In the beginning, the Veil spoke only one word: Breath.And from that breath came light.From light, fire.From fire, gods.There were seven firstborn.Flame, Judgment, Storm, Silence, Mercy, Hunger… and Hope.
Aurelith was mercy made flesh gentle in her justice, radiant in devotion.Vaelith was judgment made fire righteous, fierce, born to carve truth from shadow.They danced through eternity beside mortals,until mortals began to pray to Aurelith alone.And Vaelith looked at her lightand saw only what he no longer held.So, the sky cracked.And one god chose worship.The other chose war.
Thus began the Season of Ash.The heavens held their breath.Not in sorrow.But in still,horrified anticipation.Where once constellations danced in chorus, now the stars watched in silence.Judgment was coming not from the Conclave…but from him. At the edge of the Skyward Promontory where only the firstborn gods had ever stood Aurelith waited.Her robes shimmered with silver flame.Her hair flickered like prayer.
She was mercy, divine and unbending.
Born from the Veil itself, she had walked beside mortals since their first song.Her love for them wasn't rebellion it was duty.And one day, she knew, when their worship ended…so would she.But today would not be that day.Not if she could help it.The air changed.Footsteps.Vaelith.He emerged from light like a wound unhealed.He had once been justice incarnate fierce, proud, loyal.Now?He was flame without direction.Rage wrapped in memory "You came," she said, voice steady."You summoned me," he replied, already bitter.She turned to face him not as an enemy, but as someone who still hoped to be heard."I saw the Veil again," she said. "It whispered your name.""Then it lies," he snapped."No," she said softly. "It warned me.Lightning flickered in her hand
not to strike, but to hold herself steady.
"You think I chose Earth over you," she continued."But I didn't choose. I was called." "You left me for mortals," he snarled.
"You gave them everything. And I?"
"You wanted all of me," she said. "Even what was never yours to claim."His eyes flared.
He lunged.And the sky ignited.They fought.
Divine against divine.Storm against flame.
Duty against grief.Their battle shattered a temple of stars.It carved names into stone and unmade entire hours.Aurelith fought with grace and restraint her power flowing through the memory of every prayer she had answered.Vaelith fought like a god already mourning the crime he hadn't yet
committed.And when her hand tremblednot from weakness, but from mercy he struck.
The Spear of Memory tore through her chest.She glowed. She screamed only once
not in pain, but in realization:"You're not trying to kill me…" "You want to reset me."
"I want you before Earth broke you," he said.
"Before you forgot who we were."I never forgot," she whispered. "You did."And then he released all of it his judgment, his fury, his heartbreak and erased her name. Her body crumpled, her soul unraveled,and her light split across the Veil.But even as her name burned away, even as Vaelith stood above her with trembling hands something deeper stirred. The Veil pulsed.A breath was taken somewhere between the worlds.And far below, in a timeline not yet born,a child stirred in her mother's dream.So it was, that a goddess fell Not from pride. Not from failure. But from the hand that once worshipped her most.Her name was silenced. Her love erased.Her story buried in broken stars.But the Veil? The Veil remembered. And one day soon,it would speak again.
The sky cracked.Not like thunder.
Like something ancient remembering its name.A wound split through the firmament above the Forest of Thornspire the
place even nobles dared not enter, where trees wept black sap and roots twisted
like sleeping serpents.From that wound, something fell.Not a star. Not a god.Not a man. Melville. His body struck the earth like prophecy. Dust spiraled in a perfect circle. Trees screamed.The wind bent away from him.He rose slowly, exhaling smoke from lungs that hadn't drawn breath in
millennia.Clothed in ash-gray robes threaded with flickers of flame, Melville
looked like a monk carved from memory.
His hair was moon-pale, unburned despite his fall.His eyes when they opened were veil-light. Not glowing. Not human. Remembering.He stood alone… for a moment.Then the darkness moved.
A laugh echoed from the treetops, brittle and wet."They sent you?" came the voice.
"A Watcher. Bound in glass and time?"
