Prologue
Cracks in the Foundation
Avery had long since learned that silence was her best armor.
She sat at the corner of the dining table, her fingers tracing the grain of the cheap wood as her father's voice thundered through the kitchen. His anger, sharp and cruel, was a storm she'd weathered countless times before. Tonight, it was about burnt chicken. Tomorrow, it could be the way the lightbulb flickered in the hallway. There was no pattern to his rage, only inevitability.
Her mother stood at the sink, shoulders hunched, nodding absently as he spat words that stung like nettles. Avery kept her eyes down, her mind retreating to the one safe place she had: her books.
In her stories, the heroes were strong. They faced monsters and shadows, but their courage was always rewarded. She wondered what it felt like to live in a world where good always triumphed, where people could escape their prisons instead of simply enduring them.
A loud crash broke her reverie. The plate her father had thrown shattered against the wall, jagged pieces scattering across the floor. Avery flinched despite herself, her nails digging into the underside of the table.
"Get to your room," he snarled, his bloodshot eyes fixing on her like a predator.
Avery didn't argue. She rose, careful to avoid the shards, and slipped down the hallway to her bedroom. Once inside, she locked the door and leaned against it, her chest heaving.
Her sanctuary wasn't much—peeling wallpaper, a single lamp on her nightstand—but it was hers. On the small, rickety shelf by her bed, books stood like sentinels. Stories of far-off lands and magical realms where girls like her could become something more.
She grabbed a worn copy of The Brave and the Forgotten and curled up on her bed, letting the words blur the edges of her reality. The hero in this story was a girl named Lena, who faced dragons with a sword in one hand and hope in the other. Avery tried to imagine herself in Lena's place—strong, fearless, free.
But even in her fantasies, the weight of her father's voice lingered.
-
That night, as she drifted to sleep, she dreamed of a door. It was carved from black stone, its surface etched with glowing runes she couldn't read. A soft voice whispered her name, beckoning her closer.
She reached out, her fingers trembling, and the door swung open.
On the other side was a forest, vast and shimmering with colors she couldn't name. The air smelled of pine and something sweeter, like honey and rain. The same voice spoke again, low and musical.
"You don't belong there," it said. "You belong here."
Avery stepped forward, and the forest swallowed her whole.
-
She woke with a start, her heart pounding. The dream lingered like a half-remembered melody, strange and insistent. Avery glanced at the shelf of books, her gaze settling on the gap where her next escape would come.
That was the night she decided she would find a way out, no matter what it cost. She didn't know then that the door wasn't just in her dreams—or that her escape would lead her into a world far more dangerous and beautiful than she could imagine.
Because somewhere, deep in the shadows of another realm, someone—or something—was waiting for her.
YOU ARE READING
The Veiled Lands
FantasySeventeen-year-old Avery Harper has spent her life hiding from the storm of her father's rage, from the silence of her mother's indifference, and from the ache of a world that seems to have no place for her. Books are her only escape, offering glimp...
