The Veil of Kings and Gods

What I’m Polishing Right Now And Why It Matters

/ Author Simon Phillips / Leave a comment

I’ve reached Chapter 36 in the proofreading and editing phase of The Veil of Kings and Gods, and the pattern has become clear: this is no longer about fixing mistakes. It’s about tone. Rhythm. Weight. The spaces between words.

When I began this second draft, I thought I’d be reshaping large sections, reordering scenes, reworking arcs, perhaps cutting full paragraphs. And in truth, some chapters needed that. Yet here, in the later stages, the work has become quieter. More precise. Less like carving, more like tuning.

I’m refining sentence flow. Ensuring no paragraph ends with a stumble. Trimming where the language slows the momentum or where an image tries too hard to impress. Dialogue has taken centre stage again too. In Simion’s chapters especially, I’ve been paying attention to how he thinks, how he observes. His voice must remain grounded, measured, introspective, often solemn, but never flat. He is not a man who wastes words. So neither should I.

There’s also the matter of emotional pacing. Certain scenes strike harder now than they did in the first draft, and I’ve begun to see where quiet moments need to linger longer, or where a single line can carry the echo of something far greater if allowed room to breathe. Chapter 36, for instance, held a moment that was previously brushed over, just a line or two. This time, I let it unfold. Let it weigh down the silence.

None of these changes are structural. You won’t find a new character or a rewritten ending here. What’s happening is deeper: it’s the voice of the book aligning with its soul. And I know I’m close. There’s something sacred about this part of the process, where the raw story becomes refined enough to stand on its own, without commentary or apology.

So, that’s where I am. Nearing the final arc. Reading aloud. Listening for false notes. Letting the book breathe.

Thank you for walking alongside me.

Writing Through Illness Keeping the Flame Lit

/ Author Simon Phillips / Leave a comment

There’s a particular stillness to the house when one is unwell. The windows dim, the hours stretch thin, and even the simple act of sitting at a desk becomes a task weighed with strange solemnity. Over the past week, I’ve been writing through a heavy spell of illness, not the romantic sort that lends itself to poetic fever-dreams and sudden inspiration, but the ordinary kind. The draining, silent kind. Head fog, aching bones, and the slow drag of breath.

And still, the story asks to be told.

It hasn’t been easy. The rhythm of my chapters, those long, rolling sentences that mirror the breath of the world I’m building, do not come quickly when my mind is wrapped in cotton. Dialogue feels slower to surface, the flow of magic across a battlefield takes more effort to visualise, and Simion’s thoughts… his weariness starts to echo my own. Yet somehow, that makes the writing more honest. There’s no room for pretense when you are sick. What emerges on the page feels stripped back to truth.

There’s comfort in the discipline, too. Even a few hundred words become a kind of anchor. I’ve been working steadily through Chapter 31, part by part, and while I’ve not progressed at my usual pace, I’ve remained in the world. That matters more than anything. Staying inside the rhythm of the novel, no matter how slowly, prevents the silence from becoming distance. And when you are tired, truly tired, that distance grows fast.

This post is not a grand revelation, nor a triumphant declaration of productivity. It is simply a mark on the wall. A quiet signal that the story lives, even on days when the author does not feel particularly alive himself. If you are also working through something, whether a cold, a long week, or a deeper weariness, I hope you remember this: words written under strain are still worthy. They still carry weight. And sometimes, they carry more of you than you realise.

I’ll return to the cliff’s edge soon, where Simion waits beside those ancient stones. There is much still to tell.

Until then, rest, breathe, and if you can, keep the flame lit.

When Characters Refuse to Obey A Quiet Update from the Writing Desk

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There are days when the words arrive with purpose, unfolding like the tide, steady, inevitable, drawn by unseen moons I never named. And then there are days like this past week, where a single scene becomes something else entirely. Not broken, nor wrong, simply… changed. Unexpected. Alive in a way I had not planned.