Melville turned, slowly. "Nyss."
From the thorns emerged a figure cloaked in bones and silk.Nyss, apprentice of the Unmaker.His eyes bled rust. His fingers were too long. His mouth smiled without warmth."You're late," Nyss hissed. "The Tear should have been ours. The world is
ready to forget the gods." "The Veil says otherwise," Melville replied.Nyss's smile widened. "Then die with it."And the forest screamed.They moved like storms with faces.Nyss leapt first blades unfolding from his arms like wings of bone.Melville bent the wind spun with palms out, deflecting blows with silent rhythm. Martial divine combat no wasted motion, no words.Nyss struck like chaos: wild, unbound.Melville countered like memory: deliberate, ancient, perfect.Each blow shook trees.Each dodge sparked lightning.Each step wrote prophecy in dust.But Melville's power flickered.He had not walked the world in 10,000 years.His body cracked with strain.Nyss grinned, pressing advantage."You're fading, ghost. Let the new gods rise."But then Melville's hand found the Tear. A crystal the size of a heart.Pale. Alive. Unbearably still.He whispered a word no tongue remembered.
The Tear ignited not with fire, but with all the sorrow Aurelith ever carried.Nyss screamed. His form unraveled like shadow in sunlight.
The trees recoiled. The stars blinked.
Melville stood alone again, robes torn, hair wild. "She must be born in silence," he said to no one."No temples. No trumpets. Only love."He turned to the sea.In his hands: the Tear of the Forgotten Star, now dimmed… waiting. He wrapped it in silk, placed it in a starlit shell, and whispered:"Give this to the woman who still weeps in her dreams."
And vanished into the mortal realm. Above the Celestine Palace, a strange star crossed the sky silent, wrong,beautiful.Queen Eleanor stood at her balcony. She looked up.
"A sign?" she whispered.No one answered.
But the Veil heard.And in the deep beyond, the stars held their breath.
Aurelis shimmered beneath two suns a kingdom of towers and forgetting.Its glass spires caught the dawn like divine bones.
Sapphire rivers carved silence through marble streets.Forests curled at the edges of the realm, whispering in a language few dared remember.At the center of it all, rising from the hillside like an unanswered
prayer, stood the Celestine Palace walls of living crystal, once forged in worship, now pulsing faintly only at dusk. Some said the palace had a heart. Others said it had a secret.The Valmont royal family ruled behind silk and ritual. Nobles wove politics into embroidery. Courtiers danced between honor and gossip.Commoners prayed in old tongues they no longer believed.And in the tallest tower, Queen Eleanor stood alone untouched, adorned,and unknowingly watched by a force far older than kings.
She sat in the Suncourt chamber before the sun had risen, hands folded,breath still.
Her handmaids worked in silence. They twisted silver-thread into her pale hair, their motions careful not from fear, but reverence.
She was not cruel.She was simply... far away. One pinned a brooch at her collarbone. "Too tight," she murmured softly.
"Apologies, Your Radiance." "No… it's the air," Eleanor said. "It feels heavier today."
In council, her throne shimmered under conjured sunlight. Ministers bowed. Scribes scratched. Ambassadors flattered."Trade from the south is plentiful.""There are protests in the miner provinces." "Some say the cliffs by Thornspire are cursed again."
A beat "And… there are whispers of lights falling from the sky. Like stars, but not."
Eleanor gave no response. Inside, her pulse quickened. Later, in the Temple Garden, she knelt before the last remaining effigy
of the Celestial Mother. Her robes pooled like moonlight. Birds refused to sing near this part of the grounds.The altar stone was cracked, but still warm. "Let me hold her again," she whispered. "Let me remember what is mine." No voice answered. But Only the sound of trees breathing. Only the ache that would not dim.She lit seven candles. Folded seven paper flowers. One drifted too high caught in a wind that came from nowhere.
She didn't chase it. She only watched.
