The Veil

Prolouge

     Amidst the sky painted in hues of orange and purple, soft smudges of clouds drift overhead, disappearing behind the intimidating castle suspended above us. The autumn breeze weaves through my hair as I'm hunched over the familiar hill, unable to stop myself from religiously checking the alleyway below.
     The setting sun peeks over the city border to our right and the trees dispersed throughout the field contribute to a symphony of nature, their leaves creating a melodious hum.
     My fingers peel across my face, untangling dark strands that succumbed to the wind's playful advances—a subtle joke for neglecting the braid my mother insisted I wear. 

     Kean paces impatiently before me, anxiety etched into every step. His chestnut hair mirroring his restlessness, a cascade of waves stirred by the wind. His hands fall to his sides as he casts his gaze upon the sky, one foot drumming against the soil. He rolls his shoulders and shakes out his hands before his pacing continues.
     "You're starting to annoy me," I mutter, plucking blades of grass from the earth and adding them to the mound of green in my lap.
     Squinting up at him, his silhouette blocks the setting sun.
     Kean pivots, furrowed brows smoothing out with his smirk, and raises his middle finger. "You're not the one waiting for a death sentence."
     I scoff, leaning back with my arms stretched out behind me. "Have you told them yet?" 

     Kean sent his paperwork to the Corps last year and any inkling of his desire to enlist sparks heated arguments with both of his parents.
     I've kept the "secret", a vow of silence I swore to him. Not that I would tell them anything anyway.

     "Of course not," he spits, his gaze snapping toward the town. His swift movement stabs sunlight into my eyes, prompting an involuntary wince.
     His parents have never liked me. Blessed with clairvoyance, Mom accidentally unveiled Kean's father's infidelity with a barmaid. Misreading the vision, she thought it implicated Kean's mother. Her gift only sifts through short-term memories.
     It's a skill I lack and one that would certainly come in handy right now... we've been waiting here for hours.

     I stand, brushing grass from my thighs, "Kean." I start, reaching for his arm.
     "Please, Scar." His tone wills me to drop my hand.
I sigh. "Alright... But you need to relax, you're kicking up a draft."
     Not hiding my smile, I cross my arms and gently bump into him, and he raises an arm around my shoulders in response.
     Town lights flicker to life below and chimneys exhale smoke, signaling the end of summer. 
     My fingers fumble with the clasp on my cloak, ensuring it's secure against the encroaching chill and silently insult myself for failing to purchase a mug of hot cider when we passed the vendors in the Market.

     Within the formidable stone embrace of Etheria, only a select few openings exist—towering iron gates, offering controlled passage through patrol posts which segment the city into sections.
     Patrol officers within the Dawn Regiment mark each post, and there's rarely any issue when slipping between sections, save for the affairs of those entangled in the trade of unregulated spirits and herbs.
     "There!" Kean startles me, stepping forward.
Penn emerges from the alley at the bottom of the hill, currently our unofficial conduit for Etheria's post system. Her sister Mara runs the main office, Kean practically begged Penn to snatch the letter from the drop-off bin. 
      The irony of her name has never been lost on me.

      Waving, she climbs over a small stone fence and sprints up the hill. "The courier was slow today; I got here as fast as I could!" Penn's cheeks are flushed as she tries to catch her breath. 
       She rummages through her bag and slides out a letter before holding it toward Kean. He takes it, eyeing the decorative seal.
      Penn adjusts her bag and tucks loose strands of hair behind her ear.
     "Did Mara see it?" Kean's gaze lingers on the envelope.