The Veil of Creation

The next day, Tyrese awoke to the warm, golden light of the twin stars streaming through the wooden shutters of his window. Their brilliance painted the room with hues of amber and crimson, signaling the start of another day on Orion.

Stretching his limbs, he pushed off his blanket, neatly folded it, and began his morning exercise routine. His movements were deliberate and precise—twenty push-ups, ten pull-ups on the wooden beam overhead, and a series of stretches to awaken his body. Sweat glistened on his brow as he finished, a testament to his discipline.

Afterward, he stepped into the bathroom, a small but functional chamber with stone walls inscribed with faintly glowing sigils to heat the water. He splashed his face and rinsed his hands, the cool water grounding him.

Today's training loomed large in his mind. On Orion, it was a rite of passage for all. At the age of sixteen, every child began learning the art of Will—the ancient and revered practice of sigilcraft.

Orion had been at war for nearly a century, locked in an unrelenting battle against the Rodraks, fearsome creatures that descended from the skies. The Rodraks were monstrous beings with wings like leathery sails, their forms reminiscent of the dragons spoken of in old legends. Yet unlike the intelligent dragons of ancient myths, the Rodraks were mindless, primal forces of destruction. Towering over humans, they unleashed elemental attacks or unleashed curses in an incomprehensible tongue, sowing chaos wherever they went.

Their purpose remained a mystery. One day, they had simply appeared, bringing calamity to Orion. It was only through the power of Will that mankind had managed to survive. The Will holders—those who could channel their inner strength through sigils—were the planet's last line of defense.

Because of this, training began at sixteen—the age when one's mind was deemed developed enough to harness Will—preparing the young for their futures as soldiers, researchers, or scholars, all united in the singular goal of eradicating the Rodraks.

Tyrese finished dressing, pulling on his simple training robes, and made his way through the cobbled streets of the town to the Church of Light. The twin stars shone brightly overhead, their radiant light illuminating the stone spires of the church, which stood as a beacon of hope and tradition.

Inside the grand hall, Maha was already there, standing among the other trainees. She caught Tyrese's eye as he entered. Their glances met, her blue eyes holding a mix of caution and familiarity. Neither spoke, but a subtle nod passed between them, an unspoken acknowledgment of the conversation that still lingered in their minds.

The training hall was a vast chamber adorned with tapestries depicting mankind's struggles and triumphs against the Rodraks. The floor was marked with intricate sigils, and the walls bore shelves lined with ancient tomes and scrolls.

Sir Arras, the Centurion of the Church and a seasoned Will holder, stood at the center of the room. His presence was commanding, his silver hair glinting under the light of the enchanted chandeliers overhead. His voice, deep and steady, echoed through the hall as he addressed the trainees.

"As you all know," he began, "the power of sigils lies in the concept of Will—the force of one's determination, creativity, and understanding of the universe. To harness this power, one must craft sigils, symbols imbued with meaning and intent. These sigils serve as conduits for your Will, allowing you to shape reality itself."

The trainees listened intently, their gazes fixed on Sir Arras. His words carried the weight of years of battle and sacrifice, a reminder of the stakes they faced.

"For centuries," he continued, "the Rodraks have threatened our existence. They are not mere beasts. They are calamities, forces of nature given form. To defeat them, you must not only learn to wield your Will but also to understand it. The strength of your sigils comes not from the symbols themselves, but from the meaning you give them, from the intent that flows through you."

He gestured to the sigil-marked floor. "Today, we will begin with the basics of crafting your first sigil. Focus your thoughts. Clear your mind of doubt. Your Will must be unwavering, for the Rodraks show no mercy to those who falter."

Tyrese's heart pounded as he stepped forward with the others, his fingers itching to begin. He glanced at Maha, who stood to his left, her expression unreadable. They were on the same path now, but the forbidden knowledge in his possession weighed heavily on his mind.

Sir Arras began, "Who can tell me the first sigil one must learn to craft?" 

The room fell silent, the young trainees exchanging uncertain glances. Sir Arras repeated, "No one?" His sharp gaze swept across the group before he answered his own question. "It is protection. And who can tell me what it is we must protect?" 

A young boy with raven-black hair and pale eyes, his weary expression suggesting many sleepless nights, hesitantly spoke up. "Our bodies, sir." 

Sir Arras turned his steely gaze to the boy, shaking his head. "Wrong! But not totally" His voice echoed through the room, commanding attention. "The first thing one must protect is their sigil. In battle, if your sigil is destroyed, you're as good as dead." 

He paused, letting the gravity of his words sink in before continuing. "But!" he added, raising a finger for emphasis, "what happens next depends entirely on the type of support you choose for your sigil. There are generally three types people tend to use. 

"First," Sir Arras said, gesturing with his hand as though holding an invisible tome, "is a book, used to create a grimoire. This is often the choice of Will Sorcerers, who value flexibility and the ability to craft complex sigils in detail." 

He stepped forward, his boots echoing in the training hall. "Second," he continued, touching his chest, "is the body itself. This is especially common among Will Warriors, who use their bodies as living canvases, turning their own skin into sigil-bearers to ensure mobility and resilience in combat." 

"And lastly," Sir Arras said, his voice dipping into a more somber tone, "there is the use of expendable or one-time items as sigil supports. This approach is often favored by diviners. These seekers of the unseen craft their sigils upon materials steeped in rarity and meaning, unlocking glimpses into realms beyond mortal perception." 

He let his words linger in the air before stepping back. "Remember this well, for your choice of support may very well determine your survival—or your demise—on the battlefield."

"What you must understand," began Sir Arras, his voice resonant and steady, "is that a sigil's form is never fixed. The foundation of every sigil lies in two elements: your Will and your intent. The Will is universal—for a protection sigil, it is simply this: to protect. 

"But," he continued, his sharp eyes scanning the room, "the intent, ah, that is what makes each sigil unique. Your intent shapes the very essence of your sigil. For instance, a protection sigil may block an attack outright, absorb the impact and dissipate it, repel the force, or even allow it to pass harmlessly through. These intents may all stem from the same Will, but they manifest differently, reflecting the individuality of their creator."

"Understand this—when you pour your Will into a sigil, it transforms. The lines, curves, and shapes may shift, reflecting your intent. It is possible for two sigils to appear similar yet serve entirely different purposes. Never assume their function based solely on appearance. And remember this above all else: while the Rodraks are our shared enemy, humans are no strangers to greed and treachery." His voice darkened, carrying a weight of sorrow and restrained fury that hung in the air like a storm cloud. 

He paused, allowing the gravity of his words to sink in. Then, his tone sharpened, commanding attention. "Now, focus. Before you is a blank piece of wood. This will be the canvas for your first sigil. Clear your mind of distractions and let your Will come to the forefront. Draw the symbol of your choice, but as you do, channel your Will into it. Do not hesitate, nor rush—let it flow naturally from your essence. 

"Once the sigil is drawn, close your eyes. Search within yourself for the spiral of energy that resides in your heart—that is your Willpower. Feel it stir, and guide it toward your sigil. As the energy flows, envision your intent with clarity. How do you wish for your sigil to protect you? Will it shield, absorb, repel, or something else entirely? Your intent must align with your Will. Fail in this, and your sigil will unravel—or worse, explode in your face." 

He straightened, his gaze sweeping over the students, ensuring they grasped the gravity of the task. "This is the foundation of sigilcraft, the art upon which your survival depends. Now, begin!" 

The room filled with the faint sounds of wood scraping under styluses as the trainees began their work, each one summoning their Will for the first time. Sir Arras stood silently, watching, with a faint hint of expectation in his eyes.