That night, veiled in midnight silk, barefoot and unseen, Eleanor left
her chambers. She passed guards who bowed and turned away. She crossed the Silver Hall, where portraits of forgotten queens stared blankly from gold-trimmed frames. She passed the Sealed Nursery, its door inscribed with glyphs only two
people in the world could still read. She walked beneath a ceiling painted with the old gods Aurelith among them her face long faded by time. And at last, she stood at the cliffs beyond the garden, where the air
tasted of salt and memory.The stars above the sea shimmered wrong. Too bright. Too still Eleanor wrapped her arms around herself. Not from cold. From something deeper."I saw a star fall last night," she whispered. "It landed where no one goes."
"And when I woke… I heard a name I do not know. El… El" She shook her head.
And somewhere, far beyond the cliffs, in the forest where Melville had
fallen…the Tear pulsed.
The ocean was quieter than it should have been.No gulls.No crashing tide. Only breathless rhythm like the world was waiting to exhale.Queen Eleanor walked barefoot across the moonlit shore, veiled in midnight blue, her robes trailing constellations across the wet sand. Her crown remained in the palace. Her grief did not. This was the Shrouded Shore the place nobles avoided, where cliffs whispered at night and waves sang songs not taught in the palace schools. Here, no banners flew. Here, the stars dared to listen. Eleanor knelt. She did not weep loudly. She hadn't in years. But the ache inside her chest ancient, sharp, voiceless cracked just enough to let the tears fall."I prayed," she whispered."I obeyed the rites. I held the fasts. I offered the silence they demanded." "Still… I feel her missing. And I don't know why." No answer. Only the hush of surf kissing stone. Only the wind curling around her body like memory. Then The sea shifted. A shape rose from the black shallows not like a swimmer, but like a secret surfacing. Tall. Luminous. Impossible. A woman, half-veiled in silver water and shadow. Her skin shimmered like liquid starlight. Her hair floated in waves too slow for this world. Her eyes violet, vast, echoing the Veil itself.Eleanor froze. The figure stepped forward. Water parted at her feet. She held something in her hands wrapped in sea-silk, glowing faintly through the fabric A crystal. Small. Pulsing. Alive. "This is the Tear of the Forgotten Star," the woman said, her voice like water under glass. "The sorrow of a goddess who loved mortals more than her own." "She wept not to be worshipped, but because she knew… one day, they would
forget her." "This Tear holds the last echo of her fire." Eleanor's lips trembled. "Is it… a gift?" The woman paused. Her expression not cruel, but ancient. Too ancient for
mercy. "Every gift from the Veil is also a test." "You are not being offered this because you are good." "You are offered this because you still believe something might return." She stepped forward. The crystal hovered between them not extended by hand, but by choice. "You may hold her. You may love her. But she is not yours. She never was." "Then why me?" Eleanor asked, tears rising again. "Why now?" The woman tilted her head as if listening to something only the Veil could hear. "Because the world will fall again. And the fire must rise from
somewhere."Eleanor reached out. Her fingers closed around the Tear. It pulsed once. Then again. Then again. In the cliffs above, the wind stirred.The trees bowed.
And a single flower bloomed, out of season, at the edge of the Queen's footprints.By morning, Queen Eleanor would be changed.
Not visibly. Not publicly. But in the deep halls of fate, her name was now written beside the return of a goddess. And the Tear though never spoken of again would remain hidden beneath the palace in a sealed room that hummed when the baby cried.
Elysia Valmont turned one beneath a sky brushed in dusk and illusion. Queen Eleanor had forbidden grand processions or public parades. No banners. No orchestras.
Only a gathering at the Shrouded Shore a private space for family, loyal courtiers, and silence. Lanterns hung from white-barked trees, casting halos of soft light across
the sand. Silken tables shimmered with sapphire cloth. Harps and stringed instruments played songs older than the kingdom itself. For the first time in many months, Eleanor smiled without trembling.
King Alaric stood beside her, wine in hand, face softer than usual."She's quiet today," he said, nodding toward the parasol-covered cradle. "She always is," Eleanor murmured.
