The Veilhorns appeared out of the snowy haze like flickers of dark and brightness, glowing faintly from within. Yet Sloane didn't speak - just stared - as they glided forward, their steps so light they hardly dented the ice. Not quite solid, but more than ghosts, these creatures held watch over the south's hidden forces, called forth to create a dancing sky-light similar to the ones up north. Long bodies streaked with pulsing lines of pale purple and cool silver throbbed in time with some unseen energy, spreading dim warmth over the frozen ground. When the first Veilhorn moved close, Sloane sensed a warm hum - steady, quiet, full of meaning. Its head dipped just a bit; those glowing antler strands curled like smoke in the breeze. Then, almost careful, their power brushed her wings, lighting them up with a faint, flickering shine. Might’ve been respect - for her, maybe, standing there as she was. After a slow nod, it opened wide its wings, sending out bursts of bright rays that twisted upward into darkness. Each one came next in turn, leaving behind shining paths that cut through the blackness, linking with distant starlight. The sky turned into a mix of shades - purple, green, and red twisting like waves, moving slowly like some quiet spell, just like the real northern glow. Sloane looked up, stillness running through her as she sensed how Veilhorns fit with the land around them. This wasn't fake light or just pretty weather; instead, it linked things, showing what the Veil truly wanted. While colors filled the dark above, she noticed her tie to this place growing deeper, her role as guardian written in every breath she took. Cold flakes, distant suns, bright skies - all tied together somehow, bound by something bigger than herself. The wind sang a sharp, sad note over Veilheim’s icy lake, dragging along the smell of fresh pine - and underneath, a colder hint, like rusted metal pulled from deep earth. Sloane moved ahead, her hooves tapping the glassy ground; every stride cracked out a ring of frost, sparkling quickly then vanishing into stillness. Above, the northern lights drifted slow, almost aware - colors softening just as something else closed in. She sensed it before spotting anything - the hum of the Veil turning dull, a faint tremor along her backbone, her rib bones shaped like fish bones tensing up as if bracing. Past the broken edges of rock holding Veilheim together, something tore open in the fabric above, oozing dark mist so fine you’d miss it, yet icy sharp, able to stop your pulse fast. The Veilhorns glowed, sure, but looked uneasy - antlers flickering, purple strands inside them flashing quick and wild. The lead Veilhorn - the one Sloane had sensed glowing during the first surge - raised its bright muzzle, facing the northwest where a narrow streak of dark smoke twisted like a snake overhead. Right then, its antlers snapped open, fanning out shimmering strands like rows of hanging lights. A wave of deep humming tones rolled through the air, calling out to the rest of the watchers tucked inside the Veil's layers. Sloane’s shadowy fairy wings twitched, mottled skin glowing under the northern lights, tossing off shimmering specks like crushed glass. She breathed in sharply, icy air biting her chest, and sensed that trick-magic tingle awake. Never did grasp where it came from - just a hum beneath existence, maybe leftover noise from the world’s raw making, something that twists how things seem when no one's looking hard. Over the past hundred years or so, Veilheim’s old ones kept telling her to go easy on it, since faking truth can guard you - or gut someone else. She raised her shaking front leg, touching the ice, sensing the faint give underneath. When she spoke the old Veilhorn words softly, the frozen lake answered with a sharp, thin sound. Her voice stayed calm, wrapping around her like mist. Light crept up from below, building into fragile pillars that hovered just above the water. These glowing beams spiraled toward her, clinging close, pulsing with pale blue streaks. The markings on her fur - patchy spots, wild splotches, echoes of starlight - lined up exactly with the icy web now hugging her frame. "Veil, listen," she whispered - then the grid leaped out, stretching into a curved haze over the water, a see-through bubble made of shimmering mist and hue. Inside, reality warped. That dark split in the Veil, ready to gulp down the whole lake, now writhed oddly, its borders ragged like ripped cloth. The trick didn’t wipe it away; instead, it