Veil of shadows

The Shadowed Past

The night was thick with the scent of rain-soaked earth, the loamy fragrance of the surrounding forest mingling with the faint tang of smoke drifting from the chimneys of the castle's kitchens. Above, a sky heavy with storm clouds blotted out the moon and stars, leaving only a faint, silvery glow to filter through the dense canopy of trees. The ancient oaks and pines, with their twisted, gnarled branches, stood sentinel at the edge of the castle grounds, their silhouettes dark and foreboding against the murky sky.

This castle, Ravenhall, had been my home for as long as I could remember. Its towering stone walls, once majestic, were now weathered and crumbling in places, a reflection of the kingdom it protected. Umbra was a land steeped in shadows, a kingdom that had seen better days, its former glory now a distant memory. The grandeur of our lineage, the Arden family, had faded with the passage of time, and now the castle, much like the kingdom, seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for the inevitable fall into ruin.

My mother's voice cut through the quiet, sharp and commanding, yet laced with an exhaustion that came from years of shouldering a burden too great for one person to bear. "Ophelia!" she called, her tone betraying the weariness she usually kept hidden.

I turned from the edge of the forest, where the wild tangles of nature met the cultivated grounds of the castle. My mother, Queen Isolde, stood framed in the arched doorway of the great hall, her figure backlit by the flickering light of the hearth. She was a tall woman, with the same golden hair I had inherited, now streaked with silver. Her face, once full of warmth, was now lined with worry, the weight of ruling a crumbling kingdom evident in every crease.

"You shouldn't be out here alone," she chided, her tone softened but no less insistent. "It's dangerous."

"I just needed some air," I replied, though the truth was more complicated. Since my grandmother's death, the castle—once a place of comfort and warmth—had felt stifling. I had spent more time outside, wandering the grounds, trying to escape the suffocating grief that had settled over our home.

"There's nothing for you out there," my mother said, stepping aside to let me pass. "Your place is here, with your family."

Family. The word felt hollow in my mind. Since my grandmother's death, the sense of family had been slipping through my fingers like sand. My mother and I had never been close; her attention had always been on the kingdom, on the burdens of rule, leaving my upbringing largely to my grandmother. Grandmother Seraphine, the last great Shadowbinder of our line, had been my anchor in the storm, the one who had nurtured my powers and understood the heavy legacy I was born into.

But now she was gone, and with her, the last remnants of our family's power and prestige seemed to have faded into the shadows as well.

I followed my mother into the great hall, the warmth of the fire brushing against my skin as the heavy wooden doors closed behind us. The hall was vast, its high ceilings supported by massive beams of ancient oak, the walls lined with tapestries that depicted scenes of our family's storied past—battles won, lands conquered, treaties signed. But those victories felt distant, like echoes from another lifetime.

The servants moved silently around the room, their presence a constant but unobtrusive part of life in Ravenhall. Though their numbers had dwindled over the years, those who remained were fiercely loyal, many having served our family for generations. Marta, the head housekeeper, was directing a few of the younger maids as they cleared away the remnants of the evening meal, her sharp eyes catching every detail, her stern demeanor softened only by the deep affection she held for our family.

Marta had been with us since before I was born, and her devotion to my grandmother had been absolute. I often wondered how she managed to keep the household running so smoothly in the face of the kingdom's decline, but Marta had always been a force to be reckoned with, her will as unyielding as the stone walls of the castle.