger at the center point. Focus your intention on creating light, and speak the activation word: lumina."

Around the room, students were having varying degrees of success. Some runes glowed weakly; others remained inert. One student's chalk symbol smudged when he touched it, requiring him to start over.

I placed my finger on the center of my rune, focusing as instructed. "Lumina," I whispered.

The rune blazed to life with a brilliance that made nearby students shield their eyes. What should have been a candle-like glow was instead a miniature sun, casting harsh shadows across the room. The light pulsed in time with my heartbeat, expanding outward in waves.

"Enough!" Instructor Adeyemi said sharply. She placed her hand over mine and murmured something under her breath. The light dimmed to a normal level.

The room had fallen silent, all eyes on me.

"Well," Adeyemi said after a moment, "it seems your... natural affinity... amplifies even basic runes." There was a carefully controlled excitement in her voice. "An interesting case study for the class in how intention and innate ability affect runic outcomes."

She addressed the room: "As you can see, the same rune can produce different effects based on who activates it. This is why standardization of form is so crucial—it provides a stable foundation for varying magical energies."

The rest of the class watched with a mixture of curiosity, envy, and—from a few—suspicion. I kept my eyes down, focusing on modulating my "intention" for the remaining exercises. Even so, my runes consistently produced effects two or three times stronger than anyone else's.

"That was mortifying," I whispered to Selene as we left the classroom. "Everyone was staring."

"Get used to it," she replied, though not unkindly. "What you did isn't normal. Even for someone with magical heritage."

"But I don't know what I'm doing," I protested.

"That's what makes it even more remarkable." She steered me toward what appeared to be a cafeteria. "Come on. Food first, then afternoon classes."

The cafeteria buzzed with conversation that noticeably dimmed as we entered. Students glanced our way, conversations shifting to whispers. I kept my eyes on my tray as we navigated through the tables.

"Selene! Light-girl! Over here!" Felix's voice cut through the awkward silence. The half-werecat waved enthusiastically from a table near a window that overlooked what appeared to be a training field.

Relief washed over me as Selene led us toward him. At least one friendly face in this sea of curious stares.

"Heard you lit up Adeyemi's classroom," Felix grinned as we sat. "Was it as spectacular as people are saying?"

"It was an accident," I muttered.

"Best kind of magic," he replied cheerfully. "The spontaneous stuff."

Two others sat at Felix's table—a young woman with pale blue-tinted skin and what appeared to be gills just visible at the sides of her neck, and a serious-looking young man with deep-set eyes and a scholar's attentive posture.

"Iris, this is Naia," Felix indicated the gill-bearing woman, "third-year specializing in water magic. And this is Eli, second-year, divination track."

"The infamous light-girl," Naia said, her voice carrying a subtle echo like words spoken underwater. "You're causing quite a stir."

"That wasn't my intention," I said.

"Intentions are overrated," she replied with a smile that revealed slightly pointed teeth. "Results are what matter."

"Don't mind Naia," Eli said, his tone analytical and measured. "She enjoys making new students uncomfortable." His gaze was steady and observant, with an intensity that suggested he was cataloging every detail. "You're not what I expected."

"What did you expect?" I asked, uncomfortable under his scrutiny.

He shrugged. "Someone more... aware, I suppose. You genuinely don't know what you are, do you?"

"Eli," Selene's voice carried a warning. "That's enough."

"Just an observation," he replied mildly, but his eyes—now a deep red—remained on me for a moment longer before he returned to his food.

"So," Felix said brightly, clearly trying to change the subject, "what's on your schedule for this afternoon?"

"Veil Monitoring and Disturbance Detection," Selene replied.

"Ooh, with Instructor Chen? She's brilliant," Felix said. "Strict, but brilliant."

Lunch conversation shifted to safer topics—Felix's misadventure with a misfired transformation rune, Naia's project on Seine water quality and its effects on local nymphs, the upcoming solstice which apparently meant increased Veil patrol shifts for everyone.

I found myself relaxing despite the occasional stares from other tables. The cafeteria itself was a striking blend of ancient and modern—stone archways framed the space while softly glowing orbs floated near the vaulted ceiling, casting warm light over the scene. The long wooden tables bore centuries of carved initials and symbols, some of which occasionally shifted position when no one was looking directly at them. At one end of the hall, an enormous hearth crackled with emerald flames that gave off no smoke but filled the air with the scent of cedar and spice.

Despite the otherworldly setting, there was something deeply normal about the scene—students complaining about assignments, sharing cafeteria food, teasing each other—that transcended the distinctly abnormal nature of the Academy itself. At a nearby table, a group practiced levitating fruit with varying success, while in the corner, a student with antlers growing from his temples struggled to fit through a doorway while his friends laughed good-naturedly.

"Time to go," Selene said eventually, checking a pocket watch that seemed to have multiple hands moving at different speeds. "Chen is notoriously punctual."

We said our goodbyes, with Felix extracting a promise that I'd join them for dinner if I was still around. As we stood, I noticed how the light caught in his eyes, reflecting back with that distinctive feline glow.

"Are they all... like you?" I asked as we walked through corridors where the stone walls seemed to breathe gently, ancient tapestries rippling as if in a breeze despite the still air. "Veilkeepers in training?"

"More or less," Selene nodded. "Felix you know about. Naia is half-naiad—water nymph. Her mother is bound to a tributary of the Seine. You can see it in the way she moves, like she's perpetually flowing even when standing still. She's extremely talented with water magic. Eli..." She hesitated, stepping around a small creature that scurried across our path carrying a stack of scrolls twice its size. "Eli is fully human, but he has an extraordinary gift for pattern recognition and divination. The Veilkeepers recruit exceptional humans too, especially those with analytical abilities that help interpret Veil fluctuations."

"What did he mean about me not knowing what I am?"

Selene's pace slowed fractionally. "There are... theories circulating about your abilities. Eli probably thinks he knows something."

"And do you know something?" I pressed.

"I know you're my friend who's going through a lot right now," she said firmly. "The rest can wait until you've had a chance to find your footing."

The Veil Monitoring classroom was unlike the others—a circular room with a domed ceiling onto which was projected what appeared to be a map of Paris. Various points pulsed with different colored lights, similar to the Observatory I'd visited with Felix the night before.

Instructor Chen was a small, precise woman who moved with deliberate economy. Her age was impossible to determine—she could have been anywhere from forty to four hundred. Her only concession to the unusual setting was a jade pendant that occasionally glimmered with internal light.

"The Veil is not static," she began without preamble. "It breathes. It fluctuates. Understanding these patterns is essential to maintaining its integrity."

She gestured, and the map zoomed in on a section of the Latin Quarter. "Yesterday, a level two disturbance occurred here. Based on the pattern, what would you deduce caused it?"

Students called out suggestions: "Unauthorized magical practice?" "Minor being crossing without clearance?" "Residual effect from last week's ley line surge?"

Chen nodded at the last suggestion. "Correct. The resonance pattern shows distinctive oscillation consistent with ley line activity."

She taught with brisk efficiency, demonstrating various tools used to monitor Veil stability—crystalline devices that changed color in response to Veil thinning, pendulums that swung in specific patterns to indicate disturbance types, specialized runic arrays that could detect breaches within a certain radius.

"These tools are extensions of your senses," she explained, "but never substitute for trained perception. The best Veil monitors develop a feel for disturbances before instruments detect them."

She distributed what looked like ordinary opera glasses. "These are calibrated to reveal Veil stress patterns invisible to the naked eye. We'll practice on recorded events first."

The dome above us shifted to show a Paris street scene. Through the glasses, I could see faint ripples in the air, like heat waves but with subtle color variations.

"Note the blue-shift at the edges," Chen instructed. "Characteristic of a naturally-occurring thin spot. Not concerning unless—"

She froze mid-sentence, her attention suddenly fixed on me. I had lowered the glasses, finding them unnecessary. The ripples were perfectly visible to my naked eye, along with swirling patterns connecting them to what appeared to be currents flowing beneath the street.

"Miss Paige," Chen said carefully. "You're not using the viewers."

It wasn't a question, but I answered anyway. "I don't need them. I can see the patterns clearly without them."

A hush fell over the classroom. Chen approached, her movements measured.

"Describe what you see," she instructed.

"Ripples, blue-shifted at the edges like you said. But also... currents? Like streams of energy flowing beneath the street, connecting to the thin spot. And there's a sort of... pulse to it. Like it's breathing."

Chen's composed expression didn't change, but her jade pendant flared briefly.

"That," she said quietly, "is impossible without specialized training or equipment." She stepped back, addressing the class again. "Continue with the exercise. Note the progression from blue to violet as the disturbance intensifies."

The class proceeded, but I could feel Chen's attention returning to me repeatedly. When the session ended, she asked me to stay behind.

"Miss Paige," she said once we were alone, "what you described seeing is what we call the Veil's substructure—the fundamental magical currents that sustain it. Even experienced Veilkeepers require specialized training to perceive it."

"I don't understand why I could see it," I said honestly.

"Nor do I," she replied. "But it suggests a connection to the Veil that goes beyond ordinary sensitivity." She studied me for a moment. "You should speak with Roland about this development."

"I keep discovering things I shouldn't be able to do," I said, frustration creeping into my voice. "But no one will tell me why."

"Perhaps," Chen said carefully, "because the answer would raise more questions than it answers." She turned away, clearly ending the conversation. "Selene is waiting for you."

I found Selene in the corridor, deep in conversation with a will-o'-wisp messenger that hovered at eye level. When she saw me, she dismissed the glowing being with a gesture.

"How was it?" she asked, falling into step beside me.

"Apparently I can see things I shouldn't be able to see," I replied, too exhausted to be diplomatic. "Add it to the list of impossible things about me."

Selene's expression softened. "It's been a lot, hasn't it?"

"That's one way to put it." I ran a hand through my hair, suddenly aware of how tired I felt. The day's revelations, on top of yesterday's, were beginning to take their toll. "What was the message about?"

