They appear where emotion runs hottest — battlefields, hospitals, riots, vigils. Flickering, semi-transparent forms, like living shadows lit from inside. They don't attack. They don't help. They watch, in a way that makes the watched feel read.
Frysians say they're spirits of the ancestors. Britannian science calls them anomalies and studies them with an obsession that has its own budget line. The new cults call them judges, and the cults are growing.
Where Veilkin gather, reality misbehaves. Time stutters. Gravity hesitates. Rooms repeat. People exposed too long come back changed.
If they're pressing against the window — what happens to the first nation stupid enough to open it?