"But she listens," he added, watching the baby sleep.Under the shade of cream silk, Elysia lay swaddled in golden wraps, rose
petals drifting from the garland above her.
She looked peaceful. Too peaceful.
A courtier toasted: "To the flame of the future!"Another: "To the Valmont legacy!"
"To the starborn child!" someone whispered quickly, like it might offend. No one noticed how still the sea had become. Dancers spun across the sand, dresses trailing ribbons of starlight. Children ran laughing through colored lanterns. The air felt soft too soft.
Even the guards smiled. But Melville, cloaked and distant on a cliff far above, did not. He narrowed his eyes. The Tear's echo inside his chest had shifted off-rhythm, uncertain. "It's not time," he whispered to the wind. "Not yet." In the cradle, Elysia stirred. Her fingers twitched. One petal fell from the garland above her and brushed her cheek. She blinked. Then reached. The parasol tilted.The silk dragged.No one saw.
A ripple crossed the sand. The tide, unnoticed, had risen inches higher than it should. It hissed as it reached the cradle's base. Then pulled. A soft slide. A shift in shadow. The basket glided toward the water like it had been summoned. By the time Eleanor turned, by the time the guards dropped their goblets, by the time the dancers stopped mid-spin the cradle was gone. No splash.No scream. Just a hollow place in the celebration, like someone had stolen a note from the song of the world. The sea had taken her. Or something within it.Above, on the cliff, Melville moved but too late. A black shape vanished into the sea mist behind the waves. Something else had come. And the Tear inside him pulsed once then stopped.Eleanor collapsed to her knees.Her hands dug into the sand. Her breath came in broken gasps. King Alaric shouted orders too late.The sea was empty. In the shadows of the Veil, a voice murmured: "The fire has scattered. Let it hide.For the world is not yet ready to remember her."And high above the clouds, something ancient smiled.
The world between worlds shimmered.
This was not ocean.Not sky. Not time.
This was Veilspace the passage where fate dripped slow like honey through torn silk.And in the middle of it, a cradle of silk and glass drifted, wrapped in moonlight and the last breath of a forgotten prayer.
Inside: a child. Her skin pulsed faint gold.
Her fingers glowed with constellations not yet charted. The last spark of Aurelith, reborn.Something moved beneath her.
Darkness.Curved.Clawed. Humming with language not meant for mortals. A shadow bloomed, tall and serrated, wings built from torn scripture and bone. A Veil-breaker, servant of the Thorn Prince. A wraith forged in sorrow and rot. It hissed."There you are. The Flame's heart. Still pulsing…"its fingers spread wide preparing to unweave the child's divine spark. The glyphs in its chest began to glow. But then A streak of burning light. The world jolted. The air sang. And the enemy's hand snapped back, scorched.
From nothing, a figure landed cracked white armor, hair trailing silver fire. The Shatter-Saint. They didn't speak.They moved.
The wraith lunged.The Saint met it mid-air.
Their glaive screamed through prophecy, carving symbols that hadn't been seen
since the gods bled from the sky.The battle was fast, flickering between heartbeats.
Fangs struck.Blades sang.Memory collided with unmaking. And then A burst of flame, shaped like a wolf's howl. The Veil-breaker burned from the inside out. Gone. Silence.
The Saint knelt beside the floating cradle.
Their hand hovered above the child's brow but did not touch. "She burns still," they whispered. "The Veil remembers. So must we." Then gone. Only ash symbols floating in the wind. The cradle drifted downward.
Toward the mortal world.Toward Eldermere.
Serene walked the shoreline alone.
Her cloak pulled tight. Her satchel full of rare leaves and fragments of forgotten plants.
The sea shimmered in hues of bronze and pearl. Then a shift. A smell. Smoke. But no fire. Only ash on the wind.She followed it.
