The veil of light

She was almost ready. Clothes on, bag packed, a touch of makeup applied. Just a hint of blush on her cheeks, a sheer layer of mascara, and—of course—enough concealer to hide the tattoo at her neckline. Her outfit was simple but elegant: a silky black shirt paired with fitted black pants. Comfortable, easy to move in, yet still sharp. She studied her reflection. Good. Now, her hair. Once a vibrant golden, it had taken on a cooler, silvery sheen, fading little by little every day. The more light she used, the less like the sunlight it seemed.

With a subtle bend of the sunlight, she crafted the illusion of her old hair colour—shimmering gold, like liquid sunlight at noon. Only her eyes remained a problem. She couldn’t let anyone glimpse the rainbow hidden in her irises. She blinked once. Twice. Three times. Again. Nothing. Her reflection still betrayed her. That wasn’t going to work. She needed another solution. Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the next-door room.

“Can I come in?” Cam was one of the few people she could trust with her secrets. At least, some of them.

“Of course,” he said with a warm smile that matched his warm features. Dark hair, creole skin, dressed in his usual dark clothes—everything about him felt familiar. He motioned her inside.

Their living space was modest: three small bedrooms, a slightly larger shared living room, and a single bathroom. Every squad had the same arrangement in the new Tower of Clouds, built two centuries ago.

“Thanks. Could I borrow a pair of contact lenses?” she asked.

“Damn right you can! What colour are we going for?” Cam moved to his chest of drawers, rifling through the collection.

“Hazel, dark brown, jade green… wow, okay, that’s sexy… jade green? I didn’t even know I had these.”

“Perfect. I’ll take the jade green, thanks. Really.”

Fortunately, he didn’t know that she normally wouldn’t need lenses to hide her eyes. It wasn’t light-bending she usually relied on—it was drawing the energy from her irises. Somehow, this morning, it just wasn’t working.

“As you wish, Queenie. But hurry up—we’re already running late for the assembly.”

“We?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Why are you still here?”

“I was waiting for you. In case you needed help, of course. See? What a lucky morning you’ve got!”

A liar, she thought. He’d probably just overslept. She’d heard the faint sound of someone sneaking out of his room in the dead of night. But why bother? Let him do as he pleases. She wasn’t about to comment.

“Okay. I’m ready. Let’s go.”

They walked side by side through the Gothic corridors, the stone arches looming overhead. People greeted them along the way, mostly her. “Good morning, Your Majesty,” echoed through the hall, repeated like a chorus as they passed. Some offered mere formal nods, murmuring “Your Highness” in passing. She barely noticed them. She didn’t feel well this morning. A dull hammering throbbed at her temples, and exhaustion weighed her down like lead. She was tired—so deeply, unbearably tired. No. She couldn’t indulge in weakness. She was the princess, the heir. Today, she would attend the assembly, discuss the state of the realm, and act as though she were fully aware and fully in control. Not like in her visions. In those, she became the thing everyone feared—a monster no one could face.

“Everything good?” Cam’s voice pulled her from the spiral of thought.

“Yes. Why?”

He didn’t look convinced.

“Nothing. You just looked… distant for a moment.”

“I was thinking about today. About what might happen.”

“Today? Relax. Nothing will happen today. Just the rich and influential putting their heads together for a bit of chit-chat about the realm’s affairs—stuff that later results in…”

“Were you eavesdropping, bro? That’s such a girly habit,” Cam teased his brother, who had just shown up.

Cam’s brother, Zane, always made life seem effortless. The twins—or nearly twins, though few knew there was a one-year gap—shared that trait: a casual, confident ease.

They arrived just in time. The doors to the assembly hall were opening, and a quiet buzz of anticipation filled the space. She stepped inside with the boys, squadmates and companions, her mind already sharpening for the tasks ahead.

Most of the people who mattered were present at the meeting. The leaders of the provinces, representatives of the clergy, delegates of scientists, and army leaders led by Lord Byron. There were wealthy merchants whose economic influence had brought them into such high circles. A few people came from neighbouring provinces too. Some, such as the twins representing the Guardian. And of course, there was Logan, King of the Sunlands. Zym, the prince, and next to him, she, the princess. They are Logan's heirs, although neither of them is his child. Magic chose them, and the fact that they were chosen so early means change is coming, and Logan knows it. He, himself, has barely passed thirty.

A huge oak table had already been set up in the middle of the great hall, which he thought must have taken half the forest to make. A huge hand-painted map was spread out on it. She knew that the painters had mixed sunlight into the paint so that it would not fade and would be easy to shape. For example, if the boundaries of the territories changed. They stood around the table in the order of protocol, and the meeting began. She could hardly pay attention, though. She smiled at the twins, who glanced at each other and smirked mockingly every time Zym spoke. He knew they thought Zym was not a worthy successor. In the meantime, the staff arrived with her coffee, which she had ordered at the last moment before the meeting began. She had asked for it black and with two painkillers, which were now melting like sugar cubes at the bottom of her cup. As she stirred it, a sentence caught her ear. Lord Israeel, the governor of the Verge, reported on unusual events.

"With your permission, I would like to make a report on the state of the Verge, as I am convinced that what I have to say is relevant, and we may all be involved soon."

"Let's hear it, Lord Israeel," Logan agreed.

"Thank you. In the last few months, we've noticed some interference in our communication channels, and several of our ships haven't returned to port."

"What do we care about your wrecks?" a merchant said with his chin raised. Officially, everyone at the table is equal, but in practice, judgment cannot be ignored. Namely, the Verge is the poorest province of all.

