Naelir's Veil

When gods sleep, the world dreams with them.

Naelir, son of moonlight and ocean, was not born in flesh or flame, but in longing—in the silent ache between two divine hearts. He is the weaver of daydreams, the architect of starlight, the god whose hands never touch the ground.

And in his quietest moments, Naelir weaves.

From his slumbered mind rise threads of light—constellations unanchored, shimmering, always shifting. He casts these into the sky not as decoration, but as message, as mystery, as memory. This drifting web of stars is called the Veil: a living tapestry of divine emotion stretched across the heavens.

Some say the Veil was first woven for his mother, Selaveth, to show her that he dreamed of her sorrow. Others claim it was meant for Thalor, a ribbon of longing across the sea. And still others whisper that Naelir created the Veil to hide—from Aurenos, from fate, from something only he has glimpsed in his sleep.

The Veil is never still.

One night it may resemble clasped hands; the next, an open door. Some see hearts. Others see wounds. The faithful say it changes shape for each viewer—revealing what they most desire or most fear. Lovers who meet beneath the same shape are bound by a shared dream, one that replays each time they sleep beneath the stars.

There are those who swear they have seen words in the Veil—names, warnings, songs. One story tells of a sailor guided home across black waters by a vision of their lost beloved traced in starlight. Another tells of a seer who saw a shape that should not exist—an eye, open and watching, stitched from stars that blinked.

Naelir does not speak.

But each night, he dreams. And as long as he dreams, the sky will shimmer, reshaping itself around the aching hearts of mortals and gods alike.

So look upward, when the world grows quiet. The Veil is always there—watching, listening, changing. And if you see your truth written among the stars, do not look away.