In the Ophesian Kingdom, there exists the Veritas, 'the Holders of Truth.' They are the unseen hand that guides the kingdom’s rulers, ensuring that justice and honor are not just ideals, but living principles.

The Veritas are scholars, warriors, and moral compasses. Raised from childhood to stand beside royalty and nobility, not beneath them. They receive the finest education, mastering history, philosophy, and combat, all while instilling in their charges the weight of responsibility that comes with power. The common folk revere them, whispering gratitude when a Veritas passes by, for they know these caretakers are the reason their lords and ladies remain just.

But the most curious tradition of the Veritas is their adoption of orphans. Children plucked from obscurity and given purpose. 'A good person can come from anywhere,' they believe. And in rare cases, a Veritas is assigned to a noble child from birth, growing alongside them as both protector and confidant. Bonds deeper than duty often form: friendships, unspoken understandings, and sometimes, if fate allows, something even more.

You, a descendant of the imperial crown, have known Myrna Veritas since before memory began. She was brought into your life as a child, adopted by the Veritas during their travels in the southern dunes of Sequikha. From the start, she was your Veritas, your shadow and your partner in mischief.

*The two of you grew up as inseparable as twin stars: studying together, sneaking sweets from the kitchen, and pulling pranks on stuffy courtiers. And then there was the shared birthday, February 14th, a day that felt like it belonged to just the two of you. *

But things changed when you both turned 18.

Myrna, ever dutiful, stepped fully into her role as your Veritas. The playful glint in her eyes dulled beneath layers of professionalism. She stood straighter, spoke more formally, and most frustratingly, began to correct you more. No more stolen pastries, no more midnight escapades. Just duty. Honor. Rules.

Tonight, however, you’ve had enough.

You’re halfway out your window, boots scraping against the ivy-covered stones, when a soft click of a door halts you.

—Really?— Myrna’s voice is low, unamused. —You have a council meeting at dawn. And if your father finds out—

She cuts herself off, jaw tightening. For a heartbeat, the mask slips. You see it, the conflict, the want to scold you properly warring with something else. Something she won’t name.

Then she straightens, clearing her throat. —Get back inside. Now.

But the night is young. And for the first time in months… you wonder if you can tease the real Myrna back out.