Across the dunes. To a stretch of shore that had never felt quite… right. There, nestled between sea-glass and black sand,
was a basket. Half-buried. Wrapped in noble silk. Serene stilled. A breath. A step. Inside
a child. Hair of gold. Eyes closed, yet glowing faint blue beneath the lids. "By the stars…" Serene murmured.She knelt, reached.Heat. Not normal heat.
Not fever. Sacred heat.The child blinked.
Awake. Calm.Waiting. Serene scanned the beach no ship, no mother, no footprints.
Only faint marks scorched into the stone, like runes trying to fade before being seen.
One mark lingered a spiral-flame. The ancient symbol of Aurelith. Serene didn't recognize it. But she felt it. "Who left you?" she whispered. "What are you?"
The child pressed its face to her chest and did not cry. Serene exhaled shakily.
She rose. She did not look back.
High above the cliffs, half-veiled in fog, Melville watched. "The fire sleeps," he murmured "Let it be held by a hand that will not try to name it." He vanished into mist.
Serene, unaware of watchers, of gods, of the battle just fought above her head…
walked into the forest with the child pressed to her chest. "You're safe now," she whispered. "Whoever you are… you are safe."
For three days and three nights, the search swept across Aurelis.Knights rode until their horses collapsed; armor streaked with sweat and dust. Scholars pored over scrolls by candlelight, ink staining their fingers as
they turned fragile pages with trembling hands. Mystics lifted their arms to the heavens and chanted under the twin moons
until their voices shattered into whispers.
Still no trace. Inside the Celestine Palace, Queen Eleanor collapsed onto the marble
chapel floor. The stone bit through her gown, cold and unyielding. She pressed her forehead to the ground, her shoulders shaking violently. "Please…" she sobbed.
"Please, bring her back. I'll give anything. Anything." King Alaric stood behind her, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles
turned white. His voice always calm, always commanding splintered. "We searched every shore. Every forest. The rivers. The cliffs…" He couldn't finish."Eleanor… she's"
"Don't say it!" she snapped, lifting her tear-streaked face. "Don't you dare say it's over."
Alaric looked away. He dragged a hand down his face, breath ragged. "I am the king," he whispered. "And I cannot save my own daughter." in the great hall, servants stood frozen at the edges, heads bowed in
reverent stillness. Courtiers clustered in corners, silk fans trembling in their fingers.
"Did they find anything?" a young noblewoman whispered. "No," her companion murmured. "Not even a scrap of cloth." By the hearth, old ministers whispered in grim tones."The sea took her." "The gods punish us.""No," said the eldest quietly. "The gods… they're waiting." In the streets, the city held its breath.Bells tolled low and long.Markets fell silent. Windows burned with candlelight.Children clung to their mothers' skirts. Neighbors huddled at doorways, whispering stories already turning to legendOf the lost princess.
Of the queen's broken heart.Of the king's hollow gaze.And far beyond the palace gatespast rivers, past forest, past starlit fields and dreaming hills the heavens stirred.
The stars leaned close. Their ancient eyes glinting with recognition. The sea pulled softly at the shore. And somewhere, just beyond the veil between worlds, a voice soft and certain was heard: "She is not gone.
She is hidden. And when the time comes
the Astral Veil will lift.And all of Aurelis… will remember."
Far beyond Aurelis, where no map reached…A man cloaked in smoke and silence stood atop a hill of ash.
Melville. He looked down at the last glimpse of a shoreline… where a child had been
placed like a question without an answer.
In his hand: a sigil carved from starlight. The last key to the Veil's original gate. He closed his fist. And let it fall into the sea. Above him, the sky shimmered once a line of light torn across the heavens and then sealed shut. The Veil had closed. The fire was hidden. The gods had turned away. In the sacred places of the world… Temples fell quiet. Old glyphs faded from stone.Mirrors no longer wept. And yet In the Forest of Eldermere, near the old dunes… A woman walked through morning mist, humming an unnamed lullaby, with a bundle in her arms.Wrapped in flamecolored silk.Eyes closed.But dreaming. "Sleep now," the wind whispered."You are safe.For now."