"Roland wants to see us," she said. "Immediately."

"Why?"

"The cleanup team finished questioning those goblins from last night." Her expression turned grim. "It seems they were specifically sent to find you."

"Who sent them?" I asked, a chill running down my spine despite the warmth of the corridor.

Selene shook her head, her brow furrowed. "They mentioned a location—an abandoned theater in Montmartre. The goblins were supposed to bring you there after capturing you." Her voice dropped lower. "But what's strange is they also mentioned receiving payment in 'divine currency.' Roland seemed particularly troubled by that detail."

"Divine currency?" I repeated. "What does that mean?"

"I don't know," Selene admitted, her pace quickening. "But whatever it is, Roland recognized it as something significant. Something that changes the nature of what we're dealing with."

We hurried through corridors that seemed to blur together, the magical lights pulsing faster as if responding to our urgency. My breath formed small clouds in the suddenly cooler air, and the stone beneath our feet thrummed with a subtle vibration.

"The headquarters feels it too," Selene murmured, noticing my reaction to the changing atmosphere. "The building itself responds to major developments."

My mind raced with fragmented thoughts. Someone had targeted me specifically—someone powerful enough to command those creatures, someone with resources beyond the ordinary mythical world.

As we climbed a spiraling staircase, the steps illuminated themselves just before our feet touched them, then dimmed as we passed. Through arrow-slit windows, I caught disorienting glimpses of Paris from impossible angles—Notre Dame's spires from above, the Seine glittering like a ribbon of stars, the Eiffel Tower viewed through racing storm clouds.

Whatever normal life I'd thought I had was rapidly dissolving behind me. Ahead lay only questions, each answer revealing new mysteries. But one thing was becoming increasingly clear: I wasn't just stumbling into this world by accident.

Something—or someone—had been waiting for me to find it.

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Story Hub | By @nyaleph Other Platforms

[irisandtheveilkeepers]

Chapter 3: Getting Lost in Magical Hallways (No GPS Needed)

I followed Selene through a labyrinth of corridors that twisted deeper into what should have been solid earth beneath Paris. Cool air brushed my skin, carrying unfamiliar scents—old parchment, something metallic, and hints of spices I couldn't name. The stone walls changed with each turn; here rough-cut granite bearing chisel marks from a millennium ago, there polished marble inlaid with swirling patterns that seemed to move when I wasn't looking directly at them.

My fingertips grazed a wall as we passed, and a jolt shot through me—not painful, but like touching a living thing that responded to my presence. I yanked my hand back.

"The stones remember," Selene said, noticing my reaction. "Some of these walls have absorbed centuries of magical energy."

I flexed my fingers, the tingling sensation lingering. "Nothing about this place makes sense."

Ahead of us, sconces that should have held torches instead housed floating orbs of blue-white light. As we approached, they brightened; as we passed, they dimmed, as though greeting us then returning to sleep.

We rounded a corner and found a woman seated at what appeared to be a 17th-century writing desk. She jotted notes in a leather-bound journal while consulting a sleek laptop displaying schematics I couldn't decipher. Her business casual attire contrasted with the antique furniture. When she noticed us, she nodded to Selene and gave me a curious once-over before returning to her work.

"Where exactly are we?" I whispered after we'd passed.

"Look," Selene said, stopping before what should have been a wall of solid stone.

Instead, a floor-to-ceiling window revealed a panoramic view of the Seine from high above. Below, boats drifted on the dark water, their lights reflecting like fallen stars. Notre Dame stood majestic in the distance, its towers gleaming beneath a waxing moon.

I pressed my palm against the glass. It felt cool and solid, yet we had descended at least six flights from street level. "This isn't possible."

"The pocket dimension containing the headquarters exists alongside Paris but not entirely within it," Selene said, continuing down the corridor.

My mind struggled to process this information when we entered a vast circular chamber. The domed ceiling soared at least thirty feet above us, covered in what at first glance appeared to be a Renaissance fresco. But as I stared upward, the painted scenes moved—medieval Parisians walked their streets while dragons soared overhead, buildings rose and fell as centuries passed in moments, all flowing into one another like ripples in water.

"Don't stare too long," Selene warned. "Some people get vertigo."

The chamber buzzed with activity. Near the center, a group of young people in practical clothing clustered around an older woman. She traced symbols in the air with her fingertip, leaving faint gold lines hanging suspended between them. When she completed a complex sigil, it burst into a shower of sparks that settled onto the students' upturned faces, disappearing into their skin.

One of the students gasped as the sparks touched her, her eyes briefly glowing with the same golden light. The instructor nodded approvingly.

"Basic perception training," Selene murmured. "Learning to see through minor Veil distortions."

A flash of movement at waist height caught my attention. Three slender, quicksilver creatures no larger than sparrows darted through the air. Humanoid in form but with dragonfly wings that beat too fast to see, they left faint blue trails like comet tails. One zipped past us, so close I felt a static crackle against my skin that raised the hair on my arms.

"Will-o'-wisps," Selene said. "Messengers. Don't follow if they try to lead you somewhere—old habits die hard, even with the friendly ones."

We turned down a quieter corridor lined with tapestries depicting scenes I recognized from mythology books—except now I wondered how many of them were records rather than legends. Lanterns of colored glass cast pools of warm light that pulsed gently, like silent heartbeats.

"The residential wing," Selene said as the corridor widened.

A door ahead swung open with a soft groan of ancient hinges. A massive figure ducked through the frame, then straightened to a height of at least seven feet. My steps faltered.

In the warm light of the corridor, his body gleamed like freshly turned clay—a rich, earthy red-brown. Each deliberate movement revealed strange symbols etched into his forearms and broad chest, occasionally pulsing with amber light. His face had been molded with blunt, powerful features, yet his eyes… his eyes contained a depth and awareness that seemed impossible for a being made of earth.

"Ah, Selene!" His voice rumbled from deep within his clay chest, resonating like stones tumbling down a hillside.

"Matthias." Selene's voice warmed with obvious affection. "This is Iris Paige."

The clay giant turned those impossibly alive eyes toward me. When he bowed his head in greeting, I saw more symbols etched into his forehead, forming what looked like a single word in a script I didn't recognize.

"The light-girl." His mouth barely moved when he spoke, yet his voice carried complex emotions—curiosity, concern, a hint of amusement. "News travels quickly here."

He studied me, his gaze penetrating but not unkind. "You look exhausted, child." The symbols on his forehead flickered briefly as he turned to Selene. "She's taking you to the blue room, I hope?"

"Of course," Selene replied.

Matthias nodded, satisfied. "Good choice. The energies there are calming for newcomers." He addressed me again. "Rest well, Mademoiselle Paige. The first night beyond the Veil is always the most disorienting."

As he continued down the corridor, his feet made a distinctive sound against the stone floor—not the sharp click of boots or the soft pad of flesh, but something in between, like compressed earth settling after rain.

"What—" I began, my whisper failing.

"A golem," Selene explained quietly. "A being crafted from clay and animated through ancient runic magic. Most golems are purpose-built and short-lived, but Matthias is different. He's developed his own consciousness over the centuries."

I glanced back at the retreating figure. "Nothing I thought I knew about the world is true, is it?"

"More like incomplete," Selene said, stopping before a heavy wooden door carved with intricate knotwork patterns that seemed to shift subtly when I wasn't looking directly at them. A small blue stone embedded in its center emitted a soft, steady light. "These quarters were designed for new recruits. You'll be safe here tonight."

The room beyond surpassed any luxury hotel suite I'd ever seen. Circular in shape with warm golden stone walls, it featured a four-poster bed with deep blue hangings, an antique writing desk, and several comfortable chairs arranged near a fireplace where flames danced without consuming the logs.

Most startling was a floor-to-ceiling window between two alcoves. Through it, I could see the Paris skyline, the Eiffel Tower twinkling in the distance, clouds drifting across a star-filled sky. As I watched, the view shifted slightly, revealing different perspectives of the city as if from an impossible vantage point.

I approached the window and pressed my fingers against the cool glass. "Is that actually—"

"It's a true image of what's happening above us," Selene said, joining me. She tapped the glass lightly, and the view panned across the city. "You can adjust it if you'd like a different perspective."

"Magical windows. Sure, why not?" My attempt at sarcasm fell flat, overcome by wonder.

"There are clothes in the wardrobe." Selene placed a small silver bell on the bedside table. "If you need anything during the night, ring this. I'll check on you tomorrow morning." She hesitated at the door. "Iris, I know this is overwhelming—"

"Overwhelming doesn't begin to cover it," I said, sinking onto the edge of the bed.

"Try not to wander—this place can be confusing for newcomers."

"Wait," I called as she reached for the door handle. "Those creatures—the goblins. You fought like you'd done it before."

Selene's hand stilled on the doorframe. "Because I have. Many times."

"How long have you been a Veilkeeper?"

"Seven years." Her fingers traced the carved patterns on the door, her eyes avoiding mine. "Since I was sixteen."

"But that would mean—"

"Most recruits don't start until at least eighteen," she continued quietly. "My situation was… complicated."

"Complicated how?"

Her fingers stilled. "When you have certain… backgrounds, you sometimes need to choose sides earlier than most."

The weight of unspoken history hung between us. I thought of how little I truly knew about my friend—how she always avoided talking about her family, how she sometimes disappeared for days without explanation, how she occasionally seemed to know things about Paris that weren't in any guidebook.

"And all this time at university—"

"It's not what you're thinking," she said quickly. "I genuinely wanted to study art history. Being a Veilkeeper doesn't mean giving up a normal life entirely."

Her eyes finally met mine, sincere and slightly vulnerable. "Roland encouraged it—said maintaining connections to the human world keeps us grounded. The university district does have several thin spots in the Veil that need monitoring, but I would have been there anyway."

She leaned against the doorframe, her expression softening. "Becoming your friend wasn't part of any assignment, Iris. That just… happened. And I'm grateful it did."

