The Last Witch of the Ashen Veil 



In the crumbling skeleton of the old world, where skyscrapers leaned like weary sentinels over streets of dust, the witch known as Kaelen walked alone. Her violet eyes glowed faintly beneath her hood, a mark of the pact she had made with the void long before the world burned.
Perched on her arm, the raven Arkris whispered omens in a language only she could understand. In her other hand swirled a sphere of dark energy—an ancient spell, forbidden even before the fall. It pulsed in time with the rune etched across her skin, the same rune that had saved her life when the cities collapsed into chaos.
Kaelen was no savior. She wandered the ruins not to rebuild, but to hunt—searching for the last fragments of magic buried beneath the ashes, the power to tear open the veil between worlds. For when the veil fell, she would no longer be the last witch.
She would be the first queen.