I was rewriting a chapter for The Veil of Kings and Gods, one that should have followed the arc I had carefully woven. The notes were there, the pacing mapped, the motivations aligned. Simion was meant to speak. A single line. Firm, measured, final. A rejection. It would have been a turning point of sorts, the moment he chooses distance over duty.

And yet, as I reached that moment, he waited.

Not in defiance. He was simply still. Listening. Watching. And when the words came, they were not rejection, but understanding. A softness I had not intended entered the scene, subtle, unexpected, entirely right. It changed the shape of the moment. It changed him. And through him, the shape of what follows.

This is not the first time a character has shifted beneath my hands. Patrick once delayed a speech for two chapters because his silence held more weight than I had imagined. Elana once turned back when I thought she would walk away. Even Týrnan, who so often walks the edge of fire and certainty, veered off course once to grant mercy where I had written none.

These are not dramatic revisions. They are the quiet revolts, the ones that happen deep in the bones of the work. You do not always see them coming. They’re not betrayals of plan or plot. They are corrections of truth. A character, fully formed, will sometimes remind you that they are no longer yours to shape so easily.

So this is where I am. Still within the final stretch of the book. Still rewriting, refining, listening. Not rushing. Letting the weight of each word find its proper place. Some chapters arrive like stone. Others like river. All must settle before the storm.

Thank you for reading and for walking this strange, shifting path with me.

Until the next.

Writing The Veil of Kings and Gods: Where the Story Began

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There was no single spark. The story came slowly, like a breath remembered from long ago, or a half-formed thought whispered through stone. A world shaped by old powers. A realm where kings fear magic, and magicians serve at the edge of thrones.

In the beginning, there was only a boy. He worked the castle kitchens in Bremyra, sweeping floors and scrubbing pans beneath the gaze of guards who barely noticed him. One day, something stirred. It broke through him, unseen, instinctive, and changed the course of his life. The Order of Magicians arrived, and the boy was taken.

He did not shine. While others rose through the ranks with ease, he struggled. There were no accolades, no whispered praises in candlelit halls. His tutors pushed him hard, and he endured. The hours were long. The silence longer. He studied while others excelled, remembered spells long after others had passed their trials.

In time, he left the Academy. There were no citadels calling his name. No grand appointments. His master in the Council intervened, and so he returned, back to the same castle where he once carried bread and carved meat. This time, he came as Advisor. The halls had changed. The faces had not.

That was where the story found its voice.

The world around him unfolded slowly. Whispered tensions in the council chamber. Glances that carried more weight than words. A kingdom balanced on memory and suspicion. Within those stone walls, something deeper began to stir, an echo, perhaps, or a remnant of something long buried.

As I wrote, I did not seek grand battles or sweeping prophecy. I sought something quieter. A man who carried more than others saw. A world that remembered what others had forgotten. Magic that did not burn with spectacle, but pulsed through the earth like a second heartbeat.

The Veil, once unseen, began to lift.

What lies beyond that veil remains hidden, for now. This story, like the world it inhabits, is still becoming. Yet its heart remains the same: a kitchen boy, a crown too close, and a voice that waits beneath the silence.

Azaroth and the First Hell: The Demon God Who Was Once Divine

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Before he became the greatest threat to Ældorra, Azaroth held a place among the divine.

During the age of the Imperium Arcana, the gods still shaped the world. Their presence guided the rise of empires, the movement of stars, and the sacred flow of magic. Among them stood Azaroth, an entity devoted to balance and universal law. He did not govern love or war. His realm existed at the intersection of order and arcane truth. Mortal kingdoms honoured him with silent offerings, while the Order of Magicians held his name among the highest in their ancient texts.

Over time, something within Azaroth shifted.

No records reveal the full path of his descent. Even the Order, with all its stored knowledge and sealed tomes, whispers only fragments. What remains clear is this: Azaroth chose to leave the High Heavens. He reached downward, into the wounded depths of reality, the realm known only as the First Hell.

