Location: Avalon – Capital of the Starborn Realms
For centuries—or what passed for centuries between shattered timelines—Avalon had stood as the last bastion of truth. A place where broken worlds could find refuge. Where the ashes of fallen heroes became the soil for something greater.
But even paradise has its storm.
And this storm wore a smile.
The Veilwraith had arrived.
The Omen
It began with silence.
The Flame at the Heartforge dimmed for three seconds—something it had never done. Not in the darkest hours. Not during the Multiversal Collapse. Not even when Death itself stood at its gates.
Then came the screams of the dragons.
Avalon's sky turned gold, rippling with illusion so powerful it made even the oldest Fae weep. The stars rearranged themselves into chains. The clouds turned into eyes. And in the center of the sky, a tear in reality opened—wide and hungry.
From it descended a figure.
Not a beast. Not a god.
A truthless being in humanoid form, made of black flame and false light, its mask shaped like the smiling faces of the lost. It hovered above Avalon like a forgotten prayer.
"I am the end of choice," it spoke. "The lie you cannot see."
The Veilwraith had come.
And it had brought an army.
The Sky Burns
The skies split.
Tens of thousands of Veilbound Echoes descended in rings of golden light, each wielding blades of memory and chains of dream. Avalon's protective shields faltered as the Veilwraith whispered a codeword into existence:
"Forget."
The outer defenses—wards woven by Merlin, Arthur, and Harry himself—cracked.
Jean Grey, already mid-air, screamed into the telepathic link:
"All forces to the breach! The Veilbound are inside the capital!"
Harry turned from the council chamber and summoned the full power of the Deathflame. A black fire ignited in his palm—the fire of choice, of reality itself—and he took to the sky.
"Eira," he said through the flame, "lead the Revelators. Get the civilians to the Archives. I'll hold the sky."
"You can't do it alone," she replied.
"I won't. I've got the Flame. That's enough."
Avalon's Last Stand
From the Heartspire, Thor and Strange released the Eternity Cannon, a relic weapon made from the bones of lost timelines. Its beam cut through hundreds of Veilbound Echoes, but the Veilwraith dodged with unnatural grace.
Down below, Eira led the Revelators through burning streets, dispelling illusions that twisted into phantoms of loved ones. Civilians stumbled forward, many half-trapped in dreamworlds, tears streaming as the veil was torn from their minds.
Syla unleashed a resonance scream so strong it shook the foundations of reality—awakening thousands.
But it wasn't enough.
The Veilwraith reached the Heartforge.
Flame vs. Veilwraith
Harry landed on the floating platform above the forge, his cloak whipping in the storm winds. The Veilwraith hovered before him, mask shifting into dozens of familiar faces—Dumbledore, Voldemort, even Lily Potter.
"You wear their pain like armor," the Veilwraith said, voice like velvet thunder. "But pain is weakness. Let me free you."
"I'm already free," Harry said, and drew the Eclipse Blade, forged from Death's fang and Merlin's will.
They clashed.
Reality trembled.
Each strike burned away the veil around the city. Every time Harry landed a blow, a lie somewhere in the multiverse shattered. But every time the Veilwraith touched him, a piece of Harry's truth tried to vanish.
"You can't kill me," the Veilwraith whispered. "I am what people want."
"Then I'll remind them why they fight."
With one final burst of Deathflame, Harry stabbed the Eclipse Blade through the Veilwraith's chest.
It didn't scream.
It laughed.
"You may win the battle," it said, splitting into golden ash, "but I've already infected the dream."
The Aftermath
Avalon stood—but barely.
Half the city was in ruins.
The skies, once ever-blue, now bore cracks of golden light—permanent scars from the Veilwraith's presence. The Heartforge pulsed erratically, needing repair.
And yet… the people were alive.
The Revelators had saved over 90% of the population. Truth had held.
But something deeper had changed.
Harry stood in the ruins of the forge, Eira beside him, the Eclipse Blade buried in the stone.
"It didn't die," Eira said.
"No," Harry replied, eyes narrowed. "Because it's not a creature. It's a condition."
"Then how do we stop it?"
Harry looked up at the fractured sky.
"We don't stop it. We outshine it. One truth at a time."
Elsewhere…
In a quiet world untouched by the Veilbound, a small girl dreamed of a golden sky.
And in that dream, the Veilwraith smiled.
It hadn't lost.
It had learned.