It was a calm evening in the Auren'del estate.
The wind carried the scent of cedar and rain, whispering through the tall windows as twilight painted the marble halls in shades of gold. The world outside was peaceful—so quiet that even the faint hum of cicadas felt like part of a lullaby.
Inside, however, came the sound of new life.
A cry—soft, piercing, and alive—broke through the silence.
In a wide chamber lit by floating orbs of gentle amber light, a woman lay on a velvet-draped bed, her hair damp with sweat yet her face glowing with relief. Beside her, a man stood frozen between awe and trembling joy.
"Congratulations," the nurse said warmly in a voice that seemed to bow to the moment itself. She smiled, eyes soft, and quietly left the room.
The man and woman leaned close over the bed, gazing at the two tiny figures swaddled in white linen.
"Welcome, Mira…" the mother whispered, brushing a finger against the baby girl's cheek. Her golden eyes gleamed with warmth and faint exhaustion. Then she turned to the second child—me.
"And welcome, Hector."
Mira—my twin—rested on her right side. Her hair shimmered faintly, a pale silvery hue that caught even the smallest trace of light. Her eyes, when they fluttered open for an instant, mirrored our mother's—deep gold with hints of starlight.
I, on the other hand, was quieter. My hair, dark as night ink, clung softly to my forehead, and though my eyes were barely open, I sensed everything.
Even as an infant… something about this world felt different.
---
When I died, I thought that would be the end.
It had been a simple, meaningless day. I remember walking down the street, my thoughts tangled with the usual haze of work and fatigue. I remember the faint sound of music from a passing car, the smell of wet asphalt after the rain. Then—
BANG.
A gunshot.
Pain like fire tearing through my chest.
My vision dimmed as I collapsed against the pavement, the world around me warping in color and sound. Distant shouts faded into muffled echoes. My last thoughts weren't dramatic or wise—they were tired.
"So this is how it ends? Heaven? Hell?an whatever, what a real stupid way to die …"
"Sighs"
Then—nothing.
Darkness. Silence.
And somewhere within that silence, a faint warmth began to spread. Like the first breath after drowning.
---
When light returned, I wasn't lying on cold asphalt anymore. I was floating in warmth, wrapped in cloth and magic. A new heartbeat surrounded me—no, two heartbeats, steady and strong. One belonged to the woman who now held me. The other… my twin.
So I had been reborn.
I couldn't speak, couldn't move much. But I could think.
And thinking was enough.
The man beside the bed—my father, I assumed—had a scholarly air, gentle yet commanding. His smile wasn't loud but quiet, the type that carried pride and patience. My mother, in contrast, radiated light; her presence filled the room like the sun's first rise. Her eyes—those deep gold eyes—held power I couldn't yet understand.
"Auren'del…" I heard someone say.
So that was our name. The Auren'del family.
A noble household, from the looks of the silk and sigils embroidered into the walls. But despite the wealth and formality, there was warmth here—a gentle rhythm that made even my newborn heart feel at peace.
---
Days passed—or perhaps weeks; time felt different in this small, fragile body.
I listened to the sounds that filled my world: the soft rustle of gowns, the low hum of voices in languages I barely recognized, and the whisper of something else—something beneath everything.
It wasn't sound.
It was… movement.
At first, I thought it was just the wind outside or the flicker of light through the curtains. But the more I focused, the more I noticed—lines, faint and glowing, running through the air, the walls, the people themselves.
Streams of colorless light that pulsed with life.
Mana.
Of course, I didn't know what to call it then. It simply was.
A rhythm that the world itself seemed to breathe.
When my mother entered the room, those streams gathered faintly around her hands, coiling like threads of gold and blue. When my father leaned near to check on us, I saw faint symbols glimmer around his wrist—runes that faded as soon as I blinked.
Every breath they took stirred the air like ripples in still water.
And as I lay there, staring up at the golden canopy above my crib, I realized something that filled me with both awe and dread:
This world was alive with power.
And I could see it.
