In the beginning, there was only one sky.
Its rivers of light flowed endlessly into forests of shadow, where gods and angels once walked side by side. No mortal knew hunger, no night feared the dawn.
But harmony never lasts.
The gods of Noctyra, born of dreams and shadow, hungered for freedom without chains. The angels of Solareth, radiant as suns, sought eternal order. Their quarrel tore the heavens apart. Blades of fire clashed against spears of night until the very fabric of creation split.
From that wound was born the Veil—a fragile barrier separating two realms that should never meet again.
Yet the stars, cruel in their wisdom, left behind a prophecy. It was carved into the bones of the cosmos, whispered in every eclipse:
"When sun and shadow embrace, and two hearts burn as one, the Veil shall tremble. Love shall heal the worlds—or shatter them into endless night."
***
Kaelen Ardentis had heard the story too many times.
He had heard it as a child, sitting by the hearth in his mother's cottage while storms rattled the roof. His mother's voice would quiver as she recited the prophecy, as though afraid even the walls might be listening. To her, it was not just a tale, but a warning—one she hoped her son would never be part of.
He had heard it as a youth, kneeling in the marble halls of the Celestial Order, his knuckles bruised from endless training. The priests had spoken of the prophecy not as a cautionary tale, but as a weapon—proof that Solareth's dominion must never falter, that the light was the only safeguard against the creeping dusk.
And now, at twenty-two, Kaelen heard it in his dreams—except the voices that recited it no longer sounded human.
They sounded like chains scraping against stone.
Kaelen woke with a start, breath ragged against the cold night air. He lay alone beneath the withered branches of the Greywood, his camp little more than a circle of ash and dying embers.
For a moment, he thought it had been nothing but another nightmare. Then he felt it: the warmth crawling across his chest.
He pulled at the collar of his tunic.
There it was again. The Seal of Dawn.
A mark shaped like a rising sun, etched into his flesh since birth. It glowed faintly now, pulsing like a heartbeat, as though mocking his inability to escape it.
Kaelen swore under his breath and sat up, brushing leaves from his cloak.
"Again," he muttered, voice hoarse. "Why won't you let me sleep?"
The mark, as always, gave no answer. But its warmth spread through his veins, stirring something he had long tried to suppress. Something the priests had called dangerous. Something they had cast him out for.
Once, Kaelen had been a knight of Solareth, sworn to defend the golden citadels and radiant bridges. He had believed in their justice, their light, their perfect order. Until he had looked closer—until he had seen how easily light blinded, how easily it burned.
He had spoken against them. He had questioned the cruelty behind their shining facades.
For that, they had branded him heretic and exiled him.
Now he was nothing but a wanderer, a swordsman with no master, cursed to roam the forgotten edges of the Veil.
The forest around him groaned as the wind pushed through crooked trees. The Greywood was a place of silence and superstition, where villagers swore the shadows moved when no one looked. Kaelen knew better than to dismiss such whispers—too many strange things had clawed their way across the Veil in recent years.
He fed the fire a broken branch, watching sparks struggle against the night before winking out. A part of him longed to close his eyes again, to pretend the prophecy and his cursed mark didn't exist. But the unease gnawed at him, an instinct born of battles survived and dangers unseen.
The silence grew too deep. Too heavy.
Kaelen's hand drifted to the hilt of his sword. His pulse quickened.
Then he felt it—the prickle of unseen eyes, the weight of something unnatural pressing against the world.
The darkness between the trees shifted.
Two eyes gleamed, bright as molten silver. Then a dozen more opened, watching him hungrily from the shadows. The air thickened, heavy with the stench of iron and smoke.
Kaelen rose, cloak whispering across the dirt. Steel hissed free from its sheath.
The creature that emerged was no beast of mortal lands. Its body shimmered with obsidian scales, its limbs twisted as though half-formed from nightmare. Its jaws unhinged, drooling tendrils of shadow that hissed as they touched the ground.
A Veilspawn.
Kaelen's jaw tightened. "So the stories were true. The Veil really is weakening."
The monster lunged.
Steel clashed against shadow. Kaelen's blade struck sparks as it bit into the creature's hide, but its flesh was like smoke and stone, reforming as quickly as he cut. He rolled aside as claws raked the earth where he had stood, soil and roots tearing like parchment.
The Seal of Dawn burned hotter, spreading fire through his veins. His blade grew lighter in his hand, his movements sharper, faster, unnatural. He struck again, the steel singing as it carved across the beast's flank.
The monster howled, but did not fall. Instead, it lashed out with a tail of shadow, catching Kaelen in the ribs. He staggered back, the breath driven from his lungs.
Before he could recover, it was on him.
The beast slammed him to the ground, claws pinning his shoulders. Shadow fangs gnashed inches from his face. Kaelen strained, muscles screaming, but the weight was immense. His sword skittered from his grip, lost in the dirt.
The Seal flared, searing his chest with pain. His vision blurred. He could not breathe.
Then—light.
A silver streak cut through the darkness. An arrow. It flew swift and true, burying itself deep into the creature's skull. The Veilspawn shrieked, its body convulsing before dissolving into a storm of ash and smoke.
Silence fell.
Kaelen coughed, dragging himself upright. His body trembled from exertion, but his eyes fixed on the figure standing at the edge of the clearing.
A woman.
She stood cloaked in silver, her bow still raised, moonlight glinting across the curve of polished wood. Her hair spilled in pale waves over her shoulders, catching the broken light of the stars. Her eyes—he had never seen eyes like those. Storms of sorrow and fire, defiance burning behind them.
And then he saw it.
On her collarbone, faint but unmistakable, a mark glowed.
Not the Seal of Dawn. Its twin.