The Council Chambers were silent as the leaders took their seats around the obsidian table, its surface etched with the sigils of each nation. The air was heavy with unspoken tensions, the weight of recent events pressing upon them all.
At the head of the table, King Ruzan sat with regal composure, his fingers steepled before him. His gaze swept over the assembled leaders—Emperor Istrian Suyar of Aquilanor, Alpha Uryx Varran of the Lycaros, and Orion Valmar of Veyrath. The absence of Empress Sylah Aradyn of Erythia was noted, but not yet addressed.
Ruzan's voice, smooth as polished stone, broke the silence.
"Yesterday," he began, "my hunters ventured into the eastern forests. They tracked a massive bear, one of formidable strength. Curiously, they found Lycaros scouts already circling the beast." His golden eyes flicked to Alpha Varran. "I was unaware our peoples shared such… overlapping interests."
He continued, his tone deceptively light. "Meanwhile, in the eastern seas—turbulent as they've become—my fishermen nearly caught a great shark. Yet, no Aquilan border patrols were present to contest the catch." His gaze shifted to Istrian. "You must be celebrating some great fortune, Emperor, to leave your waters so unguarded."
Orion leaned back in his seat, his fingers tapping idly against the table. His mind raced. The eastern forests? The Lycaros never leave their territory unless provoked. And the golden light appeared there… Do they know something?
Alpha Varran responded first, his voice a deep, measured growl. "The forests do not belong to any one nation, King Ruzan. If my scouts were present, it was to ensure balance. The bear you speak of was no ordinary beast—it had been disturbed by unnatural forces. We sought to calm the land, as is our duty."
Emperor Istrian Suyar of Aquilanor chuckled, his bioluminescent markings pulsing faintly. "Ah, but sharks are clever creatures, aren't they? They know when to surface and when to remain hidden. My people were occupied with… internal matters. But rest assured, our borders are never truly unguarded."
Orion couldn't resist. "Internal matters?" he echoed, feigning innocence. "How fascinating. One might wonder what could be so pressing as to pull Aquilanor's gaze inward. Unless, of course, it involves a certain… residue of energy?"
Istrian's smile didn't waver, but his eyes darkened. "Energy comes in many forms, Orion. Some are natural. Others are stolen. Tell me, how many of your machines now litter my ocean floor?"
Orion's smirk was razor-thin. "Only the ones you haven't repurposed yet. Though I'm curious—how did your soldiers suddenly gain such… *efficiency*?"
Before Istrian could retort, Alpha Varran cut in, his voice a low rumble. "This bickering is pointless. There is a more pressing absence here." He gestured to the empty seat reserved for Erythia. "Where is Empress Sylah? The space shifters do not miss Council meetings without reason."
The room stilled.
King Ruzan's fingers ceased their drumming. "An astute observation, Alpha Varran. I will dispatch envoys to Erythia to ascertain their silence. But for now—" His gaze hardened as it swept over the leaders. "—let us not forget that the peace we've maintained is fragile. The eastern disturbances, the golden light, the sudden… *enhancements* among some of our peoples—these are not matters to be taken lightly."
He stood, his presence commanding. "Return to your domains. Reflect on what truly serves your people's interests. And remember—provocation will be met with consequence."
With that, the meeting was adjourned.
Once the leaders had withdrawn to their respective domains, Ruzan turned to one of his guards with a measured gaze. "Go to the Sanctum of Infinite ," he said, his voice calm but edged with urgency. "I need answers from Sylah—clear ones. And make sure she leaves proof.
Meanwhile in the Sanctum of Infinite pathpulsed with unstable energy, its crystalline walls flickering between dimensions like a dying star. The golden light's eruption had not merely disturbed Erythia—it had infected the multiverse, unraveling the delicate threads of time and space.
Empress Sylah Aradyn stood at the center of the chaos, her silver robes shimmering as she absorbed data streams from a dozen collapsing realities. Around her, the Erythian High Council debated in hushed, urgent tones.
"The light's resonance is accelerating," said Archon Veylis, her voice strained. "It's not just destabilizing adjacent dimensions—it's rewriting them. Entire timelines are being erased."
Sylah's fingers danced across a holographic timeline, tracing the golden light's path backward. "We cannot neutralize it in the present. The corruption is too deep. We must sever it at its origin."
A murmur rippled through the council.
"Time manipulation is forbidden," warned Master Taelon, the oldest of the space shifters. "No living Erythian has ever attempted it. The risks—"
"Are irrelevant," Sylah interrupted, her eyes burning with rare intensity. "If we do nothing, our realities will collapse. I will undertake the Temporal Ascension myself."
The council fell silent. The Temporal Ascension—a mythic discipline, whispered only in Erythia's oldest texts. To bend time required merging with the fabric of existence itself. None who had tried had ever returned.
Before the debate could continue, the sanctum's doors shimmered open. A messenger from King Ruzan stepped through, his form flickering as he adjusted to the unstable space.
"Empress Sylah," he said, bowing stiffly. "King Ruzan demands an explanation for your absence at the Council of Nations. The other leaders grow… suspicious."
Sylah didn't turn. "Tell Ruzan his petty politics are meaningless now. While he squabbles over borders, our realities are dying."
The messenger hesitated. "And if he asks for proof?"
Finally, Sylah faced him. With a wave of her hand, she projected a hologram of a thousand flickering worlds, each one disintegrating at the edges.
"This is your proof. Now leave."
As the messenger vanished, trembling, Sylah turned back to her council. "Prepare the Chrono Sanctum. I will walk the path of time—and I will find the moment this curse began."
Her people bowed. There was no more room for debate.
The fate of their existence now rested on a journey no one had ever survived. As the chamber dimmed and the Chrono Sanctum began to stir, Sylah stared into the void of unraveling timelines—worlds lost, choices erased, futures stolen.
And in that silence, a single thought rose like a whisper through eternity:
"If the past can be rewritten… then what becomes the truth?"