The Naming of Sunveil
Sunveil
Day 967
I have decided to name the village. Or perhaps, it named itself.
In the early hours, just before the sun crests the horizon, a mist rises from the resin trees, fine as silk and golden in the light. The villagers call it "the veil," a gift from the land, a breath of magic that signals the start of harvest. It cloaks the fields, the stone paths, even my robes if I wander too far.
It was a child who said it first, running barefoot through the haze, laughing. "The sun wears a veil here," she said.
So it shall be called Sunveil.
The name feels... appropriate. There is still much I do not understand about this place, why the covenant named me, or why the mastic here is purer than any I’ve seen. But I know this: the land has power. And now, others must come.
I have begun preparations for a City Stone, a permanent conduit for travelers, scholars, and fellow wizards. With it, Sunveil will no longer be a forgotten outpost at the edge of the Golden Plains. It will be a gathering place. A waypoint. A name spoken beyond the borders of dust and sand.
I do not know what will come of this. I only know I cannot carry this place alone. If I must rule, I will make it easier for others to arrive.
Let them come.
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The Weight of Silence
The Arena of Sunveil rises over the Golden Plains
Day 1001
The Arena is finished. Stone rises high above the Plains, tier upon tier, a monument meant for voices. Yet it gives me only silence.
The villagers assure me it will not remain so. They say travelers will come, that contests will be held, that Sunveil will be known. But still the seats are empty, and I hear only echoes.
The fox prowls the pit as though awaiting a challenger. Watching him, I remembered another, a laugh loud enough to rattle the stones, a presence the desert has since swallowed. It seems absence carries its own weight, heavier than stone.
I built this Arena so Sunveil would not be forgotten. Yet it reminds me instead how much I have already lost.
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