---
There were times I almost forgot I wasn't just a child.
The warmth of my mother's lullaby, the rare but clumsy embrace of my father when he tried to lift both me and Mira at once, the way my siblings peeked curiously into the nursery—Theron and Selene, their names echoed often—made the world feel real.
Theron's laugh was boisterous, the kind that filled the halls. Selene, calmer, spoke softly but always with sharp observation.
Even as infants, Mira seemed drawn to her voice.
I just… listened. Observed.
Always observing.
Because beneath the family laughter, beneath the quiet songs, I could still feel it—
The hum. The energy.
The invisible fabric of this world.
Each time my mother entered, those ripples of mana responded to her like a tide drawn to the moon. When she smiled down at me, that same current brushed faintly against my chest. For a second, I almost swore it reacted to me.
Was this the world's heartbeat? Or mine?
---
The Auren'del estate was enormous—a fortress of glass, gardens, and white stone built on a hill that overlooked the river of Elaine. Every day, the sunlight pooled into its corridors like liquid gold, and faint motes of mana shimmered within it, dancing like dust caught in eternal motion.
Servants moved in quiet grace. The air was filled with polished calm, and even silence felt alive here. But beneath it all, something stirred—an echo of power that slumbered under the estate's walls, humming faintly when night fell.
Sometimes, I felt that hum calling to me.
---
As weeks turned into months, I grew used to the serenity of it all.
But lately, something had changed.
I began to notice faint wisps—like thin streams of steam—drifting from people, walls, even myself. At first, I thought it was a trick of light or my imagination. But no one else seemed to see it. Not my parents, not the servants, not even Mira.
The longer I watched, the more defined the streams became—graceful, weightless, oozing from everyone and everything. They pulsed in rhythm with each heartbeat, every breath, every whisper of thought.
They were everywhere.
Flowing, shifting, breathing.
And still, no one noticed.
"Well," I thought, "maybe I'm just seeing things."
At times like this, taking a nap seemed like the best option.
I sat quietly—well, more like slumped—on a small cushion chair near the balcony, watching the sunset filter through the curtains. The sky outside shimmered with faint orange haze, the world both real and unreal.
My eyes ached faintly. Maybe from overuse, maybe from something else entirely.
---
The house was quiet. Mira slept in her crib beside mine, her tiny hand curled against her cheek. Outside, the evening wind stirred the chimes, and for a moment, I forgot I wasn't supposed to exist here.
The weight of two lives pressed against each other—my past self and this new existence, like two reflections merging into one.
I didn't want power.
I didn't crave glory, nor revenge, nor destiny.
All I wanted was peace.
But the world had other plans.
---
Just as I closed my eyes, a word formed in my mind—soft, instinctive, like a whisper carried by the wind.
"Veilgaze."
The word didn't feel like mine.
It felt spoken through me.
And at that moment, I knew—deep down, without logic or reason—that something within me had awakened.
The world shuddered faintly, and the streams of light around me flared brighter, intertwining like threads of fate.
I blinked.
And the world changed.
The golden light of the sunset fractured into thousands of patterns—sigils hidden within every shadow, every breath, every pulse of life. The walls themselves seemed alive, humming with unseen equations, and the air thrummed like strings being plucked by invisible fingers.
My heart raced, but I wasn't afraid.
It was beautiful.
Terrifying, but beautiful.
The glow faded gradually, but even when it was gone, I could still feel it lingering behind my vision—like an afterimage of the soul.
The last thing I saw before sleep claimed me was my reflection in the glass window.
My dark eyes, once still and simple, now shimmered faintly—like the reflection of stars in a deep, unmoving sea.
---
I didn't know what Veilgaze truly was.
Only that it had chosen me long before I was ready.
And as the night deepened, I heard that same voice again—
A whisper, older than time, fading between the silence and the dream.
"To see the unseen is to bear the burden of knowing."
The wind stirred.
The manor lights flickered.
And I—Hector Auren'del—fell asleep under the gaze of a living world.
---