The cemetery felt alive with tension as Elias stood rooted to the spot, his breath visible in the frigid air. The cloaked figure’s warning echoed in his mind, threading itself through the silence like a splinter.


    Leave it buried, or join him.


    His grip tightened on the spade. Fear gnawed at the edges of his resolve, but the flicker of defiance burned brighter. Whatever Abel Carter had died for, Elias was already too far down the path to turn back.


    He returned to the shed, locking the door behind him, and retrieved the journal. The fabric scrap from the riverbank lay beside it, the embroidered sigil catching the dim light. Elias flipped through the journal’s brittle pages, searching for anything that might connect Abel to this mysterious crest.


    His eyes landed on a passage written in the same hurried scrawl as before:


    “They call themselves the Black Veil. A brotherhood bound by blood and secrets. Their mark is everywhere, hidden in plain sight. If you know where to look, you’ll see it too.”


    Elias traced the words with his fingers. The crest embroidered on the fabric—it had to be their mark.


    The Black Veil.


    He felt the weight of the name, as if speaking it aloud might summon them. Abel had uncovered something much larger than petty debts and rivalries, something woven into the fabric of Hollowshade itself.


    Determined to learn more, Elias left the cemetery and headed for the library. It was one of the oldest buildings in town, its stone walls covered in creeping ivy and its interior filled with the scent of aged parchment. The librarian, Mrs. Hensley, gave him a wary glance as he entered, her gnarled hands adjusting her spectacles.


    “Mr. Thorn,” she said, her voice dry and clipped. “We don’t often see you here.”


    “I’m looking for information,” Elias replied, keeping his tone neutral. “On old town symbols. Crests, sigils anything of the sort.”This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Mrs. Hensley raised an eyebrow. “Planning to become a historian now, are we?”


    He didn’t rise to the bait. “Just curious.”


    She sighed but motioned him toward the far corner of the library. “The archives are there. Don’t disturb the order.”


    Elias nodded and made his way to the back, where rows of dusty tomes and faded documents waited. Hours passed as he combed through records, his fingers smudged with ink and his eyes straining in the dim light.


    Finally, he found it a faded illustration tucked inside a brittle ledger. The crest was identical to the one on the fabric, its intricate pattern unmistakable. Beneath it was a single word: Vigilium.


    “Vigilium,” he murmured, testing the word on his tongue.


    It sounded Latin, though its meaning eluded him. Flipping through the pages, he found sparse mentions of the Black Veil, always tied to whispers of corruption and disappearances. They were a shadowy force, moving silently through the town’s history, their influence hidden but undeniable.


    His pulse quickened. If the Black Veil still existed, then they were the ones responsible for Abel Carter’s death and they wouldn’t hesitate to silence anyone who got too close.


    The sun was setting by the time Elias returned to the cemetery, the sky streaked with bruised purples and deep reds. His mind was a whirlwind of questions, each one more pressing than the last.


    As he stepped through the cemetery gates, he noticed something unusual. A fresh mound of dirt beside Abel’s grave.


    His stomach dropped.


    Someone had been here while he was gone.


    He approached cautiously, his footsteps silent on the damp ground. The disturbed soil told a story of hurried digging, but the grave itself was untouched. Instead, at its edge, a small object glinted in the fading light.


    Elias knelt, brushing the dirt away to reveal a silver medallion. The same crest the mark of the Black Veil was engraved on its surface.


    The air around him seemed to thicken, the silence oppressive. He glanced over his shoulder, half-expecting to see the cloaked figure watching from the shadows. But the cemetery was empty.


    Elias slipped the medallion into his pocket and hurried back to his shed, bolting the door behind him.


    That night, the dreams returned.


    He was standing in the cemetery, the graves stretching endlessly in all directions. The mist was thick, curling around his ankles like ghostly fingers. Somewhere in the distance, he heard whispers—low and urgent, their words just out of reach.


    A figure emerged from the fog. Abel Carter, his face pale and gaunt, his eyes filled with an otherworldly light.


    “You shouldn’t have taken it,” Abel said, his voice hollow.


    “The medallion?” Elias asked, his voice trembling.


    Abel nodded, stepping closer. “It’s a tether. To them. They’ll come for it, and they’ll come for you.”


    Elias shook his head, his chest tightening. “What do they want? What did you find?”


    Abel’s expression darkened. “The truth. But the truth has a price.”


    Before Elias could ask more, the ground beneath him crumbled, and he was falling—plunging into darkness as Abel’s voice echoed in his ears.


    “Run, Elias. Run before it’s too late.”


    Elias woke with a start, drenched in sweat. The shed was silent, the oil lamp flickering weakly. He sat up, his breathing ragged, and reached into his pocket.


    The medallion was still there, its surface cold and smooth.


    Abel’s words haunted him. The medallion was a tether—a connection to the Black Veil. And if they wanted it back, they wouldn’t stop until they had it.


    Elias stared at the locked drawer containing the journal, his resolve hardening. Whatever the Black Veil was hiding, it was worth killing for. And now, it was up to him to uncover it .