[A/N: The beginning is a poem… decipher what you will; the truth will reveal itself soon enough.] ;)
In the Ninth's hollow cradle, where light bled dry, Earth hangs like a cracked pearl in endless night.
Souls by the billion drift, tethered to Lucy's whisper— not bound by iron, but woven in threads of stolen will.
Their essence a pale fire, marching to unmake the cradle itself.
They swarm the skies, spill into the black between stars, hands tearing at the last strands of what remains.
Beyond Earth's shattered rim… nothing. Only the silent husks of universes—broken or emptied.
Adam and Eve, blades forged in forgotten dawns.
Vexar harvesting light with a spear of night.
Enya reading truths in the souls of the enthralled.
Seraphim wings burning white against the tide of broken spirits.