Her lips parted slightly, then pressed together, as though swallowing words she wasn't ready to share.

"There's more, isn't there?" I asked. "About you. Things you still aren't telling me."

"There's a lot more," she acknowledged quietly. "About both of us, apparently." A sad smile touched her lips. "One revelation at a time, though. I've spent years keeping certain parts of myself private."

I wanted to press further, but something in her expression stopped me. Whatever she wasn't saying clearly wasn't easy for her.

"We'll talk more tomorrow," I said, giving her the space she seemed to need.

After she left, I explored the bathroom, which featured modern plumbing alongside fixtures that looked centuries old. I showered, changed into borrowed nightclothes, and tried to sleep, but my mind raced.

Every time I closed my eyes, I relived the alley—the creature lunging toward me, the heat rushing through my veins, light bursting from my palms. What would have happened if that power hadn't awakened?

After an hour of restless tossing, I gave up. Pulling on a robe from the wardrobe, I moved to the desk. The magical window now showed Notre Dame Cathedral, moonlight bathing its towers in silver.

Something moved along the roofline—a shadow shifting in a way that seemed too deliberate to be blown by wind. I leaned closer, pressing my face against the cool glass. The shadow stretched and moved along the edge of the roof with purpose.

My heart hammered. I squinted, trying to make out details, but the figure was too distant. Was I seeing things? A trick of light, perhaps?

The shadow slipped behind one of the cathedral's towers and vanished from sight. I waited, barely breathing, but it didn't reappear.

Sleep now seemed impossible. I grabbed the silver bell from the bedside table, weighing it in my palm. Would someone actually come if I rang it? What would I even say? Sorry to bother you, but I think I just saw something strange on Notre Dame.

I set the bell down and opened the door to peek outside. The corridor was dimly lit by those strange lights that seemed to glow brighter as I looked at them. No one was in sight.

I hesitated only briefly before stepping out. Selene had warned me not to wander, but I couldn't stay in that room wondering what I'd seen. I needed answers.

The stone floor chilled my bare feet as I padded down the corridor, trying to remember the twists and turns Selene had led me through earlier. Each passage looked similar to the last, and soon I was completely lost. Just as panic began to rise, I rounded a corner and collided with someone hurrying from the opposite direction.

"Whoa!" Strong hands caught my shoulders to steady me. "You okay?"

I found myself facing a young man about my age. Tall and lanky with a runner's build, he had warm brown skin that seemed to glow with an inner vitality even in the dim light. His close-cropped black hair curled tightly against his scalp, with an unusual streak of golden-amber running through it like a cat's marking. High cheekbones and a strong jawline gave his face a distinctive elegance, softened by the playful curve of his full lips.

He wore loose training clothes with mysterious stains on the sleeves—some faintly iridescent, others smudged like charcoal. A thin leather cord circled his neck, from which hung a small amber stone that matched his eyes perfectly.

And those eyes—what stopped my breath were his eyes. Amber with vertical pupils that widened slightly as they adjusted to the dim light, they moved with an alert, predatory focus, taking in everything about me in seconds. When he tilted his head, the movement was just a fraction too smooth, too controlled to be entirely human.

"You must be the light-girl," he said, flashing a grin that revealed canines just a fraction too sharp. "The whole headquarters is buzzing about you. I'm Felix."

"Iris," I replied automatically, resisting the urge to roll my eyes at the nickname that had apparently already spread through the headquarters.

Felix stretched, his movements fluid and precise in a way that reminded me of a cat settling its limbs. "Is it true you faced down three goblins by yourself?"

"I didn't face anyone down," I corrected. "Selene did the actual fighting."

"That's not what I heard." He fell into step beside me, apparently unconcerned that I was wandering the headquarters in nightclothes. "Word is you blinded a goblin with light from your bare hands."

"It was an accident," I insisted. "I didn't know what I was doing."

"Even more impressive." When he spoke, I caught another glimpse of those too-sharp teeth. "Most people need years of training to manage even minor magic, and that's with runes and tools."

We turned a corner, and I realized we were heading deeper into the complex rather than back toward my room. "I think I'm lost," I admitted.

"Where were you trying to go?"

"I don't know. I saw something strange from my window—moving on Notre Dame Cathedral. Some kind of shadow figure."

Felix's eyes lit up, the vertical pupils contracting with excitement. "Probably Gaspard. He's one of the gargoyles."

"A… gargoyle?" I stared at him in disbelief. "You mean an actual, living gargoyle?"

"Well, technically they're stone most of the time." He stretched again, and I noticed how his fingers flexed, nails extending slightly before retracting. "But yes, they come alive—usually at night. They've guarded Notre Dame for centuries."

The casual way he spoke of it, combined with those inhuman eyes and teeth, made me study him more carefully. "What exactly are you?"

Felix tilted his head, a gesture somehow both human and not. "Half-werecat. Mom's side. Dad's boringly human." He wiggled his fingers, and I noticed the slightly elongated nails that weren't quite claws. "I get the eyes, teeth, reflexes, and night vision without the full transformation. Best of both worlds, really."

"There are… werecats? Not just werewolves?"

He laughed, the sound carrying a subtle purr beneath it. "There are were-versions of most animals. Wolves get all the press because they're dramatic about it."

I shook my head, trying to process this. Were-rabbits? Were-birds? The implications were both fascinating and absurd. Every fairy tale, every children's story with talking animals suddenly seemed less like fiction and more like a simplified version of reality. Just how many of the creatures I'd dismissed as fantasy actually existed in some form?

"If you're interested," Felix said, interrupting my thoughts, "I can take you to the Observatory. Best views in Paris, magical or otherwise."

I hesitated, but curiosity won out. "Lead the way."

Felix guided me through a series of increasingly grand corridors until we reached a circular staircase spiraling upward. "It's a bit of a climb," he warned, "but worth it."

The staircase seemed to go on forever, winding higher and higher until I was certain we must be well above ground level—which shouldn't have been possible given how deep underground we'd started.

"Magical architecture," Felix explained, noticing my confusion. "Spaces don't connect quite the way you'd expect."

As we climbed, Felix moved with a predator's economy of motion, each step precise and balanced. When he glanced back to check on me, his eyes caught the light like a cat's, reflecting it back with an eerie glow.

"You're a Veilkeeper too?" I asked between breaths.

"In training." He touched a badge on his shirt I hadn't noticed before. "First year. I was actually headed to a night training exercise when I ran into you."

"I'm keeping you from your training?"

"Worth it," he grinned, those too-sharp teeth flashing. "Not every day you get to meet someone who can do magic without runes."

We finally emerged at the top of the stairs into a vast circular chamber unlike anything I'd seen before. The walls and ceiling were entirely transparent, offering a 360-degree view of Paris by night. I reached out hesitantly to touch the surface—it felt solid and cool like stone despite appearing completely clear.

"Welcome to the Observatory," Felix announced.

At the center of the room hovered what appeared to be a three-dimensional model of Paris, suspended in mid-air and glowing with thousands of tiny lights in various colors.

I approached cautiously, half-expecting to feel resistance as I neared it. Instead, the air around the model hummed with energy that raised the fine hairs on my arms. When I circled it slowly, currents of cool air brushed my skin, carrying faint scents of the city—river water, old stone, traces of exhaust and perfume.

"What is it?" I asked, entranced by the miniature city.

"The Veil Monitor," Felix explained, joining me. "Each light shows where the Veil is active or under stress."

He pointed to different colored lights throughout the model. "Blue is normal, yellow means thinning, orange indicates potential breach points, and red—" his finger hovered over a flickering crimson light near what I recognized as the alley where we'd encountered the goblins, "—means an actual breach occurred recently."

Most of the city glowed a steady blue, but clusters of yellow surrounded major landmarks—the Louvre, Notre Dame, the catacombs. When I leaned closer to examine Notre Dame, I noticed tiny figures moving across the miniature cathedral's roof.

"The Monitor's not perfect," Felix added, gesturing toward dark patches where no lights glowed at all. "It can't tell us exactly what's causing a disturbance or pick up on subtle magical signatures. Sometimes we get false positives from weather anomalies or even strong human emotions in crowded places." He shrugged, the movement fluid and cat-like. "But it gives us enough information to know where to start investigating."

His fingertip traced a pattern connecting several yellow clusters. "See how the landmarks have the most activity? Places with historical significance naturally thin the Veil. The longer humans have invested emotion, belief, and memory into a location, the more it resonates with magical energy."

"Those are the gargoyles," Felix said, redirecting my attention to the miniature cathedral. "They help monitor Veil stability around Notre Dame. Watch—"

As he spoke, one of the tiny figures spread its wings and launched from the rooftop, circling the cathedral before landing on a different perch. The movement matched exactly what I'd glimpsed from my window minutes earlier.

"They're real," I whispered, watching the creatures move across the model. "All the myths and monsters, the legends—they're actually real."

"Some more than others," Felix replied. His hand passed through part of the model, distorting the lights momentarily, and I noticed the way his nails had extended slightly as he gestured. "And 'monster' is a bit speciesist, don't you think?" He winked, his cat-pupils contracting to slits. "Not all of us with unusual features are monstrous."

The door at the top of the staircase opened with a soft click. Roland entered the Observatory, his imposing figure silhouetted against the dimmer light of the stairwell. Moonlight streaming through the transparent walls gleamed off the sword at his hip and the silver in his beard.

"I thought I might find you here," he said, his voice betraying no surprise. "Felix, I believe you have night maneuvers with Instructor Varenne?"

"Just on my way, sir," Felix replied, straightening immediately. He gave me a quick bow. "A pleasure meeting you, Light-girl. Hope to see you in training soon." With that, he slipped past Roland and disappeared down the stairs.

Roland approached, his movements carrying the weight of centuries. Up close, the fine lines around his eyes suggested both age and frequent laughter, though his expression now remained solemn. His gaze—that unnerving silver—reflected the lights of the model, making his eyes appear to contain miniature constellations.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asked.

