"Before time, before the breath of mortals, before the first god dared to name creation, there was the Veil. And from the Veil, shadows were born, and from the shadows, the twilight guardians."
The Veil was not created. It simply was. A boundary suspended between existence and nothingness, holding the whispers of beginnings and endings alike. Through its folds, the gods looked upon the realms and marveled, and yet they feared. The Veil gave life, but it also took, and in its silence, even the most divine were humbled.
It was within this silent expanse that the Umbrathen came to being. Born of the twilight between light and shadow, they were neither mortal nor immortal, neither angel nor demon. Their eyes held the knowledge of dying stars, their voices could lull the raging tempest into slumber, and their hands shaped the very boundaries of the Veil.
They were the Guardians of Balance, the watchers of thresholds, the arbiters of what should live and what must be forgotten.
The Golden Age of Twilight
For centuries, the Umbrathen ruled not through conquest, but through quiet vigilance. Their cities were spires of obsidian and crystal, threaded with veins of silver that hummed with ancient power. The greatest among these, Solith-Kael, rose like a blackened sun over the plains of Veyndar, its towers reaching into the clouds. Here, the Umbrathen kept the secrets of the cosmos, storing prophecies, star maps, and fragments of creation in vaults protected by magic older than any god.
Mortals who glimpsed these towers would speak of them as dreams, calling them impossible, naming them the "Fingers of Twilight." Angels would pass near and feel unease, though none dared disturb the sanctity of the Umbrathen realm—at first.
The Umbrathen were philosophers as well as warriors. They debated the nature of life and death in candlelit halls, meditated upon the shifting boundaries of the Veil, and taught their progeny the sacred arts of shadow-weaving. Yet they did not seek to dominate; they sought to preserve the threads of reality, to ensure that the realms of gods, demons, faeries, and mortals remained separate yet in harmony.
It was said that one Umbrathen, a scholar-prince named Vaelyndar, could walk the Veil so freely that he glimpsed the rise and fall of empires long before they began. Another, Lyssira, wove melodies of shadow and light so profound that the rivers themselves paused to listen.
And yet, even in their wisdom, there was a quiet arrogance. They believed themselves untouchable, for no god nor demon could cross the Veil without their sanction.
But the gods, as all who taste power, grew envious.
The Whisper of Jealousy
The Celestials, shining lords of the sky, began to covet the Veil, whispering lies into the ears of mortal kings. "The shadowborn are demons in disguise," they said. "Their magic taints your lands. Their guardianship is a prison, and you, the children of man, are enslaved beneath their twilight."
The Umbrathen heard the whispering winds of betrayal but did not believe it could reach the mortal realm. Their arrogance was their first mistake. Mortals, swayed by false visions and promises of power, began to doubt the guardians.
And so the stage was set: angels and men, once allies of the Veil, turned their blades against those who had kept the world balanced.
Fragments of a Lost Chronicle
A priest of the Umbrathen, writing in the shadows of Solith-Kael's final days, recorded:
"We are betrayed by those who once bowed to our judgment. Their wings are bright, yet their hearts are hollow. They do not see the Veil, only the reflection of their own greed. We shall fall, and none shall remember our names. And yet… even in our ending, the Veil will remember."
The chronicle ends abruptly. The pages are scorched, as though by holy fire. Only fragments remain, scattered across ruins and whispered in faerie courts.