When the Mirror Sun vanished, silence fell — a silence that could kill gods.
I stood alone in the fading ruin of creation.
The melted remains of mortals still steamed at my feet — their flesh had peeled away in layers, their bones whispering prayers as they turned to ash. The echoes of the Watcher's prophecy still coiled through the air like veins of smoke, twisting and burning with meaning too ancient to name.
Yet I was calm.
Cold.
Untouched.
The Void Codex whispered again, its voice layered — a thousand tongues speaking in unison.
{[Zhæl'thur vrei'nath]} — The balance is broken.
{[Vael'tarus drien'hal]} — The Second Star remembers.
That name again.
Vael'tarus.
It did not belong to me, yet it burned behind my eyes like a truth I had forgotten.
I knelt, pressing my hand to the void-blooded soil.
The black ground rippled under my touch, pulsing like a heartbeat.
Something was awakening — not a dream, not a vision — but something alive, buried deep within the marrow of creation.
The air shattered.
Light flooded the darkness — not white, but blinding silver, alive and moving like molten glass. The Void folded around me as if reality itself bent to let me through.
And then I fell.
I found myself drifting above a world that should not exist.
It was bright — impossibly bright — a realm of twin suns burning side by side. One gold, one silver.
They revolved around each other in perfect rhythm, their light feeding rivers of living fire below.
The air was thick with song — voices of beings I could not name. Winged colossi, each the size of mountains, knelt before the twin lights, their bodies made of shimmering light and metal.
I could feel them praying, though their language was older than existence itself.
"[Zha'reth vaen-tir Vael'tarus]," they sang —
"He who breathes in light, He who remembers the first dawn."
And then I saw it —
a shape within the silver star.
Human.
Familiar.
Perfectly still, suspended in the heart of the light.
A man without shadow.
His hair floated like streams of molten silver, his skin pale as death, and in his chest pulsed the same black sigil that burned beneath my own.
He was not me… yet everything in me knew he was mine.
My mirror.
My other half.
The Codex whispered inside my skull.
{[Kra'neth Azael'ith]} — You were not born alone.
Pain tore through my veins — searing, beautiful agony.
I fell from the sky, crashing through a thousand shards of light, each one showing me fragments of what had been forgotten.
A Black Sun devouring its twin.
A scream that birthed the first Void.
Two infants suspended between dying stars — one breathing shadow, one breathing flame.
The first divine crime.
My body twisted as I fell, silver veins bursting through my skin, spreading across my chest and arms like living roots.
I screamed — but the sound was devoured by the memory itself.
The light broke.
And suddenly, I stood before a throne of broken suns.
Upon it sat the silhouette — the man of light.
Unmoving.
His eyes opened slowly, revealing endless white — no pupils, no soul, only reflection.
He looked directly at me.
"Brother," he whispered — the word like the toll of a dying bell.
My breath froze.
I tried to move, but the air bent like glass. The mere sound of his voice fractured the vision into a storm of shattered suns.
**{[Vael'tarus naen'thir]} — The Second remembers the First.
**{[Azael'ith dra'mor]} — The First must fall before the true light rises.
The Void Codex's voice twisted with his — fusing into a symphony of memory and command.
Reality pulsed.
I could feel the prophecy rooting itself in my flesh, carving words into my bones.
And then —
everything collapsed.
I gasped.
Falling to one knee, I returned to the black ground of the Void Realm — cracked, trembling, silent.
The Mirror Sun was gone.
Only the Black Sun remained above, its light slow and sick like a dying heartbeat.
My arms were covered in silver veins, glowing faintly beneath the skin.
When I looked closer, I saw a new mark burned into my chest — a spiral sigil, one half black, one half silver, circling endlessly.
I felt no fear.
Only inevitability.
The Codex spoke again — quiet, almost tender.
{[Zhæl'thar nirae'thul]} — The Second Star remembers.
{[Vael'tarus daen'oth]} — And now, so do you.
I looked up at the Black Sun, feeling its gaze upon me like the eye of a god that had just remembered it could see.
A flicker of light passed across its surface — a reflection.
A hand, pale and reaching, pressed against the inner surface of the Sun for a heartbeat.
Then it vanished.
Silence returned.
And in that silence, I understood the truth:
I am not the only god born from the Void.
The wind screamed.
The Black Sun bled.
The Void whispered a single word that would change everything:
"Awakening."