"I saw something from my window," I explained. "Felix says it was a gargoyle."

"Ah, yes. They're particularly active tonight. The recent restoration of Notre Dame disturbed their usual patterns." He moved to stand beside me at the model. "I see Felix has already introduced you to the Monitor."

I nodded. "It's incredible."

"More than you yet realize," Roland said.

He passed his hand over the model, fingers tracing complex patterns in the air. In response, the city shifted, buildings becoming transparent to reveal networks of tunnels and caverns beneath the streets. With another gesture, glowing lines like veins of light appeared, crisscrossing the city in patterns that seemed both random and deliberate.

"Ley lines," he explained, seeing my fascination. "Natural channels of magical energy that flow beneath Paris. They're part of what made this location ideal for our headquarters."

As his fingers moved through the display, the air filled with a subtle scent of ozone, like the moment before lightning strikes. The hair on my arms rose, responding to whatever power he channeled so effortlessly.

I watched, mesmerized, as the magical map revealed a Paris I never knew existed—a complex web of energy and activity hidden beneath the surface of the city I thought I knew.

"Why are you showing me this?" I asked quietly.

Roland studied me, his silver eyes reflecting the glow of the model. "Because you need to understand the world you've suddenly found yourself part of." He gestured to the red light marking our goblin encounter. "Those creatures were specifically looking for you, Iris. That suggests someone knows about your abilities—perhaps even understands them better than you do."

A chill ran through me. "Who would be looking for me? I didn't even know I could do… whatever it is I did."

"That," Roland said, passing his hand through the model to create ripples of light, "is the question that concerns me most."

He turned toward the transparent wall, gazing out at Notre Dame in the distance. The moonlight carved his profile into something ancient, throwing the lines of his face into sharp relief. For a moment, he seemed more statue than man.

"You may have noticed I'm somewhat… different from most Veilkeepers," he said finally.

I nodded cautiously. The sword at his hip, his archaic manner of speaking, the way others deferred to him—everything about him spoke of someone from another time.

"That horn you saw in my study," he continued. "The one you were examining. It has a name—Olifant."

The name stirred something in my memory—a literature class, medieval epics… "From the Song of Roland?" I asked. "The paladin of Charlemagne who blew his horn at Roncevaux Pass?"

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "The historical accounts are somewhat… embellished."

He turned to face me fully, and for an instant, I glimpsed something beneath the human exterior—something vast and ancient that made my breath catch.

"The famous Battle of Roncevaux Pass was actually a major confrontation over a Veil breach," he said. "My horn was never meant to call for human reinforcements, but to repair tears in the Veil."

I stared at him, unable to form words. The implications were staggering. "You're… you're that Roland? From the 8th century?"

"Time becomes relative when you've seen as much of it as I have," he said simply.

"So you're immortal?"

"Not precisely." The light from the model cast strange shadows across his face. "Let's just say I've been around long enough to recognize when something unprecedented occurs."

His gaze returned to the red light marking the alley where I'd first manifested magic. "What you did tonight was extraordinary, Iris. And potentially dangerous—both to yourself and others if left untrained."

"You think I'm in danger."

"I believe," Roland replied carefully, "that anyone who manifests abilities outside the normal order attracts attention—from scholars, from those who fear the unknown, and from those who would exploit power for their own ends."

His finger traced the location of the goblin attack, and the model responded, zooming in to show the exact alley in miniature detail. "Someone already knows about you. Someone organized enough to command goblins, who are notoriously difficult to control."

I shivered, wrapping my arms around myself. "What am I? Why can I do things I shouldn't be able to do?"

Roland's expression softened slightly, the weight of centuries momentarily lifting. "That, Iris Paige, is what we're going to find out."

He reached into his pocket and withdrew what appeared to be a small compass with strange symbols around its edge instead of cardinal directions. "Think of your guest quarters," he instructed, placing it in my palm.

The compass warmed in my hand, and a gentle pulse traveled up my arm, like a second heartbeat briefly synchronizing with my own. The needle swung decisively to my right.

"It will guide you back," he explained.

As I followed the compass through the winding corridors, each pulse from the device resonated with something inside me—like it recognized a part of myself I hadn't known existed. The implications of the night's discoveries settled over me with each step. Whatever strange heritage flowed in my veins, I needed to understand it. If light lived within me, I needed to learn to wield it—not just in desperate moments, but with intention and control.

When I finally returned to bed, my dreams were filled with light—not the harsh, defensive burst I'd produced against the goblins, but something warmer, more controlled. Light that took shape in my hands, forming patterns and symbols that felt strangely familiar, as if I'd known them all my life but somehow forgotten.

In the dream, a voice spoke from the luminous patterns: Child of divided light, the choice of worlds rests with you.

I woke at dawn with the phrase echoing in my mind, my palms glowing faintly in the half-light of morning before the luminescence faded like mist under the sun. Whatever was coming, I would face it with open eyes.

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Story Hub | By @nyaleph Other Platforms

[irisandtheveilkeepers]

Chapter 2: When "Staff only" really means it

"Stay close to me," Selene murmured as we hurried through winding streets that seemed to grow narrower with each turn. My hands trembled, the memory of that impossible brightness still burning behind my eyes.

"Where are we going?" I asked, my voice sounding distant even to my own ears.

"Somewhere safe." Selene's pace was brisk but measured, her eyes constantly scanning our surroundings. The casual art student I'd befriended months ago had vanished, replaced by someone vigilant, disciplined. "Shakespeare and Company."

"The bookstore?" I nearly stumbled over an uneven cobblestone. "What does a bookstore have to do with—with whatever just happened back there?"

She gave me a sidelong glance, her expression softening slightly. "More than you'd think."

We crossed the Seine over Petit Pont, the dark water below reflecting fractured city lights. Notre Dame loomed to our right, its restored towers gleaming in the moonlight. The recent renovation had finished months ahead of schedule, the cathedral standing proudly once more. For a moment, I could have sworn I saw movement among the gargoyles, but when I looked directly at them, they were just stone.

My eyes were playing tricks. Had to be. Just like those creatures couldn't be real, and light couldn't burst from my palms.

"I know this is overwhelming," Selene said, her hand finding mine and squeezing gently. "But I promise it will make sense soon."

"Was I drugged?" I blurted out. "Did someone slip something into my coffee?"

Selene's laugh was unexpectedly warm. "If only it were that simple."

We approached the familiar green façade of Shakespeare and Company. I'd visited the historic bookstore several times since moving to Paris—a pilgrimage every art history student made eventually. But tonight, the old building seemed different somehow. The windows glowed with golden light, but the shadows between them seemed deeper, more significant. Like the drawing I'd made earlier at the café.

The closed sign was clearly visible on the door.

"They're not open," I pointed out.

"Not to the general public," Selene replied, leading me to a smaller side door marked "Staff Only" in both French and English. She knocked—three short taps, two long, then another short—and waited.

A moment later, the door cracked open. An elderly man with wire-rimmed glasses peered out, his gaze sharp despite his age. When he saw Selene, his expression shifted to recognition.

"Mademoiselle Rousseau." His eyes flicked to me, lingering curiously. "And you've brought a guest."

"Emergency protocol four," Selene said. "We need entry. Roland is meeting us."

The man nodded once, then stepped aside. "Quickly, then."

Inside, the bookstore looked both familiar and strange. The labyrinthine shelves filled with books were the same, but the lighting seemed to highlight different corners than I remembered. Many of the book spines seemed to shimmer subtly, titles blurring when I tried to focus on them.

"This way," the old man said, leading us through the maze of bookshelves. He moved with surprising agility for someone who appeared to be in his eighties, navigating the narrow passages without hesitation.

We arrived at what should have been a blank wall at the back of the store's poetry section. A simple wooden door stood there, unremarkable except for a small sign that read "Authorized Personnel Only."

"Veilkeeper passage," the old man announced to the door, his voice suddenly resonant. "Entry requested for Veilkeeper Rousseau and—" He glanced at me expectantly.

"Iris Paige," Selene supplied.

"—and civilian Iris Paige, under emergency protocol four."

The door remained visibly unchanged, but something in the air around it shifted, a subtle pressure change like the moment before a storm breaks.

"After you," the old man said with a small bow.

Selene stepped forward, tugging me gently by the hand. "It's safe, I promise. Just step through."

I followed hesitantly, expecting to see a storage room or office when the door opened. Instead, as we crossed the threshold, I felt a strange sensation wash over me—like plunging into cool water and then emerging instantly dry. My ears popped, and for a split second, my vision blurred. When it cleared, we were somewhere else entirely.

We stood in a small circular chamber with stone walls. At least a dozen doors identical to the one we'd just passed through lined the circular chamber's walls, each marked with different symbols—some representing Paris landmarks, others showing abstract designs I didn't recognize. Several people hurried in and out of these doorways, barely glancing at us as they went about their business. In the center of the room stood a pedestal with what appeared to be an open logbook and an old-fashioned fountain pen, attended by a stern-looking woman recording each arrival and departure.

The door closed behind us, and when I turned to look, it was indistinguishable from the others.

"Arrival chamber," Selene explained, noting my confusion. "All the main entrances lead here."

"What just happened?" I whispered, my voice echoing slightly against the stone.

"We crossed through what we call the Veil," she said. "This is the entrance foyer to our headquarters."

One of the doors swung open suddenly. A tall man stepped through, his presence immediately filling the modest space.

My first impression was of controlled power. He stood well over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and the posture of someone who had commanded respect for a very long time. His face was striking—not conventionally handsome, but compelling, with sharp cheekbones and a strong jaw partially covered by a neatly trimmed beard peppered with silver. Deep lines around his eyes suggested both age and frequent laughter, contrasting with the solemnity of his expression now.

What truly caught my attention were his eyes—a gray so pale they almost appeared silver, piercing with an intensity that made me feel exposed, transparent. His gaze carried weight, the look of someone who had witnessed centuries.

