The Sky-Veil: Chapter 3
The Lands Between
The Sky-Veil series is a mythopoetic journey through a forgotten realm where the divine brushes the mortal. A nameless man awakens beneath a veil of sorrow and memory, guided by three silent goddesses across a path of signs, silence, and sacred trials. His quest is not to rise in power, but to remember his name—and the order of Being itself. This is a story of longing, wisdom, and the quiet majesty that crowns the soul.
The Sky-Veil series was written and developed by Walter Emerson Adams with creative assistance from ChatGPT (OpenAI) as a language-shaping tool. All content and narrative remain original to the author.
The air was changing.
He did not notice it at first. Only when he had walked long past the fallen statues and scattered dust of the Field did he feel the shift. The mist no longer clung to his ankles. The silence no longer numbed. The light was not brighter—but truer.
He was crossing into the Lands Between.
Here, the Sky-Veil above began to thin—not vanish, but open. Stone paths emerged beneath his feet, worn smooth not by time, but by pilgrimage. Trees bent toward him, not in greeting, but in recognition. Their leaves whispered secrets too sacred for language.
The path led him to the Hollow Gate.
Two towering obelisks of pale obsidian stood like sentinels, cracked and vine bound. Between them was only space. But as he stepped through, the rose in his satchel warmed—and a symbol flared to life across the dark stone:
🜂 The Flame-Eye within the Circle.
He did not yet understand its meaning.
But he bowed his head.
And passed through.
On the threshold of The Hollow Gate, he read:
“Those who carry the flame shall not be consumed. But they shall be changed.”
Beyond the gate, silver streams crisscrossed the land—rivers of light with no source. He stepped over one on a stone bridge etched in spiral runes. The waters reflected not the sky, but dreams. He did not look too long.
To the east rose the jagged silhouette of the Temple of Broken Crowns, its spires leaning like weary tyrants. The wind that passed from that direction was cold—not with malice, but with the chill of power long misused.
To the west, dark groves twisted into shadowed canopies—The Grove of Whispers, he had heard it called back in the Grey-Beneath. A place where trees held memories in leaves and breeze. He would go there, but not yet.
Instead, the path curved through a wide field of golden grass. In its center, he saw a stone altar—simple, ancient. And on its face bloomed a glowing seal:
🜁 The Blooming Rose over the Waters.
He knelt.
The warmth of memory passed through him. The wind brought a faint salt-sweet scent. And in his heart stirred the image of the woman from the Grey Beneath—the smile on the sea.
She of the Sea-Foam and Smile had passed this way.
He placed his hand upon the seal.
The rose pulsed in his satchel.
He wept, though he could not say why.
The waters echoed.
“What you long for is not lost. It is waiting to be remembered.”
Then, beyond the hills, something greater stirred.
A rise of land so vast, it seemed not to ascend—but to lift the world around it.
The Highlands of Majesty.
He could not see the summit. A golden mist veiled it. A hush filled the air, not of emptiness, but of reverence.
She was there.
She of the Ox-Eyes and Crown.
But he could not yet climb. The road curved away—into shadow.
There was still a descent to be made.
A parchment appeared at his feet marked, The Threefold Path. He lifted it slowly and read it.
"The lands between are marked by three: the flame that cuts through illusion, the rose that remembers what was, and the crown that waits in silence. Only those who carry all three shall walk the mountain that cannot be climbed."
Enjoy “Hera - Highland of Majesty” from my album The Sky-Veil, available on my music site.
Purchase the album, The Sky-Veil here.
Lyrics ©Walter Emerson Adams. Music and vocals by Suno ©Walter Emerson Adams.
Hera fearful, full of great might Her land veiled in majestic light No mortal dares to journey far Where shines her throne, a silver star Hera, beyond the gate she stands Silver streams crisscrossing her lands Lakes of light reflect from no source Hold not sky, just destiny’s course To east, the Temple, broken crowns To west, dark groves twisting around The Grove of Whispers where the trees Recollect by their leaves and breeze Hera, queen, our nobility So powerful in royalty Her kingdom, a field of bright blooms The Highland of Majesty looms