The Veil

Prolouge

     "Come on, Scar, I need to get closer," Kean urges, cutting through the undulating sea of people. I shadow him, offering quick apologies to those he barrels through.
     The crowd is pressed against the inner walls, straining for a glimpse of the returning Veil.
      With every mission outside Etheria's walls, the town becomes a frenzy of eagerly awaiting civilians, wanting to catch a glimpse of the Veils return journey to Atlas.
     Suspended high above Etheria, Atlas floats just high enough to avoid casting a perpetual shadow.
     Following Kean's lead, we hoist ourselves up onto the back of a supply carriage. We position ourselves as its owner saunters over, glaring up at the both of us.
     "If you get any mucky footprints on those vegetables!" The bald shopkeeper who hauls in fruits and vegetables from Lumena farmlands, shakes a fist toward us.
     Kean dismisses him with a wave, a blend of greeting and dismissal.

     Seven grand wooden carriages thunder through the iron gate, each drawn by a quartet of horses. Patrol Knights lean against the open gate. My gaze catches on slings and torn limbs and I can't help but wince.
     The Veil Regiment emblem is sewn onto their arms, a beacon against the gore splattered among their black leathers.
     Kean's initial excitement dims as the once vibrant crowd falls into a lull as the wounded are hauled through town.                 
     Etheria's finest, destined to protect and serve, now bear the marks of danger beyond the walls—a stark reminder that confinement means protection. 

     Kean brushes against me as he descends from the carriage.
     "We should go," he says over his shoulder. Heading toward our hill. I nod gently, tearing my gaze from the     
     Knights and lowering myself to the ground.
"Come with me."
I'm suddenly falling, startled awake.

     Sunlight streams through my room, the smell of linen wafting through the cracked window. Both hands raise to my face as I slow my breathing, the heels of my palms pushing into my eyes.
     Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I stretch both arms over my head before standing and pattering over to the ornate wardrobe that lines the far side of the space.
     So many things to choose from, yet I always find myself in the same black loose-fitting top and pants.

     My hands raise to fasten my cloak around my shoulders before slipping into my boots. I tuck loose strands of hair behind my ear and avoid the standing mirror in the corner of the room.

      "Absolutely not, Scarlet!" Mom's snarl slices through the air, far from the calm of the fluttering linens on the clothesline. She's taking my question really well.
      "Gods. What would your father say?" She rubs sweat from her brow with the bend in her arm, her golden braids capturing the sunlight as she methodically pins fabrics to dry.
     "Dad isn't here," I mutter, just audibly enough for her to catch. "And he'd probably give it more thought than this." That, she doesn't catch.
      "Of course, you would spring this on me when he's not around."
     The sunlight accentuates the soft contours of her face, a stark contrast to my dark hair and amber eyes. Even Dad's warm chocolate-brown hair and blue eyes feel like distant traits.
     My hand clutches the back of my neck as I plead, "I can control it. I'll pick one ability. No one will know, I promise."
     Her gaze softens, a flicker of guilt dancing in her eyes which makes me cringe.
"Darling, we just can't risk it—can't risk you. It isn't a promise you can make." She reaches for me but hesitates before retracting her hand.
     "All it takes is one misstep. Kean may not be there to—" I scoff, throwing my hand up to cut her off as I turn toward the house.
     She thinks I can't defend myself without Kean.
"They can't know," she whispers, her words barely audible.
     I almost feel guilty when I snap over my shoulder,
"You don't trust me."

      Our home rests within the inner section of our town, an array of brick boxes with some of us being lucky enough to have grassy landings outside our doors.
     I stomp up the first two steps, settling at the front of the door.
     The wood voices its age beneath my weight.
Resting my chin in my hand with my elbow on my knee, the other casually dangled between my legs, I let out a breathy sigh.
     Dad has been tirelessly stationed on the outskirts of Lumena for the last two years, constructing vital well water access for neighbouring villages.
     He might have been more open to all of this. He told me stories of how he was a member of The Veil. To him, it was his peculiar version of a bedtime story—slaying demons, rescuing damsels in distress.
     He claimed he was decommissioned when Mom fell pregnant with me, as if to shield us from the life he lived.     
     I personally never believed him, The Veil is so secretive and coveted. They would have never allowed him to leave, but it makes for a good fable.

     My mind drifts to Kean, the lines of writing from the letter last night and the inevitable path he's put himself on. I can't help but cycle through scenarios on how his parents are handling the news.
     In four months, he'll be leaving. If all goes well, which it probably isn't if Mrs.Valerit has anything to do about it, he'll be leaving with or without their approval.
      I find myself desperate for Kean's thoughts on everything.

     The idea of being by his side when he leaves churns in my stomach, leaving me unable to distinguish between fear and excitement.
     A heavy sigh escapes me as I leap from the steps, storming past my mother.
      "I'm going to Kean's; gods forbid I have any opinions without his say."
     Her mouth opens, poised to speak, but I evade her gaze.
     Sprinting across the stone path that connects our property to the next, the rickety gate closes behind me with a loud clap of loose metal.

     Guided by muscle memory, I navigate the dusty pathways that wedge through the maze of houses. Patrol hardly blinked an eye at me when I crossed through.
     As I turn the corner into an alley, my head is bowed, occupied with absent-mindedly picking at the sides of my nails. The pungent smell of their presence reached me before their taunts permeated the air.

     "Oh look, she's all alone today!" His voice bounces off the quiet alley, and I raise my gaze to find two boys—the farmhand's son, a familiar face from Mom's milk runs, and his leech of an acquaintance.
     What was his name again? My nose wrinkles.
"Ever heard of a bath, Walen?" I ask, attempting to move past them.
     Walen scowls, "Want to remind me? Or do you only undress around Kean?"
     I shake my head, unable to suppress a laugh. Walen's leech holds out an arm, blocking my path. If my glare had claws.
     Tuesdays mark our routine milk runs, an ordinary day for most. In the company of others, Walen parades his faux chivalry, the picture of kindness.
     Ever since I stopped accompanying Mom with her errands, Walen can't seem to help himself, his demeanor transformed into something overpowering and compulsive whenever I'm fortunate enough to cross his path.
     I can't help but roll my eyes.
Kean and I have become the subjects of rumors since we've spent most days together for as long as I can remember.
     I guess now that we're of age, the rumors aren't so innocent anymore, and I can admit that our... friendship? Has begun to cross lines.

     His head rocks, emitting loud unsettling cracks and his smirk triggers a surge of disgust that bubbles up within my chest.
     "I'll pass," I reply with a forced smile.
Walen shoves his friend aside, his hand clamping around my throat, the force of him bounces my head off the unyielding stone wall. Pain sparks through my teeth upon impact, and I fight back a groan, determined to maintain a facade of confidence.
      Leaning in, his head scans up from my chin to my eyes.

      "How long before your boyfriend shows up?" His hot breath forces my muscles to recoil, turning away from his advances