He wore a midnight blue jacket over what appeared to be finely crafted chainmail that caught the light with each movement. The collar and shoulders featured subtle armor elements, elegantly integrated into the design. At his hip hung a sword—an actual sword—its hilt wrapped in well-worn leather, the pommel inlaid with glowing blue stones. His left hand rested casually on it, a gesture that seemed as natural to him as breathing.

"Roland," Selene said with a respectful nod. "Thank you for coming so quickly."

"Given your report, I could hardly do otherwise." His voice matched his appearance—deep and resonant with the faintest trace of an accent I couldn't place, something ancient. His eyes—those unsettling silver eyes—fixed on me. "So this is the young woman who performed spontaneous light magic?"

"This is Iris Paige," Selene said. "My friend from university. Iris, this is Roland, the Sentinel of Paris and leader of our cell."

"I..." Words failed me. What exactly was the proper etiquette when meeting a man with a sword after being attacked by those creatures? "Hello," I managed weakly.

"Show me your hands," Roland commanded, stepping closer.

I hesitated, then held them out, palms up. They looked completely normal—the same hands I'd used for drawing and painting for years. No trace remained of the brilliant light that had erupted from them less than an hour ago.

Roland took my right hand in his, turning it over with surprising gentleness. His touch was cool, and I felt a strange tingling sensation where his fingers met my skin.

"Extraordinary," he murmured. "No runes, no channeling scars, no focus marks." He looked up, his eyes boring into mine. "Yet Selene says you produced pure light magic. Direct manifestation."

"I don't understand any of this," I said, finding my voice at last. "Those creatures, the light, this place... None of this should be possible."

"And yet here we are," Roland replied, releasing my hand. He straightened, his expression contemplative. "The question is not whether it's possible—clearly, it is—but how and why."

"That's what I'd like to know," I said, a flash of frustration cutting through my confusion. "One minute I'm on my way to an art exhibition, and the next I'm fighting monsters and walking through impossible doors. I deserve some explanations."

Roland's eyebrows rose slightly, then his lips curved in what might have been the ghost of a smile. "Indeed you do." He turned to Selene. "The cleanup team reports the creatures have been secured. They're being questioned now."

"Good," Selene nodded. "They were surprisingly coordinated. I think someone sent them specifically."

"Were they following you from somewhere?" Roland asked, his gaze shifting between us.

"I believe so," Selene said. "We felt something trailing us from the café. They must have been watching us for some time."

"And you're certain they were targeting Iris specifically?" Roland's eyes narrowed as he studied my face.

"Without question," Selene replied grimly. "One of them pointed directly at her and said they'd been looking for her. Not us—her."

Roland's expression darkened. "Those creatures rarely organize hunting parties without direction from someone more powerful." He stroked his beard thoughtfully. "What would make you a person of interest to them, I wonder?" He seemed to come to a decision. "We should continue this conversation in my study. This way."

He led us through the door he had entered from, into a corridor carved from the same stone as the arrival chamber. Magical lights glowed from recesses in the walls, casting a warm illumination that shifted subtly as we walked, adjusting to our presence.

The corridor opened into a large circular chamber with multiple passageways branching off in different directions. I glimpsed people—or beings—moving purposefully through these passages, some carrying scrolls or strange instruments, others deep in conversation. Unlike the modern transit hub this central chamber resembled functionally, the architecture was distinctly medieval, with arched doorways and stone pillars carved with intricate symbols.

"The heart of our Paris operations," Roland explained, noticing my wide-eyed stare. "From here, we monitor and maintain the Veil throughout the city."

"The Veil?" I asked, the unfamiliar term catching my attention. "You've mentioned that twice now. What exactly is it?"

Roland gave me an appraising look. "All in good time. First, let's continue somewhere more private."

He guided us down one of the smaller corridors, up a winding staircase that seemed to go on longer than should have been possible, and finally to a heavy wooden door reinforced with iron bands. Roland pressed his palm against a symbol carved into the wood, which briefly glowed blue before the door swung inward.

"Welcome to my study," he said, gesturing for us to enter.

The room beyond was large and circular, with bookshelves covering much of the curved walls from floor to ceiling. Between the shelves hung tapestries, maps, and what appeared to be ancient weapons. A massive oak desk dominated one side of the room, its surface covered with open books, scrolls, and curious objects I couldn't identify.

The stone floor was worn smooth in paths between the desk, bookshelves, and sitting area, suggesting centuries of use. Yet there were modern touches too—a sleek laptop partially hidden under parchment on the desk, electric lamps mingling with what appeared to be genuine medieval candelabras, and a coffee machine that looked significantly more advanced than anything I'd ever used.

The ceiling drew my gaze upward—a domed affair painted with astronomical charts that seemed to shift subtly when I wasn't looking directly at them. A spiral staircase in one corner led to a narrow mezzanine that circled the upper portion of the room, providing access to the highest bookshelves.

The center of the study held a comfortable sitting area with mismatched armchairs and a worn leather sofa arranged around a low table. The furniture looked as though it had been collected across different centuries, each piece with its own history.

"Please, sit," Roland said, gesturing to the chairs.

As I sank into a well-worn leather armchair, my gaze wandered to the objects adorning the study. Each one seemed to whisper secrets. A curved horn of ivory or bone rested on a wooden stand, ancient symbols etched along its length pulsing with faint blue light that matched the rhythm of my breathing. Nearby, under glass, lay a stone fragment covered in hieroglyphics that rippled and transformed subtly when I shifted my head, as though the symbols were alive.

My attention caught on a display case containing a knife unlike any I'd seen before—its blade seemed to exist in multiple places simultaneously, edges overlapping and separating as if refusing to commit to a single reality. Most captivating was a delicate snow globe on Roland's desk, housing a perfect miniature of Notre Dame. Tiny figures moved around its base—not frozen in sculpture, but actually walking, minuscule lights flickering in the cathedral's windows.

Roland moved to an ornate sideboard and lifted a silver teapot I hadn't noticed before. Steam curled from its spout, carrying a fragrance of herbs I couldn't name. He poured three cups with practiced grace, passing them to us before settling into a high-backed chair that creaked beneath him like an old friend bearing a familiar weight.

"Drink," he encouraged, noticing my hesitation. A warm chuckle escaped him, the sound surprisingly gentle from such an imposing figure. "It's just tea, I assure you—though perhaps a better blend than you'll find in your typical Parisian café."

I took a cautious sip. Warmth spread through me immediately, not just physical heat but a clarity that seemed to sweep away some of the fog of shock and confusion.

"Now," Roland said, his voice gentler than before, "let us begin with the most basic truth: The world is far more complex and populated than humans generally perceive. What you call mythology, folklore, fairy tales—much of it stems from real beings and events."

"Magic," I murmured, looking down at my hands. "That light that came from me—it was actually magic?"

"Indeed," Roland said, nodding slowly. "Magic is as real as the air we breathe, though most humans go their entire lives without perceiving it. There are many forms of magic in this world." He gestured to the symbols carved into Selene's staff, which now leaned against her chair. "Runic magic, which humans can learn and practice through study. It requires training, preparation, and tools."

He looked pointedly at my hands. "And then there's innate magic, which comes from one's essence or heritage. What you displayed tonight was something quite rare—pure light manifestation without any channeling tools or preparation."

"But how is this possible?" I asked. "How could all of this exist without people knowing?"

"Because of something we call the Veil," Roland answered. "The thing I mentioned earlier."

"The Veil," I repeated, testing the unfamiliar term.

"It is a magical construct, created thousands of years ago to separate the human world from the mythical one," Roland explained, his voice taking on the cadence of a professor. "The Veil doesn't simply hide mythical beings from human sight. It's far more sophisticated."

He gestured toward the snow globe of Notre Dame. "Imagine you're a tourist visiting the cathedral, and a gargoyle suddenly stretches its wings. The Veil would instantly intervene. To your perception, perhaps a bird took flight, or the sunlight created a strange shadow. Your mind would supply a rational explanation, and your memories would conform to that explanation."

Roland leaned forward. "The Veil reads human perception and adapts in real-time. A dragon flying overhead might appear as an unusual cloud formation. A magical duel might register as electrical problems causing strange lights. A gathering of forest spirits might seem like nothing more than mist among the trees."

He tapped his fingers thoughtfully against his teacup. "The Veil prioritizes your psychological comfort above perfect concealment. It's why humans can walk right past magical events and never remember them correctly. Your cameras would capture the illusion, not the reality. Your recordings would preserve the cover story, not the truth."

"So it's not just hiding things," I said slowly, processing this information. "It's actively rewriting reality as I perceive it?"

"Precisely," Roland nodded. "Until something breaks through it—as happened to you tonight."

"But I saw those creatures clearly."

Selene leaned forward, her eyes studying me with renewed interest. "The Veil was already weak in that alleyway—possibly why those creatures chose it for their ambush. But when your magic manifested, it was as if..." She paused, searching for the right words. "It was as if you could suddenly see through a window that had been frosted over."

She exchanged a meaningful glance with Roland. "What's remarkable is how completely you adjusted. Most humans who glimpse beyond the Veil for the first time suffer severe disorientation—migraines, vertigo, some even become physically ill as their minds struggle to reconcile two conflicting realities." Her voice softened with wonder. "You moved between worlds as naturally as stepping through a doorway."

My eyes drifted to the strange horn displayed on a nearby shelf. Roland followed my gaze.

"Ah, you've noticed Olifant," he said. "An old companion of mine. It has certain... properties that help strengthen the Veil when needed."

I nodded absently, still struggling to absorb everything. "And what happened with me? With the light?"

"What happened with you," Selene said, "was something I've never seen before. Pure light manifestation without any channeling tools or preparation. It shouldn't be possible for an untrained human."

I stared at her. "What are you saying?"

Roland leaned forward, his chair creaking. "If I may ask, Mademoiselle Paige, what do you know of your family lineage? Particularly any unusual ancestral histories?"

"Not much," I admitted. "I was adopted. My parents—my adoptive parents—are both teachers in Bergerac. They never knew much about my biological family."