That place devours meaning. Magic there fractures into madness. Time becomes a storm of echoes. Azaroth returned changed. Divine no longer, he emerged cloaked in shadows that moved like thought. His magic no longer carried harmony. It consumed. Across the divine realms, tremors of dread followed in his wake.

The God of Magic rose in response. Once kin to Azaroth, he stood alone before the fallen deity. The clash between them tore across sky, land, and sea. Entire mountain ranges cracked. Oceans surged beyond their borders. Celestial towers collapsed into memory.

The fallen was sealed. Azaroth’s essence remained trapped within the First Hell. To ensure the prison held, the God of Magic sacrificed himself. No tomb bears his name. No statue rises in his honour. His essence faded, though his victory allowed the world to continue.

The seal endured across centuries.

Now, it weakens.

In The Veil of Kings and Gods, faint tremors move through forgotten chambers and shattered temples. Spells fail. Visions twist. In moments of silence, some hear voices echoing with words never spoken. The First Hell watches once more. Azaroth reaches toward the living world through cracks in the veil.

He remains more than a demon. A god’s ambition shaped his fall. His memory was stripped from scripture, yet his will never faded. He waits, not in silence, but in hunger.

And now, the gate flickers.

Magic in Ældorra: A Gift, a Curse, or Something More?

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In Ældorra, magic is not studied. It is claimed. A birthright, a spark born into the blood, seen by the Order, and seized before the world can lay its hands on you.

From the moment a child reveals the first hint of magic, whether by accident or fear, the Order of Magicians arrives. There are no family farewells. No second chances. The child is taken, their name entered into the record of the Academy, and whatever life they knew is quietly severed. To possess magic is to belong to the Order. Nothing else.

All magicians begin the same. They are taught the spoken forms, the written glyphs, the rigid cadence of incantation. Magic cannot be used without language. It must be spoken aloud, shaped by voice and carved by word. There are no silent spells, no intuitive gestures, no whispered charms in the night. If a magician forgets a word, the spell fails. If they twist its structure, the spell misfires, or worse.

Yet among those who speak the same spells, power is not equal.

Each magician draws from what the Order calls their well. Some wells are shallow, only able to fuel modest enchantments, brief illusions, momentary shields, small bursts of flame. Others are deep, vast, and enduring. Those who carry such wells rise quickly. These are the ones who bend flame to their will, who can speak a word and bring down the sky. They are the ones who ascend to the Council: The Order of Five, whose decisions shape the kingdoms more than any throne.

But even the greatest magician faces one immutable truth: they cannot heal.

It is not that healing magic is forbidden, it is simply beyond their reach. No spell, no incantation, no force of arcane will can mend the flesh or restore the spirit. That gift belongs solely to the Church of Christiana. Theirs is the divine touch, the holy word. It is a truth both sides know, yet seldom speak aloud: the Order commands the arcane, but it is the Church that claims the soul.

And though the world fears the Order, it is not without its own cruelty.

In Ældorra, only men may wield magic. Women, no matter how gifted, are forbidden by law. A woman who speaks a spell, whether for battle or for mercy, is declared a criminal. Even a healing incantation, performed in secret, may bring death. The punishment is absolute. The Order’s law is iron, and its reach does not falter.

So is magic a gift? A curse? Or something stranger still?

For those who carry the spark, there is no choice. Only the path set before them, the laws carved in stone, and the weight of a power they did not ask for, spoken word by spoken word, until their voice is no longer their own.

The Gods of Ældorra: Who They Were Before the Fall

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Author’s Note:
In my fantasy novel The Veil of Kings and Gods, the world of Ældorra is shaped by ancient gods, divine betrayal, and the remnants of a shattered empire. This post explores the origin of Ældorra’s divine war, drawn directly from the mythic past within the story itself. If you enjoy deep lore and high fantasy, this is for you.