"Lord Elias, please allow Lord Isaeec to finish his statement." It's interesting how differently Logan behaves when dealing with official matters. At times like this, he's not just a man. A king takes the stage. And, since the king's word is final, the lord of the Verge continued his report.

"They saw lights in the sky at night. Flashes, as if the sun had risen for a moment. Fishermen and crab men are sorting feathers from their nets. Lots of colourful feathers. Children are disappearing and never being found again. A week ago, someone had seen them."

"The children?" No one seemed to take the lord seriously, but to her, he seemed sincere. He never speaks at meetings, usually sitting quietly and staring blankly. The boys often compare him to a famous statue, The Yawning Miller. But now he is blurting out words. He must be desperate.

"No, madam, not the children. The angels."

Silence. A deafening silence fell over the room. Then chaos broke out. The nobles pointed at each other, most of them incredulous, a few joking. Some pointed at the map, a few at each other.

She felt it was time to leave; her head was splitting anyway. She needed weed and something stronger than coffee. As she walked out of the great hall, through the sunlit corridors, someone reached for her hand. A servant in an azure blue, ironed uniform and wig. The boy seemed to be twelve years old.

"This is from the lord for the young lady," he said, and then left. She thought she didn't really know which lord it was, but as soon as she saw the small package, everything became clear. It was a feather. It was sea blue, orange, and bright green. It couldn't have been from a bird; it was too big and had a strange metallic sheen. She had seen something like it before, when she was a child. The angels really are here. His childhood memories are still alive in her, vivid as if they had happened yesterday. She can still feel the fear she felt then. But even if that's true, she still needs a drink. Or some rest.

She decided to lie down for a nap, as she somehow felt exhausted by the sunny, clear weather. The nights are much easier these days. She got up at sunset and headed for the bathroom. She set the water of the shower to a nice warm temperature, just the way she likes it. After her shower, she got dressed, but suddenly felt nauseous and started to feel an unbearable scratching in her throat. She coughed into a handkerchief. Blood. She coughed up blood, but the colour of the blood seemed to be...darker. Almost black. There was blackish blood on the ivory floor too. She reached for her towel to wipe up the mess, but her white towel was also stained black. This is bad, this is very bad.

That was the moment she realised. The tuberose on the Guardian's old coat of arms, a flower blooming at night. The trial, when suddenly everything turned dark around her. The whispers in her head. But this is impossible. The blacks have disappeared; no one has seen any of them for a hundred years now. They were feared, and later, they were persecuted.

No, no, no. It would mean she was evil. Dark. It would mean she cannot represent the Sun Dominion. She can’t be their princess anymore; she would be hated by all of them.

It means she is a potential criminal. A demon. A monster.

What if she loses her other colours?

She needs sunlight immediately. She cannot let the shadows win. She rushed out of the palace to catch the last rays of sunlight before it set. She went to the beach, watched the sun, and focused on the rhythm of the waves of the ocean reaching the shore. She began bending sunlight. She made colours turn into a liquid rainbow and coloured the sand. She had no purpose, no intention, just wanted to feel the sun and forget the shadows. It was hot, though. Hotter than it normally is. Her hands were burning, her head was throbbing and her throat was very dry. Soon her whole body was in terrible pain. It was unbearable. Her muscles have given up, and she collapsed. Slowly, she let her mind sink into unconsciousness.

Everything was dead. I was dead, but somehow still alive and aware. I could sense pain running through my body, the wounds I had earned in battle. I could only feel torment, despair, and emptiness that raged in my soul. But the sight. The sight before me was horrific. Severed, rotting body parts, decaying tree trunks, wandering souls, and ashes. Ashes and black smoke everywhere. I shouted and struggled, hoping someone would hear me. Then only darkness remained. The shadows swallowed me up; only we existed, they and I.

“They’re coming”. I heard voices in my head. The shadows are talking to me. “You need to be ready. Light won’t stop them. You need darkness …”

If you don’t use it…use it . I can hear only these words, and they are becoming louder and louder. “…You die”

She wakes in a bed that does not belong to her. White. The bedsheets, the walls of the room, the floor and the ceiling are all in the colour white. She is in the hospital. She feels cold and her muscles are heavy as stone. It is the middle of the night and no one is here.

She is sure she has a fever - her nails. Her nails and her fingertips are all black. Like ink. Like the void.

She needs to get out of here.

She found a cloak on her way out at the hospital entrance, among the lost and found items. It was made of jet-black cloth, perfect against the chill of the night. She walked down toward the shore, then turned left onto the harbour. Although the Sunfolk like to retreat to their well-lit homes at night, there is always a little hustle and bustle at the docks, even in the middle of the night. Some cargo arrives at this time, and some ships are already preparing for their departure at dawn. The taverns are noisy with music and conversation, and a few stray animals always gather around them in the hope of getting a bite to eat. She wasn't conspicuous in her cloak, yet she felt she was being followed. Something moved in one of the alleys to her left, and she automatically reached for her knife, but to no avail; she had no weapon with her. No matter, she'd improvise if she had to. However, her concern quickly passed, as the tiny figure emerging from the alleyway was a stray cat, not even that scrawny. Its fur was soft and well-groomed, not typical of a port's ugliness. She bent down to pet it and found herself at eye level with someone. A little boy peeked out of the alleyway, his black fingernails looking like dirt at first glance, if not for his jet-black irises and black earlobes.

"Hi. Is that your kitty?"

Instead of answering, the boy nodded toward the alley, gently motioning for her to follow him. He was almost like a shadow. A clean, soft, black mist. The boy started walking, then stopped, waiting for her to come.

And she did.