Roland and Selene exchanged a significant glance.

"I see," Roland said carefully, setting his teacup down with a soft clink against the saucer.

The unspoken implication hung in the air between us. I should have laughed, should have dismissed the idea as absurd. But something deep inside me—the same part that had always known my drawings weren't just imagination, the part that had recognized the wrongness of those creatures before Selene named them—that part of me wasn't surprised at all.

"So what happens now?" I asked, my voice steadier than I expected.

"With your permission," Roland said, "we'd like you to stay with us for a few days. We can run some tests, help you understand what happened tonight, and—" his eyes glinted with something like concern, "—ensure your safety, given that someone appears to have sent those creatures specifically to find you."

He exchanged a meaningful glance with Selene before continuing. "I believe you may also benefit from some basic training. What you did tonight—that manifestation of light—suggests an innate magical aptitude that's quite rare."

"You mean become a... what did you call yourselves? A Veilkeeper?" I asked, the word still strange on my tongue.

"Perhaps," Roland replied with a slight nod. "That would be your choice, of course. But regardless of your decision, learning to control what's awakening inside you would be wise." His expression softened. "Untrained magic can be rather like an untamed flame—beautiful but potentially dangerous, especially to its wielder."

"That," he added, leaning back in his chair which groaned beneath his weight, "and we have much more to explain. This is merely the beginning of a much larger conversation."

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[irisandtheveilkeepers]

Chapter 1

Author's note: I'm rewriting the chapters from the begining. A bunch of things are changing and I'm more happy with this version.

"Earth to Iris? Hello? Anyone home?"

Selene's voice broke through my trance. I blinked, suddenly aware of the café sounds rushing back in—cups clinking, conversations humming, the rich scent of coffee that had faded into the background while I was drawing.

"Sorry," I mumbled, setting down my pencil and flexing my cramped fingers. "Got lost in it again."

"You've been in another world for like twenty minutes." Selene pushed my now-lukewarm coffee toward me, eyebrow raised. "I was about to check your pulse."

I looked down at my sketchbook, surprised by what I'd created. What had started as a simple drawing of Le Café des Ombres had evolved into something... different. I'd captured the warm lighting and vintage furniture, but had somehow added strange, swirling patterns in the shadows, symbols hidden in the woodwork, and an odd luminescence to the air that definitely wasn't there. At least, I didn't think it was.

"This place is just..." I glanced around, struggling to explain the feeling that had overtaken me. "There's something about it. Like there's more here than what you see at first glance."

Selene's eyes flickered to my drawing, something unreadable crossing her face before she smiled.

"That's why I thought you'd love it. Best hidden gem in Paris for artists." She leaned closer to examine my sketch. "You've got quite the imagination, though."

I traced one of the symbols I'd unconsciously drawn into the café's ceiling beams. "Yeah... weird. I don't even know why I drew that."

"Maybe your artistic subconscious picking up on the architecture?" Selene suggested, but something in the way she studied my drawing made me think she was more interested in my answer than she was letting on.

"Anyway," she continued, sliding my sketchbook back to me. "We should probably head out if we're going to catch that exhibition at the Petit Palais before it closes."

I nodded, tucking my sketchbook away and draining the last of my cold coffee. "Lead the way. Though I'm still counting on you for navigation—even after three months in Paris, I still get lost in these winding streets."

"That's what happens when you grow up in sleepy Bergerac," Selene teased. "Don't worry, country girl. I won't let you get lost."

Outside, the Paris evening was settling in, the city transforming into its nighttime persona. Streetlamps created pools of golden light, and the air had that particular Parisian evening quality—a mixture of old stone, perfume, and the promise of rain. Selene led us down narrow streets I hadn't explored before, her steps confident.

"Shortcut," she explained, turning down a quieter alleyway lined with old stone buildings. "Paris is full of hidden passages if you know where to look."

"How do you always know these secret routes?" I asked, admiring the way the old buildings leaned slightly toward each other overhead, creating frames for the darkening sky.

"I like to explore," Selene replied with a half-smile. "There's always more to this city than meets the eye."

The sound of shuffling footsteps behind us made me glance back. Nothing but shadows, but the hairs on my neck stood up.

"Everything okay?" Selene asked, noticing my unease.

"Yeah, just—" I paused. "Do you feel like we're being followed?"

Selene's posture shifted subtly. "Probably just a cat. This neighborhood has tons of them."

But she changed our direction twice in the next few minutes, taking us down even narrower passages. I was starting to lose my sense of direction when I heard it—footsteps, heavy and uneven, echoing behind us.

"Selene—" I whispered.

"I know," she murmured, her hand sliding into her jacket pocket. "Just keep walking normally."

The footsteps grew closer. A strange scent wafted toward us—something earthy and sour, like wet soil mixed with something I couldn't identify.

When we rounded the next corner into a dead-end alley, I raised an eyebrow at Selene. "Please tell me this was intentional."

"Stay behind me," she said, suddenly all business as she turned to face the alley entrance. The casual friend was gone, replaced by someone I barely recognized—someone with the stance of a fighter.

A figure lurched into view—a man, or what appeared to be one. Tall, hunched in a trenchcoat, moving with an odd, jerky gait. His face was obscured by shadows, but I could see his grin, too wide, with teeth that looked wrong somehow.

"Well, well," the figure slurred, his voice oddly layered, like multiple people speaking almost in unison. "What have we here? Two little girls lost in the dark?"

"We're not lost," Selene said evenly. "Move along."

The figure tilted its head at an impossible angle. "But we've been looking for you. Or rather, for her." A gnarled finger pointed directly at me.

My heart hammered. The shadows around the figure seemed to move independently, stretching and contracting. I blinked rapidly, convinced my eyes were playing tricks.

"Last warning," Selene said, and something in her voice had changed—an authority I'd never heard before. "You're out of bounds. Leave now."

The figure laughed, the sound splintering into multiple tones. And then—I still don't know how to describe what happened next—the trenchcoat seemed to separate, the figure splitting and collapsing and reforming into... three small, grotesque shapes?

I stumbled back, my brain refusing to process what my eyes were seeing. Three creatures, barely reaching my waist, with grayish-green skin and overlarge ears, wearing mismatched clothes and bearing wicked grins.

"What the—" I gasped.

"Goblins," Selene muttered, pulling something from her jacket—a short rod that suddenly extended into a full-length staff with glowing symbols carved along its length. "Iris, stay back!"

The first goblin lunged forward, surprisingly fast for its stubby legs. Selene swung her staff in a fluid arc, catching it mid-leap and sending it tumbling across the cobblestones. It recovered quickly, shaking its oversized head and baring yellowed teeth.

"Pretty stick won't save you," it sneered, its voice like gravel being crushed. "We know what she is."

The other two goblins circled around, trying to flank Selene. One pulled out a crude knife that glinted dully in the dim light.

"What do they mean?" I asked, pressing my back against the wall. "What do they think I am?"

"Not the time, Iris!" Selene pivoted smoothly, her staff a blur as she blocked the knife-wielding goblin and kicked the third one back. Her movements were practiced, precise—clearly not her first fight with these creatures.

The first goblin darted forward again, but this time aimed for Selene's legs. She jumped over its grasp, but the maneuver left her momentarily off-balance. The knife-wielder saw the opening and slashed at her arm, drawing a thin line of blood.

Selene hissed in pain but countered with a strike that sent the creature sprawling. "They're coordinating better than usual," she muttered, more to herself than to me. "Someone's been training them."

I watched in disbelief as my friend—my normal, art-appreciating friend—fought three mythical creatures in a Paris alley. Nothing about this made sense. I had to be dreaming, or hallucinating, or—

"Iris, look out!" Selene shouted.

While she'd been handling two of the goblins, the third had circled around and was now rushing straight for me, its clawed hands outstretched and mouth open in a hungry grin.

I had nowhere to run. Time seemed to slow as the creature came at me—I could see every detail of its mottled skin, the gleam in its too-large eyes, the ragged edges of its patchwork clothing.

Instinctively, I threw my hands up to protect myself, a cry escaping my lips—

And that's when it happened. A strange heat rushed through my veins, gathering in my chest and flowing down my arms like liquid fire. It didn't hurt—instead, it felt like a part of me I'd never noticed was suddenly awake and singing. The sensation crested, and bright light erupted from my palms, a concentrated beam that caught the goblin full in the face.

The creature shrieked, falling backward and clawing at its eyes. "Burning! It burns!"

Selene didn't hesitate. Taking advantage of the distraction, she spun and struck the disoriented goblin with her staff, then quickly dispatched the other two with swift, precise movements. The goblins collapsed in a heap of gangly limbs, momentarily stunned.

The light faded from my hands, leaving ghostly afterimages floating in my vision. My knees felt weak, and I leaned heavily against the wall, staring at my palms in disbelief.

"What—" My voice cracked. "What just happened?"

Selene approached, her eyes wide with shock as she stared at my hands. "That was—" She shook her head in disbelief. "Have you been trained before? Did someone teach you runic casting?"

"What? No!" I held my hands away from my body as if they might light up again. "I don't know what just happened!"

Selene circled me quickly, examining my arms, my clothing. "But there's no runes, no sigils, no focus crystal..." Her voice held a mixture of wariness and wonder. "You just... did magic. Pure light magic. Without any channels or aids." She looked at me with new eyes. "That shouldn't be possible for a human."

"I don't understand any of this," I said, my voice shaking. "Magic? Runes? Goblins? What is happening?"

The goblins were groaning now, starting to push themselves up. Selene snapped back to attention, pulling out her phone and putting it to her ear.

"Roland, this is Selene. I need a cleanup team in the 6th, alley off Rue Saint-André des Arts. Three goblins, temporarily subdued but recovering." She glanced at me, lowering her voice slightly. "And sir, we have a situation. A human just performed magic. No runes, no preparation. Pure light manifestation." She paused, listening. "No, I've never seen anything like it. We're heading to safety point four. Meet us there."