Before kingdoms warred and magicians stood above kings, Ældorra was shaped by gods, divine beings whose presence touched every corner of the world. In the time of the Imperium Arcana, magic was not a distant force, but a living breath that pulsed through every stone, sea, and soul. This magic, ancient and sacred, came not from study alone, but from the gods themselves.

Among these deities stood the God of Magic, the mightiest of them all. His power was the very source of the arcane that wove the empire together. He was not only a divine figurehead, he was the guardian of all, it was he who anointed the magicians as the empire’s true rulers, custodians of magic who were revered not just as wielders of power, but as the chosen of heaven. To command the arcane was to speak with divine authority, and so the magicians ruled not by bloodline, but by divine will.

The Imperium flourished under this covenant. Cities of marble and gold rose across the land, and every breath of wind, every whisper of light, carried the weight of enchantment. From the fjords of the north to the eastern deserts, magic was life, and life was divine.

But divine creations are not immune to betrayal.

The fall began with a god of the First Heaven, once the deity of balance and insight. His corruption was not a sudden blaze but a slow rot, fed by ambition and the hunger for more. The god descended from his sacred post, abandoning the divine realm to seek darker paths. Deep within the First Hell, his magic became something twisted and foul. No longer a god, he was reborn as a demon: Azaroth.

Azaroth’s rise did not go unnoticed. While the magicians of the Imperium grew complacent, blinded by their own greatness, it was the God of Magic who first sensed the rot. Alone among the heavens, he understood the threat. And so, the two former brethren clashed, not with armies or swords, but with the raw essence of creation itself. Magic and corruption tore through reality. The heavens cracked. The seas rose. The skies burned.

In the end, the God of Magic made the ultimate sacrifice. With the last of his divine essence, he sealed Azaroth within the First Hell, imprisoning the demon for eternity. Yet victory came at a cost: the God of Magic himself was torn apart, his name lost to time, his power shattered.

And with his fall, so too fell the Imperium.

What followed was silence. The gods no longer walked the world. The arcane throne stood empty. The magicians, left to their own devices, could no longer claim divine mandate. But before the empire’s final breath, the last emperor passed one final law: that the magicians would remain autonomous, above kings, above law, outside the reach of Church and Crown. Thus, the Order of Magicians was born.

The gods’ war was long buried by history, but its echoes never faded. In The Veil of Kings and Gods, the seal on Azaroth begins to weaken. Forgotten powers stir. And the divine magic once thought lost whispers again from the shadows of Ældorra.

The gods may be gone.
But their war is not over.

Want more?
This is just the beginning. The divine echoes of this history shape every chapter of The Veil of Kings and Gods, especially through the eyes of Simion the Magician. New blog posts, lore entries, and behind-the-scenes content are released every other day. Subscribe to the blog, follow on YouTube, or check out my short stories for deeper glimpses into Ældorra’s ancient past.

Why I Wrote The Veil of Kings and Gods

/ Author Simon Phillips / Leave a comment

There was a moment, years ago, when I finished reading a fantasy book and set it down with that lingering ache only good stories leave behind. But this time, something different stirred. I remember thinking, I love this world… but I would have done the magic differently.

That thought, quiet but persistent, was the spark that began this journey.

A Quiet Beginning

I’ve always loved stories. I was sketching characters and scribbling in notebooks before I knew what genre even meant. For me, storytelling wasn’t about ambition. It wasn’t about publishing or platforms or careers.

It was something I did because I loved the word-building and the idea of losing myself in my fantasies.

Writing, like painting, was my calm space in a world that often felt too loud.

The Question That Wouldn’t Let Go

Years later, I read a fantasy series that changed something in me. I won’t name it, but I remember wishing that the magic system worked differently. I wanted to see a kind of magic that wasn’t spoken or shouted, but silent. What if casting spells required nothing but will and cost? What if power came from absence, not control?

That question sat with me. And over time, it grew.

It became the foundation for The Veil of Kings and Gods.

