In her office, Adalia grabbed two daggers from upon her desk, sheathing them into the leather harness around her hips. She rarely went anywhere without her entire collection, but in her hurry to reach the palace after being summoned, she’d left some behind.
A knock sounded at her door.
“Enter,” she answered.
River popped his head around the doorway. “We are ready.”
Adalia nodded and followed him outside, where two other soldiers were waiting.
“Is this really necessary, Ada?”
Her best friend was blunt, as always. Adalia cocked her head as she gazed at the tawny-skinned, white-haired female. “Yes, it is, Shiloh. I will not allow a single Thorn to run rampant through The Grey, not on my watch.”
“But how are you going to? They could be long gone, maybe even dispersed into other districts. What are you hoping to gain from this scouting trip?” Shiloh grabbed Adalia’s arm.
Adalia spun around, facing her friend. “There is one out there, I can feel it. There must be tears in the Veil. If we find the tear, we find where Thorns are bleeding in and we can heal it. I must ensure the Veil’s security.”
Shiloh nodded, her violet eyes sparkling. Adalia knew Shiloh would support her no matter what—they’d been friends for many years. In fact, they were practically inseparable. Shiloh was the peace to her chaos, the sun to her rain. She was small but fierce.
Shiloh tucked her white, iridescent curls behind her ears, her wings of white feathers dipped in gold glistening beneath the sun. “Well, I know none more determined than you, and you’re in charge, so let’s go.”
Adalia grinned. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
Shiloh, River, and Caden, another soldier under her command, followed Adalia’s lead and shot into the sky, their wings beating against the air in full sweeping movements. They passed over the compound and the streets of Lucius. The realm was colossal. Within its sprawling embrace lay a tapestry of regions, each a thriving habitat for the Lightners who called this place home. While distances were notable, travelling held no challenge, for the sky itself was a highway. The simple act of flight rendered walking a leisurely choice rather than a necessity.
Nestled along Lucius’s western fringes was the Lucius Veil. This mystical boundary traced the entire kingdom’s length, its otherworldly essence shimmering as a guardian, keeping those who were not yet ready for life beyond death in The Grey.
Below, villages were bustling with life, farmers working fields, merchants displaying their wares to those who were perusing through the streets. Women cackled over fences laden with hydrangeas and gardenias as they hung their washing out in the sun to dry. A few children giggled and squealed as they ran in backyards full of grass and flowers, the odd duck quacking as it joined in on their excitement. Life in Lucius was peaceful and good.
The group of four smoothly veered left, descending with grace to land at the Lucius Gate, only a few minutes’ flight from her office at the compound.
The Gate for District Seven sat at the juncture of Lucius and The Grey, where the two realms brushed together. It stood proudly, a hexagonal stone frame embedded with gold and silver veins, twice the size of a man. This was the intricate portal that bridged the natural and spiritual realms.
Passage was granted solely to those adorned with an amulet stamped with their kingdom’s royal seal, or those whose life had ended and it was their time to step through. As for the amulet, only those recruits who had trained in the King’s army for a full year were bestowed with one.
Two Gates stood in each district of The Grey, one on the Oscuro Veil and one on the Lucius Veil. Ever since the Oscuro Rebellion, two Lightner soldiers from the Lucius Kingdom were always stationed at the Lucius Gates, as were two Thorns at the Oscuro Gates. These Gates allowed Shadowkin passage into the kingdoms upon the end of their life and allowed Lightner Soldiers to monitor the comings and goings of the opposite kingdom.
Lightners were the peacekeepers, appointed to watch for weak spots, also known as tears that sometimes appeared in the milky curtain, usually on the Oscuro side. When this happened, majors and generals would send out small groups of soldiers and a healer from Lucius to mend it.
“We head straight for the farm,” Adalia commanded as she walked towards the horses lined up at the stable beside the Gate.
The three nodded in unison.
“Should we tell your brother before we go?” Shiloh questioned.
“No, he is on patrol. No use bothering him now. This won’t take long, I’m sure.” Adalia stepped towards the Gate.
“Thank you, Blue,” Adalia said as she took the reins of a honey-coloured mare from the young stable hand.
Adalia patted the side of her mare’s neck and smiled. The horses from Lucius possessed an ethereal and majestic form. Their coats shimmered with the luminance of starlight, seamlesslyblending silver and gold that shifted and danced with every step, as if the very constellations themselves were woven into their hides. Their manes and tails flowed like silk, radiant strands of pure light floating behind them. Enchanting to see and ten times faster than regular horses, Lightners sometimes chose riding over flying. Moreover, finding tears in the veil on the ground was easier than in the sky.
The group pulled themselves into the saddles of their warm-blooded companions and turned towards the Gate.
The Veil appeared milky, emitting a faint white glow—a cold sensation upon touch. Mutual respect usually governed cross-realm interaction. While the Gate allowed Lightners and Thorns to pass through, neither ventured into the opposite kingdoms without their king’s permission. Not without being met with force, that is.
They flashed their amulets to the soldiers stationed at the Gate and stepped through the haze. On the other side, rolling green hills, forests, and meadows greeted them. The Grey was a beautiful place, but the colour seemed duller than that of Lucius. Under the beauty was the sense of urgency and life’s troubles: sickness, death, despair, fear, and anxiety.
The closest village was only a few minutes’ ride from the Gate. Little wooden fences surrounded homes of all sizes that were scattered across the soft, green ground. The villagers built them of round, grey stones and thatched roofs. Spray roses and white may bushes reached their spindly arms through the gaps of wooden fence posts to brush their petals along the warmth of passersby’s skin.
