Work Text:
༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻
Prologue
Before it was called fractured, the veil dynasty was called eternal.
The land of Luvikya stretched long and wild between iron-dark mountains and pale coastal waters, a realm of deep forests, wind-carved ridges, and dragon-shadowed skies. Rivers split the continent like silver veins, feeding the fertile heartlands and the trade-worn ports that bind the empire to distant shores. From the mist-choked Forest of Niren to the jagged spine of Dragons Ridge, Luvikya has always belonged to two powers; the land, and the Veil.
For nearly thirteen centuries, the Veil Dynasty ruled not as a single crown, but as blood- strangely dyed hair, golden and white eyed, fascinatingly blinding beauty, rune marked blood- bound by dragons and by oath. They were not merely nobles. They were dragonlords, riders of creatures older than the empire itself. Their veins carried something more than lineage. Something that burned.
In its height, the Veil was one. But time, like flame, does not warm without also consuming.
The dynasty became divided into five great houses- each bearing the ancient mark, each descended from the first dragon-bound sovereign- yet only three hold the weight of true power.
House Valkalyn, keepers of the capital and stewards of the old oaths, stood foremost. Their banners fly highest over Luvikya’s coasts, and their word has long been considered closest to law. Of all the Veil bloodlines, theirs is said to burn brightest- disciplined, calculating, unyielding.
House Venlar commanded the central heartlands and the trade that fed the empire’s wealth. Gold flows through their family like blood. If Valkalyn held the throne’s authority, Venlar held its coin. They are the richest of the Veil- pragmatic, strategic, and careful with alliances. Wealth, they understood, can conquer where blades cannot.
And then there is House Virvyre. The other Veil houses would publically call them brilliant, volatile, unpredictable. Privately, the word mad was used instead.
They dwelled nearer the high ridges and dragon aerie cliffs, where storms gather and tempers run hot. Virvyre blood was rumored to burn too fiercely, their dragonlords daring and dangerously clever, with a generational habit of going unbalanced throughout their years alive. It was understood, quietly, between Valklayn and Venlar that Vivyre must be kept in check. Not for the sake of their own power within the dynasty, but for the safety of the Empire itself.
The remaining two houses- Vantanaleth and Velmar- linger in lesser influence, bound by blood but not by dominance, watching the greater powers circle one another like rival dragons in the same sky.
Once, the Veil families gathered often. Feasts beneath silver chandeliers. Dragon trials at Roseland Hills. Marriage pacts forged over wine and quiet threats. Their unity was both spectacle and shield- a reminder to all lesser lords that no force in Luvikya could stand against them combined, but unity is fragile when pride runs deep.
Not too many years ago, at a meeting meant to reaffirm loyalty, words unbecoming of a strongly united family were spat around like wildfire. Accusations. Insults. Old grievances dragged from their graves and laid bare before dragon and court alike. No blood was spilled that night- but something older cracked.
Since then, the houses have not reunited. Messages travel by raven and rider. Trade continued, formal and strained. Alliances were maintained out of necessity, not trust. Each house fortified its borders. Each dragonlord strengthened their ranks.
They called it distance, but distance, too, is a form of war.
And in the Veil, power is measured not in crowns or coins- but in one's cunningness…. And dragons. The dragons who only reside in Luvikya because of this grand dynasty. The sharp toothed, brightly scaled beasts who only kneel to the silver haired and golden eyed. The empire beneath them thrived only because the Veil had thus far chosen restraint.
Chosen, for now.