The morning bells tolled over Duskharrow, their hollow clang swallowed by the restless murmur of thousands.
Every year, the Awakening Ceremony drew the city together: merchants closing their stalls, priests locking their shrines, children climbing the crooked rooftops for a better view. On this day, every youth of sixteen stood before the Awakening Stone to bare their Veil. Strength was praised. Weakness was forgotten.
For Corren Ashveil, it was a chance to finally prove he wasn't nothing. Or—more realistically—to remind everyone why he was.
He tugged at the fraying sleeve of his jacket as he shuffled through the crowd of initiates. His heart pounded like a drum, though he kept his crooked grin fixed in place. It was his favorite mask: If I look like I don't care, maybe they'll believe it.
"Try not to faint this time," came the all-too-familiar voice.
Darius cut in front of him, tall and broad-shouldered, his flame-red hair already catching stray sunlight. The air around him shimmered faintly with heat. He didn't even have to Awaken yet—his presence was enough.
Corren sighed. "Morning to you too, Darius."
Darius smirked. "You know, some of us were born to stand here. Others… well, they're just filling space." He clapped Corren on the shoulder hard enough to sting, then strode toward the plaza with the kind of confidence Corren couldn't fake.
A ribbon of silver flicked between them, sharp enough to make Darius pause.
"Ease up," Lyra said, coiling her weapon back to her hip. Her eyes, cool and dark as slate, flicked between the two boys. "You'll have plenty of time to gloat later. Or cry. Depends how the Stone likes you."
Darius gave a theatrical bow. "I don't cry."
"You will if you trip on your own ego," she said flatly.
Corren tried not to grin. Lyra had always been like this: blunt as a blade, the only one who ever bothered to cut Darius down to size.
"You're wasted on him, Lyra," Corren said. "You should bully me instead. Easier work."
She raised a brow. "You bully yourself enough already."
That shut him up.
The crowd parted as the initiates reached the center of the plaza. The Awakening Stone loomed there: a monolith of black crystal, veins of light pulsing faintly beneath its surface. The entire square seemed to hum with anticipation.
A voice boomed across the plaza. "Citizens of Duskharrow! Today, your children Awaken their Veils—the essence of their spirit, the breath of their soul, the power that will carry them through life and death alike!"
The speaker was a tall figure in dark robes trimmed with silver—the Arbiter, judge of the Awakening. His voice carried effortlessly, resonant with a power that demanded silence.
"Each initiate will place their hand upon the Stone. The Veil shall reveal itself in full clarity—its shape, its strength, its breath. Remember: the Veil does not lie. It shows you as you are. Whether bright or brittle, flame or dust, your Veil is your truth."
Corren swallowed. His truth was unlikely to impress anyone.
The Arbiter raised his hand. "Step forth, one by one."
The first initiate, a nervous boy from the tannery district, pressed his palm to the Stone. Light burst outward, and the Veil shimmered into view: broad shields forming from iron-gray aura, layering over his arms.
"Veil of Stone," the Arbiter intoned. "Firm. Protective. Grade: Solid."
The crowd cheered.
The next was a girl whose Veil bloomed into delicate white wings. She rose into the air, laughter echoing as feathers scattered.
"Veil of Flight," the Arbiter declared. "Graceful. Swift. Grade: Luminous."
Cheers again.
One by one, initiates revealed their Veils—some practical, some dazzling, all powerful in their own ways.
Then Lyra stepped forward.
She pressed her hand to the Stone. For a heartbeat, nothing. Then a silver light flared outward, curling into the air like smoke before snapping taut. Blades of ribbon shot from her aura, twisting and flowing around her like serpents made of steel and silk.
The crowd gasped as one ribbon cracked the flagstones near her feet with a whip-like strike.
"Veil of Blades," the Arbiter proclaimed. "Precise. Relentless. Grade: Sharp."
Lyra coiled the ribbons neatly at her side and stepped back without so much as a smile. Corren felt pride stir in his chest—of course she'd Awaken strong. She always had that edge.
And then it was Darius's turn.
The Stone pulsed crimson the instant his hand touched it. Flame erupted around him, coiling into a spear of pure fire that reached toward the sky. The heat washed over the plaza, making people shield their faces.
"Veil of Flame," the Arbiter shouted, his normally steady voice carrying awe. "Fierce. Unyielding. Grade: Absolute."
The crowd erupted, chanting Darius's name. He raised the flaming spear high, basking in the glory. His smirk found Corren instantly in the sea of faces.
And then, inevitably, it was Corren's turn.
He forced himself to walk to the Stone. His grin felt brittle, his steps heavier than iron. He pressed his palm to the cold crystal.
Silence.
The Stone pulsed once, faint, almost reluctant.
His Veil flickered into view—a thin, cracked film clinging weakly to his skin. Pale light seeped through fractures, spilling into the air like smoke from broken glass.
The crowd laughed.
"Porous," someone muttered.
"Already broken," another said.
Corren's breath caught. He tried to force the Veil into shape, to hold it steady, but the harder he pushed, the faster it unraveled. Threads of light leaked away into nothing.
The Arbiter hesitated. Even he seemed unsure how to phrase it. At last, his voice rang out, clipped and careful. "Candidate Corren Ashveil… Veil awakened. Rank: Fragile."
Fragile.
The word slammed into Corren like a hammer.
His smile fell. And in that broken moment—just for an instant—he saw something in the fractures of his Veil. Rows upon rows of shelves stretching into shadow. Countless books glowing faintly in the dark.
He blinked, and the vision was gone.
The laughter of the crowd rushed back in.
The Arbiter cleared his throat. "Next."
The ceremony ended soon after, though Corren barely heard the names or the cheers. His world blurred as he stumbled away from the Stone, drowning in whispers and jeers.
Darius strode past, still basking in the glow of his Absolute Veil. He clapped Corren on the shoulder again, his grin sharp as flame.
"Congratulations, Fragile," he said. "Try not to break too fast."
Lyra lingered for a moment, ribbons coiled tight at her side. Her eyes softened, just a fraction. "Don't let them eat you alive," she said quietly.
Corren wanted to thank her, but the words stuck in his throat. She turned and walked away before he could find them.
He clenched his fists. His Veil shimmered faintly, fragile and thin. Weak. Worthless.
And yet… in the fractures, he could still feel it. That place. The shelves. The books.
A library waiting in the dark.
He shook his head. Probably just his humiliation twisting his senses.
But as the sun dipped behind the crooked towers of Duskharrow, Corren couldn't shake the truth gnawing at him. His Veil wasn't just broken.
It was open.
And something on the other side was watching.