She pocketed her phone and extended her hand to me. "I know you have a million questions, and I'll answer all of them. But right now, we need to move."

I stared at her hand, then at the goblins, then at my own hands. None of this could be real, and yet... I could still feel the echo of that power coursing through me, like discovering a room in a house I'd lived in my entire life but somehow never noticed.

"I don't understand any of this," I said, taking her hand anyway.

"I know," Selene replied, a mix of sympathy and excitement in her eyes. "But you will. I promise."

"We're just leaving them here?" I asked, glancing back at the groaning goblins who were starting to stir.

"Not exactly." Selene pulled something from a pocket inside her jacket—what looked like thin silver chains with small symbols etched along the links. With practiced movements, she quickly bound the goblins' wrists and ankles.

"Restraints," she explained, seeing my questioning look. "They're temporarily warded—these three won't be going anywhere until the cleanup team arrives." She muttered something under her breath as she finished securing the last goblin, and the symbols briefly glowed blue before fading.

"That should hold them," she said, standing and dusting off her hands. "Now we really need to go."

As we hurried away from the alley, I couldn't help looking back one last time. The world I thought I knew was shifting around me, reality rearranging itself into something stranger and more complex than I'd ever imagined.

And somehow, despite the fear and confusion, a small part of me felt like I was finally seeing clearly for the first time.

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[irisandtheveilkeepers]

You reminded me I need to actually write, instead you inspired me to do funnieTM chapter names

And I got inspired by Percy Jackson, I love how Rick Riordan does their chapter names

[irisandtheveilkeepers]

Hi, would be cool to see Loki, but not as the Evil Guy, but as a Trickster

Loki will be seen, that's for sure. He won't be a baddie (well not in the evil sense 😉)

[irisandtheveilkeepers]

Small Update

I haven't had the time to publish any chapter the past week as I'm focussing on my professionnal career. In the mean time, any suggestions of mythology or mythical creatures you'd like to see adapted to a modern setting?

[irisandtheveilkeepers]

Chapter 5: A Myth-free day?

The morning sunlight filtered through my curtains, filling the room with a soft, warm glow. For a moment, I felt disoriented, the events of the previous night lingering like fragmented remnants of an enigmatic dream. Then, Lua meowed from the end of my bed, stretching leisurely as she trotted over to rub her head against my shoulder.

"Alright, alright," I murmured, ruffling her fur as I sat up.

Selene was still asleep beside me, her presence surprisingly reassuring. She lay curled on her side, a faint smile softening her features. In the morning light, her face looked gentler, and I found myself studying her—the delicate curve of her cheek, the way her dark lashes contrasted starkly against her pale skin. There was an ethereal quality to her appearance, as if she were only partly tethered to this world. She looked... serene, as though she had finally released the tension she typically carried.

Lua nudged my arm again, her reminder that she was hungry pulling me back to reality. I slipped out of bed, moving carefully so as not to disturb Selene, and made my way to the kitchen. The simple act of feeding Lua and hearing her impatient meows provided a small sense of normalcy. As I filled her bowl, I tried to suppress the memories of goblins and magic, focusing instead on the comforting rhythm of a mundane morning.

By the time I returned to the bedroom, Selene was beginning to wake. Her eyes blinked open, and she offered me a sleepy smile. "Morning," she mumbled, her voice still thick with drowsiness.

"Morning," I replied, smiling back. "Sleep well?"

She stretched, her arms reaching above her head. "Better than I have in a while," she admitted, her gaze meeting mine. There was a warmth there that made my chest tighten slightly. "Thanks for letting me stay."

"Of course," I said softly. "I didn’t want to be alone either."

We lingered in that moment a little longer, but then the demands of the day began to intrude. "We should get ready," Selene said, sitting up and running a hand through her hair. "You have classes today, right?"

I nodded, feeling a mix of anxiety and excitement. After everything that had transpired, the idea of going to university, sitting in a lecture hall, and studying mythology felt almost surreal. But I needed it—a return to something familiar, something grounded.

We got dressed, and Selene borrowed one of my spare hoodies. It was a bit oversized for her, but it suited her effortlessly. As we walked to campus, the crisp morning air helped clear my thoughts, and the city gradually came to life around us. The streets were filled with people rushing to work. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods wafted from nearby cafes. I tried to focus on these small, grounding details—the chatter of people, the rustling of leaves in the breeze.

When we reached the lecture hall, I felt a surge of nervous anticipation. Selene gave me a reassuring smile, and we walked inside together, finding seats in the middle of the room. The lecture hall was buzzing with the noise of students settling in—the shuffling of papers, soft conversations, the hum of everyday life. Selene leaned back in her chair, her eyes scanning the room as if she were perpetually ready for something to go awry. It reminded me of someone who had been through far too much—always vigilant, always wary.

The professor entered and greeted the class before launching into the tale of Persephone and Hades. I watched as he spoke, his gestures sweeping dramatically to illustrate the Underworld and the pomegranate seeds. Selene seemed intent on his words, her eyes narrowing at certain points, her lips curling into a subtle, amused smile.

"This isn't quite accurate," Selene whispered. "The truth is that Hades formally asked Zeus for Persephone's hand, and Zeus gave his blessing. But when Demeter found out, she was incensed. She caused such an uproar that it nearly ignited a war."

I glanced at her, intrigued. "Really?"

Selene nodded slightly, her eyes still fixed on the professor. "The old myths are far more intricate than people realize. There are always layers beneath the surface, hidden truths that remain obscured. For instance, many pacts and agreements between the gods were left out of the popular narratives—details that would change everything if people only knew."

After the lecture ended, Selene and I spent the rest of the day together. We grabbed lunch at a small café, the chatter of customers and clinking of dishes providing a comforting background as we talked about everything but the Veilkeepers. For a while, it felt like we could almost be normal—two friends enjoying a quiet day in Paris. But as the sun began to set, the magic and responsibilities we had pushed aside all day began to creep back in.

Selene glanced at her watch, then looked at me. "It's time," she said, her voice softer, as if not wanting to break the spell of our ordinary day. I could see a hint of reluctance in her eyes, like she wished we could hold onto this fleeting moment of normalcy just a little longer. For a second, I felt the weight of everything we had to return to, and I knew she did too. But her resolve was steady, and I drew strength from it.

I nodded, the knot of anxiety returning to my stomach. "Where are we headed?"

"I'll take you to the nearest Veilkeeper portal. It’s not far," she replied, her expression growing serious.

We walked through the winding streets until we reached a small, tucked-away park. The few lampposts scattered around were just beginning to light up, casting a warm glow over the benches and flowerbeds. Selene led me to a secluded corner, where a worn, ivy-covered archway stood, almost blending into the surrounding foliage.

She pressed her hand against a stone at the base of the arch, murmuring something under her breath. The air shimmered slightly, and I could feel the magic humming around us. A portal opened within the arch, revealing a swirling expanse of silvery light.

"Ready?" Selene asked, her hand brushing against mine.

I swallowed hard, then nodded. "As ready as I'll ever be."

We stepped through the portal, and the world around us shifted, the park disappearing in a blur of light. We emerged into a familiar room—the transportation chamber from the Veilkeepers' headquarters, the mirror in its center now reflecting our own images.

Selene squeezed my hand reassuringly. "Welcome back."

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Also, I'm a sucker for urban fantasy-

<3 Same

[irisandtheveilkeepers]

Hey, fellow french person, trans girl, love the story so far!

Thanks a lot, I'm very proud of this story and looking forward to writing the future of the story!

[irisandtheveilkeepers]

Chapter 4: A semblance of normality

The door swung open behind us with a soft creak, and I expected to step back into the cozy, dim tearoom we had entered from—but instead, we found ourselves standing in a vast, bustling corridor. The low murmur of voices and the clatter of hurried footsteps echoed around us. I blinked, disoriented, as the space ahead revealed something entirely different from the quaint backroom of the café. This was something far bigger—an underground nerve center of activity.

I turned to Selene, but she didn’t seem surprised. In fact, there was a flicker of amusement in her eyes at my confusion. “Welcome to the real heart of the Veilkeepers,” she said, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

The corridor stretched out in both directions, lined with doors that looked older than time itself, each inscribed with runes and symbols I couldn’t understand. The air carried a faint, herbal scent—something earthy, almost smoky, like incense mingling with the scent of old parchment. Shelves filled with artifacts and scrolls lined the walls, some with faintly pulsing wards. The magical energy in the air was tangible, like static electricity brushing against my skin.

“Is this...?” I started, trying to wrap my head around the scale of what I was seeing.

“The Veilkeepers’ headquarters,” Selene confirmed, her voice matter-of-fact. “This is where we work, train, and keep an eye on the world. It’s a bit of a maze, but you get used to it.”

“Are all these people...?” I gestured to the people in varied attire, robes, and modern clothing.

“Veilkeepers, yes. Some have specific tasks—tracking magical threats, translating ancient texts, developing magical wards. It’s more than just keeping magic hidden; it’s about maintaining balance and making sure no one... disrupts things too much.” Her voice took on a slightly ominous edge.

I barely had time to take it all in as she led me down the corridor. My head swiveled from side to side, taking in the ancient symbols, the glowing wards, and the people bustling about as if everything around them were perfectly ordinary. I couldn’t help but feel small in comparison, like a child stumbling into a world too big and strange to comprehend.

“Come on,” Selene said gently, pulling me along. “I’ll take you back to my place. You need some rest after everything that’s happened.”

I nodded wordlessly, still absorbing the sheer scale of the place. It was hard to believe that just hours ago, I’d been sitting in a café, entirely unaware of any of this. Now, I was here—wrapped up in magic, goblins, and an ancient order that protected the very fabric of reality.

We weaved through the corridors until Selene finally led me to a small, circular chamber at the end of a hallway. The walls were covered in intricate symbols, each glowing faintly with a shifting light that made them seem alive. In the center of the chamber stood a large, ornate mirror, its frame carved with symbols that mirrored those on the walls. The glass seemed to shimmer, reflecting not our own images, but a distant, misty landscape that changed each time I blinked. I stared at it in awe, the magic pulsing from it palpable in the air.

