In the remote regions of the Hyades Republic, there existed a serene, ethereal mountain range. History had given it multiple names. Locals worshipped it, outsiders called it the unpassable, but the truth of the matter was… no one remembered its real name anymore. If it ever had one, time had swallowed it whole, like the mountains had swallowed everything else.
Now people just call it the Veil.
A spine of black stone and ragged cliffs, constantly drowning in a thick, unnatural mist that bled down into the surrounding forest like smoke from some hidden fire. At night, if the sky was clear and the moon hung just right, you could see the peaks from the edge of the eastern valleys.
Sharp and crooked, like the ribs of some dead god trying to claw out of the earth. Even from that distance, you'd feel it—something cold crawling up your spine, like being watched by something that didn't blink.
But the Veil wasn't always this way.
