A Kingdom ruled by shapeshifters.

Veilborne was ruled by a race of shapeshifters—beings who could alter their forms at will, becoming beasts, birds, or even taking the faces of those they encountered. Their kingdom thrived in secrecy, for the world beyond feared and envied their power.

At the center of this mystical land stood the Obsidian Palace, an immense structure carved from black stone, gleaming under the eternal twilight that blanketed the kingdom. Within its walls resided King Malagar, the most powerful of all shifters. He bore a thousand faces and a thousand forms, his true visage long forgotten even by himself. Legends whispered that he had once been human, but the magic of Veilborne had consumed him, making him more shadow than flesh.

Despite their mastery over transformation, the shapeshifters lived by a strict Code of Forms, an ancient law that forbade deception among their own. They could assume any shape, but betrayal within the kingdom was punishable by exile—a fate worse than death, for a shapeshifter cast from Veilborne would lose their ability to transform.

However, the peace of Veilborne was not without its threats. Beyond the borders of their hidden realm, the Empire of Varethia, a vast and war-hardened nation, sought the secret of their power. Their armies, clad in steel and gold, had long coveted the magic that pulsed through the blood of Veilborne’s inhabitants. Spies had been sent, alliances had been forged and broken, but the kingdom had endured—until now.

(I)The Betrayal

On the eve of the Eclipse Festival, a sacred time when all Veilborne gathered to renew their connection with the magic of the land, treachery struck. General Althar, one of the king’s most trusted commanders, was found dead in his chambers—his throat slit, his body left in a grotesque half-shift between his human and beast forms. The kingdom was thrown into chaos.

Whispers spread through the palace. Only a shapeshifter could have entered unseen. Only one of their own could have done this. But why? And who?King Malagar called for an emergency gathering of the High Council. His voice, though steady, carried a note of unease. “One among us has broken the sacred Code of Forms,” he declared, his form shifting subtly as his rage simmered beneath his regal facade. “Find the traitor, or we will all fall.”

Among those present was Lady Seraphine, the king’s most skilled tracker, gifted with the ability to read the residual forms left behind by other shifters. With a touch, she could see the last transformation a being had taken. She knelt by Althar’s body, closing her eyes. A cold shiver ran through her as she saw a vision—the assassin had taken the form of the king himself.Gasps filled the chamber. Accusations flew. Malagar remained silent, his sharp eyes scanning the room. “Someone is wearing my face,” he murmured. “A deception of this level could only mean one thing—the Empire has infiltrated our ranks.”

(II)The Hunt for the Impostor

A Kingdom-wide hunt began. Every shapeshifter was commanded to reveal their true forms, but the nature of their magic made it difficult—who could be trusted, when faces were mere illusions?

Seraphine’s gift led her through the city, tracing the echoes of stolen shapes. She followed the assassin’s fading signature through the marketplace, past the sacred pools, and into the labyrinthine tunnels beneath the Obsidian Palace. There, in the damp darkness, she found him—the impostor.

A man stood before her, his body flickering between forms. He was neither fully Veilborne nor entirely human. His face settled into one she recognized—a Varethian soldier.

“You have no right to wield our gift,” Seraphine whispered, her voice laced with fury.

He grinned. “And yet, here I stand.”

Before he could shift again, Seraphine lunged, her blade glinting in the dim light. The battle was swift, brutal. Magic crackled as forms twisted and shifted. But Seraphine had spent her life among true shifters—this impostor, for all his stolen power, was no match. With a final strike, she ended him.

(III)A Kingdom Changed

The kingdom was safe—for now. But the attack had proven one thing: the secret of Veilborne’s magic was no longer safe. The Empire had found a way to mimic their gift.

King Malagar stood before his people, his gaze heavy with the weight of what was to come. “We must change, or we will perish,” he declared. “No longer will we hide in the shadows. The time has come to show the world why Veilborne has never fallen.”

And so, for the first time in a thousand years, the shapeshifters of Veilborne prepared for war.