“What’s this?” I whispered, unable to take my eyes off the shifting landscape in the mirror.

“It’s a transportation chamber,” Selene explained. “A way for Veilkeepers to move quickly between our various locations. It’s like a portal, but more precise and controlled.”

I nodded slowly, trying to wrap my head around the concept. “And it’s safe?”

Selene gave me a reassuring nod. “Yes, perfectly safe. I’ll take you to your apartment, and I’ll come pick you up tomorrow for uni."

I hesitated. “Actually, would you mind staying over tonight? I don’t... I don’t think I can be alone right now.”

“Of course. I’d be happy to stay.”

Selene guided me toward the mirror, her touch gentle on my arm. As we stepped through, the reflection of the misty landscape rippled, and I felt a strange, cold sensation wash over me. It was as if the very essence of my being was stretched thin, pulled through an impossibly small space before being released again on the other side. For a moment, I was lost in a sea of swirling colors and distant whispers, the world around me fading into a blur. My heart raced, and I clung to Selene, afraid of being pulled away from her.

When the world came back into focus, we were standing in front of my apartment, the familiar sight grounding me once again. I took a deep breath, steadying myself against Selene. "That was..." I trailed off, searching for the right word.

“Different?” she offered with a small smile. “You’ll get used to it. It’s the quickest way to get around when you’re dealing with magic.”

I nodded, my legs still shaky from the journey. She guided me to the door, and I fumbled with my keys, still feeling disoriented. Finally, the lock clicked, and we stepped into my familiar living room. It was a relief to be surrounded by my things again, a small comfort in the face of everything that had happened.

My cat, Lua, greeted us with a meow, her tail swishing curiously at the sight of Selene. I scooped her up into my arms, burying my face in her soft fur for a moment, trying to find some semblance of normalcy. She purred in response, her warmth comforting against my racing thoughts. "Hey, girl. Sorry I was away for a while..."

“Hi there,” Selene cooed, reaching out to stroke Lua’s back. My cat arched her spine and leaned into the touch, clearly appreciative of the attention.

I set Lua down on the floor. She gave a quick stretch and sauntered off into the kitchen, probably in search of her dinner. With a sigh, I collapsed onto my bed, the weight of the day finally catching up to me.

“Are you doing okay?” Selene asked, her voice soft and concerned. She sat on the edge of the bed, her hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from my face.

I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to collect my thoughts. “I don’t know,” I confessed, my voice barely above a whisper. “It’s all so much to take in. Goblins, magic, a whole secret society... it’s like I’ve stepped into another world.”

“You have, in a way,” Selene murmured, her fingers lingering on my cheek. “But you’re not alone. I’m here with you, and we’ll figure this out together.”

She leaned in closer, her presence warm and solid beside me. Her fingertips brushed along my jawline, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. I shivered slightly at her touch, my heart fluttering in my chest. We stared at each other for a long moment, our breaths mingling in the small space between us.

“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice hoarse with emotion.

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Chapter 3: So, You’ve Accidentally Cast Magic—Now What?

The door clicked shut behind us, and the air shifted—charged with a subtle energy that prickled along my skin. The room was dimly lit by the warm, hazy glow of an old desk lamp, casting long shadows that clung to the corners. The shelves lining the walls were crammed with dusty tomes and artifacts that looked like they belonged in a museum, each one seemingly heavier with history than the last. The scent of old leather, aged paper, and something earthy lingered in the air, grounding me despite the strangeness of it all.

At the center of the room, hunched over a cluttered desk, sat the man who must have been Orion. His broad shoulders were tense, his form imposing even in stillness. As we stepped further into the room, his head snapped up, revealing sharp, amber-brown eyes that glinted like embers under a wild mane of dark, silver-streaked hair. His face was rugged and weathered—both timeless and aged in a way that made me question how long he'd really been around.

I was struck by how real he looked. Not like the ethereal sylph from the tearoom, but more like someone you might pass on the street—if that street was populated by men in desperate need of a haircut and a nap. He wasn’t tall, but his presence filled the space, and his eyes bore into me with an intensity that made my pulse quicken. It felt as though he could see straight through me—past the walls I’d built, the person I was still becoming, down to the core of something I didn’t fully understand.

“Selene, Iris,” he rumbled, his voice low and rough, like distant thunder on the horizon. The fact that he knew my name without introduction sent a shiver down my spine. “Sit.”

It wasn’t a suggestion—it was a command. We quickly found ourselves sinking into the two worn chairs in front of his desk. My heart thudded in my chest, and I watched as Orion sifted through the scattered papers in front of him, as though the right words were buried somewhere among them. Finally, he clasped his hands together, leaning forward, his eyes narrowing as they settled on me.

“Iris Paige,” he said, his tone a mixture of curiosity and exhaustion. “Twenty-two years old. Born and raised in Lyon. Studying at the Sorbonne—art and mythology. Adopted at birth by two kind teachers. Transitioned. No known ties to the occult. Lives with a cat.”

I blinked. “How do you—”

He cut me off with a raised hand. “It’s my job to know.” His gaze sharpened, pinning me in place. “Now, tell me everything.”

My mouth went dry, and my mind raced, struggling to put the chaos of the last few hours into words. Thankfully, Selene stepped in before I could embarrass myself further.

“We were at Rue des Mirages,” she began, her voice calm and measured. “Three goblins attacked us—small, but fast. They were after her.”

Orion’s eyebrows shot up. “Goblins in Paris? That’s... rare.” His gaze snapped back to me. “Why would goblins be interested in you?”

Selene hesitated for a moment, her expression tight. “Because Iris isn’t just a regular human.”

Orion’s eyes narrowed. “Explain.”

Selene shifted in her seat, her voice steady. “She cast pure magic. Light—blinding, raw, and uncontrolled. It knocked the goblins out cold. That's not something a human should be able to do.”

His gaze drilled into me now, assessing. “Is that true?”

I nodded slowly, swallowing hard. “I think so. I didn’t mean to... it just happened.”

Orion leaned back, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “Interesting.” He turned to Selene. “Anything else?”

“Not yet,” Selene replied. “But she’s not just some passerby, Orion. We need to figure out why she can do this—and what it means.”

Orion considered this for a long moment, then nodded. “Alright.” He shifted his focus back to me. “Iris, you’re not who you thought you were. You’ve got magic inside you—raw, uncontrolled, and dangerous, if you’re not careful.”

My heart pounded harder at his words. “Dangerous?” I echoed, my voice barely more than a whisper.

He leaned forward, his eyes unblinking. “Magic is unpredictable. It’s not something you can just ignore. If you don’t learn how to control it, others will notice—others more dangerous than goblins.”

I shivered, the weight of his words settling heavily on me. “What do I do now?”

Orion straightened, his expression softening ever so slightly. “You’ll stay with us for a few days. We’ll teach you the basics—how to control your abilities, how to keep the magic hidden.” His voice dropped lower, more serious. “And you must keep this world a secret. No one can know. Not your friends, not your professors. The Veil exists to protect both worlds from colliding, and if you break that... the consequences will be severe.”

I nodded, the gravity of his warning sinking in. “I understand.”

He leaned back slightly, his gaze momentarily distant, as though recalling memories long buried. “The Veil is the thin barrier that keeps magic and reality separate, Iris. Without it, the world as we know it would be unrecognizable. Magic would flood into the human realm unchecked—gods, monsters, and creatures that belong to forgotten myths would walk among us again. It wasn’t always this way. Long ago, mortals and magic coexisted, but that balance was shattered by greed, war, and the chaos that followed. So, the Veil was created to protect both sides—to keep magic hidden and humans safe. Without it, both worlds would fall apart.”

His words hit me like a blow. The enormity of it all suddenly felt heavier. “But... isn’t it wrong to keep magic hidden? If it was once a part of this world—doesn’t it belong here?”

Orion’s eyes flicked back to me, and his expression hardened. “Some might argue that, yes. The Broken Circle believes the same—that magic was never meant to be hidden. But they’re wrong. Magic isn’t a simple tool or a game, Iris. It’s dangerous, unpredictable. If the Veil falls, it won’t be a peaceful reunion of two worlds. It’ll be chaos—gods vying for control, monsters feeding on the weak, magic itself tearing apart everything it touches.”

“The Broken Circle?” I asked, the name new to me.

Orion’s jaw tightened as if just speaking of them irritated him. “A group of extremists who think the Veil was a mistake. They believe magic should be freed, no matter the cost. To them, the old world—one where gods, mortals, and magic lived together—is the true balance. But what they don’t understand is that the Veil doesn’t just protect humans from magic; it protects magic from humans as well. The balance is fragile. The Broken Circle wants to tear it apart.”

My heart pounded harder, the weight of his words settling over me like a shadow. This wasn’t just about me. It was about protecting something far bigger than myself. “What do I do now?”

Orion straightened, his expression softening just a little. "You’ll learn. And we’ll make sure you’re ready."

Selene gave me a reassuring smile, squeezing my hand. “I promise, Iris, I won’t leave your side.”

Her warmth steadied me, even as a thousand questions whirled in my mind. “Thanks,” I murmured.

She hugged me tightly, her embrace a shield against the uncertainty of the world. We were so close, I could hear the faint beat of her heart and feel her breath on my skin. She smelled of lavender and mint, a calming, familiar scent I clung to in the chaos of this new reality.

"Hey," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath, but the strength in her words wrapped me in comfort. "It's going to be okay."

"I know," I said, pulling back slightly to meet her storm-gray eyes. They held the promise of friendship and support, unwavering even in the face of the unknown.

She grinned. "Come on, let’s get out of here."

As we left the small office, Orion spoke, his voice gruff. "One more thing, Iris."

I looked back at him.

"Welcome to the Veilkeepers."

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