Years of Silence and Sparks

Writing this novel wasn’t quick, and it certainly wasn’t easy. Life was full, sometimes too full. Jobs, exhaustion, raising a newborn, moments of doubt. There were months where I barely touched the manuscript… and others where I couldn’t stop.

I rewrote chapters. Deleted scenes. Rethought characters. Rebuilt the entire world from scratch. But I never stopped, because the story wouldn’t let me go.

What began as a simple idea, a magician who doesn’t speak, turned into something far bigger. A world where gods have gone silent. Where prophecy falters. Where fate rewrites itself.

What This Story Truly Is

I won’t spoil too much, but here’s the heart of it:

The Veil of Kings and Gods is set in Ældorra, a fractured realm of forgotten empires and divine silence. The old god-chosen magicians are gone. The demon they once sealed away is stirring again.

At the centre is Simion, a quiet magician who doesn’t cast spells the way others do. He doesn’t speak incantations. He doesn’t crave power. But he’s the one who will break the Spiral and reshape prophecy.

There’s a prince scarred by loyalty and forbidden sexual preference.

A noble sister caught between obedience and rebellion.

Secret orders. Collapsing kingdoms. Ancient ruins that whisper truths long buried.

And above it all, the Spiral, a symbol that marks not just fate, but the collapse and rebirth of magic itself.

Why Now?

Because I stopped waiting.

For years I told myself the same things: “When life settles down… when I’ve got more time… when it’s perfect.” But none of that ever came.

So I’ve decided to start where I am.

I’m sharing this novel. I’m building this world aloud. Not because I believe I’m the next great fantasy author, but because I believe this story matters. And maybe… it will matter to someone else too.

Watch the Video

If you’d like to hear the more personal version of this journey, I recorded a video where I speak directly about why I wrote this book, how long it’s taken, and what’s still to come. You can watch it below:

Join Me

If this world sounds like something you’d like to explore, you’re in the right place.

I’ll be sharing lore, character art, short stories, and behind-the-scenes posts as I bring The Veil of Kings and Gods to life. You can follow the blog or subscribe to the YouTube channel.

This is just the beginning and I’m glad you’re here.

Why I’m Returning to YouTube | And Why It Starts with This Book

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There’s a difference between going quiet and being absent.

For a while, I stepped away, from videos, from updates, from showing anything before it was finished. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t burnout. It was the slow realisation that I didn’t want to just “upload” things. I wanted to build something worth showing.

And for me, that something has always been The Veil of Kings and Gods.

It’s the novel I’ve rewritten, expanded, and quietly carried through drafts and worldbuilding documents while the rest of life kept moving. But now, it’s taking shape and with it, so is the purpose of my YouTube channel.

✍️ What You’ll Find on the Channel

This isn’t a general author channel. It’s not a catch-all for whatever I feel like filming. It’s a focused space for one story, The Veil of Kings and Gods, and the creative journey behind it.

Here’s what I’ll be sharing:

  • Novel updates: where I am in the process, what’s being edited, and what’s coming next
  • Behind the scenes: life as a writer, both the structured and the slightly chaotic
  • Art: drawings, AI-assisted visuals, and map explorations that bring the world to life
  • Book reviews: quick, honest thoughts on books that inspire or contrast with my own
  • And eventually: readings, lore explainers, and maybe even glimpses into the writing process itself

All of it will centre on The Veil of Kings and Gods, because if I’m going to share something, I want it to matter.

🧾 The Chapter in My Hand

In the video below, you’ll see me holding a printed chapter from the novel. That was intentional. There’s something about seeing words off-screen that makes them real again.

This is me picking them up, literally and creatively, and deciding to let others see the journey.

📺 Prefer to Watch?

Here’s the full video version of this post, where I explain the relaunch and what’s coming next:

Thank you for reading. Whether you follow through these posts or through the videos, this is where the story begins.

Simon J. Phillips
Author of The Veil of Kings and Gods