NOVEL ONLINE FREE Chapter 9: Chapter 9: The Watcher in the Veil
The following morning, Elara awoke with ash on her hands.
Her bedsheets were scorched at the corners.
But no fire had touched the room. No alarms. No smoke. Just ash, and the memory of screams.
She washed her hands three times, but the black stains wouldn't leave. Not completely. It was like the Trial had marked her—deep under the skin.
The Grimoire lay open again, on her desk.
This time, the page wasn't red.
It was black.
Words burned themselves into the surface, leaving behind glowing orange letters:
"He sees you now."
"Talia opened the Veil. You tore it."
"He walks in the places where light cannot go."
Elara stared at the words until they faded.
He.
Who?
She slammed the book shut and shoved it under her bed.
The school felt... wrong.
The paintings watched her.
Doors she walked past opened slightly—then closed when she turned.
Once, during Potions, her own shadow turned the wrong way.
Even Professor Whittle, who never noticed anything unless it was leaking acid, stared too long at Elara's face.
"You were in the Room of Cinders," he said in passing.
It wasn't a question.
Elara said nothing.
He nodded. "Something always comes back."
Then walked away.
At lunch, Lira slid into the bench beside her.
"You're alive," she whispered. "Not bleeding. That's good."
"I'm not sure I'm whole," Elara muttered.
"You're not. But neither is Hollowmoor."
Before Elara could ask what that meant, a loud bang echoed through the dining hall.
Every plate on the tables shattered at once.
Every candle turned black.
And a voice—deep, layered, cold—whispered through the minds of every student:
"She tore the Veil."
"Now I see."
"Now I hunt."
The hall plunged into darkness for a full ten seconds.
When the lights returned, three students were unconscious.
One girl, from the Arcanum Hall, had no reflection in her spoon.
Elara tried to report it to Headmistress Mire.
But Mire wasn't in her office.
Her office wasn't there at all.
Just a blank stretch of hallway.
Lira found her wandering.
"That's the fifth room to vanish this week," she said.
"What's happening?"
Lira pulled her into a disused storage closet. Locked the door.
"It's called a Veil Tear," she said. "It happens when someone touches forbidden magic without permission. It lets something in."
"Something like... Talia?"
"No. Talia was still human. Whatever this is—it's older. Hungrier."
Elara swallowed. "You've seen it before."
"My sister did," Lira said softly. "Two years ago. Same pattern. People saw things. Rooms vanished. Students vanished."
"What happened to her?"
"She made it to the end of the term. Then she tried to leave Hollowmoor."
"She didn't make it?"
"No one who knows too much gets to leave."
That night, Elara woke to find her door open.
She was sure she had locked it.
Something had left ash footprints on the floor.
Not boots.
Not bare feet.
Hooves.
The next morning, Professor Albrecht canceled all classes.
"Security incident," he said. "The Watcher has been reported."
He didn't explain. No one asked.
The older students—those in Sixth Form—started drawing strange runes on their wrists.
One girl passed Elara in the hall and handed her a piece of black chalk.
"Draw a window on your mirror," she whispered. "If you see him, don't scream. Screaming makes him real."
Elara met Lira in the tower again.
"I need answers," she said.
"You won't like them."
"Tell me anyway."
Lira took out an old, frayed book.
"This was banned a century ago," she said. "It's called The Eyes Beneath. It describes a spirit that sleeps beneath Hollowmoor. Buried in the first foundation. It has no name. It takes names."
"Why would Talia's return wake it up?"
"She didn't return. She broke something. Whatever magic the founders used to trap this thing—it needed to stay forgotten. When you stabbed the reflection, you cracked the Veil."
"So it's my fault."
"No. But it sees you now. And it always watches the one who opened the gate."
That night, Elara followed the instructions.
She drew a window on her mirror.
Waited.
Nothing.
Midnight passed.
Still nothing.
She started to fall asleep—until she heard a whisper.
Not in her ear.
In her bones.
"Window."
Her eyes snapped open.
The chalk drawing on the mirror was gone.
And behind the glass, something moved.
Not Talia.
Not a reflection.
Just a shape. Tall. Antlered. Crawling sideways like a shadow at the edge of the world.
Its fingers scraped the inside of the mirror.
"I know your face now."
"I will wear it when I walk."
Elara grabbed her wand, but it didn't light.
She lit a candle instead. Held it to the mirror.
The thing was gone.
But in the condensation, a handprint remained.
The next day, the Grimoire wrote only one line:
"You must hide your name."
"You must forget who you were."
"He hunts the name, not the soul."
Elara crossed out her name in every book she owned.
She burned the stitched name tag in her uniform.
She told no one.
She didn't even whisper her name to herself.
That night, she saw the Watcher again.
Not in the mirror.
But in her dreams.
And it wore her old face.