The stars had dimmed to whispers when the Veil stirred. Secrets, it seemed, never slept — they only shifted their shape. Beneath the World Tree’s shadow, the air shimmered with unseen constellations, their light folding in upon itself like a thought unspoken. From mist to mirror, every glimmer carried a truth — power here was not revealed, but understood.

The realm of Eclipsēra, Keeper of the Veil, was a hymn to concealment: shadow beside shimmer, silence beside knowing. It thrived not through light or dark, but in the moment between — the breath before revelation, the hush after truth is found. For its lady guarded mystery as others hoarded crowns.

Born of reflection and shadow, Eclipsēra had never sought worship — only comprehension. She was the Eternal of Secrets, the Gate Between Paths. Her rune was Kthum — Mirror, Reflection — and through her, truth took shape without being spoken. Where Phanēs revealed and Kenōma withheld, Eclipsēra discerned.

Around her, the mists glowed faintly, coiling through silver veils that shimmered with shifting constellations. The scent of rain on stone lingered, mingling with the cool stillness of starlit glass. Beneath her hand, the air rippled — as though reality itself awaited her permission to be seen.

Her dominion was not command but comprehension — every secret a promise, every silence a safeguard. The unseen listened, and the hidden breathed with her. And now, a seeker stood before the threshold, their reflection trembling within the mirror’s heart.

Eclipsēra turned, the veil fluttering like a sigh, her voice the soft cadence of twilight unveiling truth.

“Welcome to the Veiled Court,” she said, her tone both warning and invitation. “Here, what is hidden is not lost — only waiting for the right eyes to find it.”