reshaped the threat into a spinning tangle of soft glow. The Veilhorns moved fast - light streaks looping around Sloane’s shield, bright threads of purple and green pumping pure Veil force into the false image. Up above, the sky glow spiked, like it joined the clash head-on. Blackness past the water twisted hard, slamming at the wall, yet each push got torn apart by flashing bands turning dark bits into sparkles. Sloane’s pulse raced, keeping time with the thunder of Veilhorn's steps. Even though she guarded hard, there was warmth in her too - so she couldn’t just smash the shadow before knowing its pain. Ducking her chin, she pushed the mirage further, looking through the haze she’d woven herself. Inside the black crack, a figure flickered - an unfinished soul, barely shaped, glowing eyes like distant sparks, shaking from terror and anger. This one came from the Veil, left behind when old breaks tore the earth apart. A sharp feeling hit her chest. Yet she said nothing at first. Though the breeze carried most sounds away, her words slipped out quiet. Still, they reached him somehow. Because he turned slightly. Even then, she didn’t move closer. Instead, she stayed where she was. Just watching. While the air grew still again The kid's energy sparked up - like dark fire - then faded into shaky fog. The closest Veilhorn caught what she wanted, dipped its horns, let one glowing tip touch the dome’s rim. That thread lit up pale purple; through it, Sloane soaked in the child’s pain like cold rain in her joints. The fake wall changed - not a block anymore, just a path. She stretched her thoughts forward, spinning make-believe strands that matched the kid’s shaky glow. Pictures came rushing in - fires glowing low, fields dusted white, dawn spilling soft across clouds - old echoes kept by the Veil, never lived by her. Inside the dome, those scenes filled the air. The youngster held stiller now, shadows pulling back while calm images curled round it, quiet and close, like being held after a storm. “Come here,” Sloane hummed, her tone soft like song, yet pull me back toward the center of the mist The kid's ghost, lured by the fake glow, floated slowly to the middle of the dome. Around it, the Veilhorns spun fast - light twisting tight, every turn stitching up empty spaces, every pulse sending out ripples of cool blue-silver that slipped right into the Veil’s weave. Up above, the northern lights caught on, flaring wilder; red and green streaks curling like fire in ice, forming a bright whirlpool just like the still water below. As the kid touched the swirling light, a wave spread out - gentle but strong enough to lift snowflakes into the air, drifting like little glowing bits. The tear in the unseen barrier closed quietly; shadows near the water vanished, leaving nothing behind except a whisper lost in the hush of evening. Sloane watched the dome fade, its glassy barriers turning into raw Veil force. As one, the Veilhorns dipped their heads, horns lit by a soft, even glow. Moving ahead, the first among them locked gazes with her - its eyes deep pools of shimmering purple. “You have healed more than the lake,” it intoned, its voice resonant as the chime of distant crystal. “You have mended a wound in the Veil itself. The spirits of the north will speak of this night for generations.” Sloane dipped her chin down, feeling the thin ridges along her back vibrate from leftover energy. Her mouth lifted into a quiet grin - warm, sudden, open. Over by the ice-covered water, shimmering lights danced across its surface, every wavelet hinting at harmony she’d played a part in mending. Cold stayed in the dark sky above, yet something hummed underneath, a gentle heat whispering about fresh starts. Beside her, the rest of the Veilhorns raised their hooves, each footfall bouncing off the frosty ground like a drumbeat tied to her pulse. Moving as one, they marched slowly toward an old ring of stones tucked deep in snowy pine woods - the spot where she’d speak her promises again, where tales from the herd would pass under open skies, while above them, northern lights shimmered - proof of the unbroken tie between a steel-gray mare and those who watch over the clouds. She moved forward, every footfall glowing softly on the frost - a brief mark showing how magic still grew in cold times. Not real, yet alive - it came from kindness, from strong care, from someone watching over everything. She noticed the danger creeping near, sure - but also the weak glow hoping to break out.