Before creation learned its name, before flame and shadow separated, there was a sound — a trembling resonance across the void.
A cradle of light.
Aethelia.
The first world.
In its heart, a newborn god screamed.
Aethon did not understand what loss meant. He did not know what death was. He only felt the universe ripping through him as the Aethelian race — his race — collapsed into ash and fractured memory. Their light folded inward and vanished, leaving the echo of their final heartbeat vibrating through creation.
A cosmic cradle becoming a grave.
The wails of extinguished stars filled the void as Aethon's soul shattered into ten thousand pieces, each blasted into mortal timelines that were never meant to hold him. His divinity peeled away like burning cloth. His existence scattered like embers in a storm.
And across the dying world, in the last moment before the cosmos blinked black, a girl watched the light fall.
She reached for it.
Held it.
Tried to remember it.
Lisa — the final soul tethered to him. The last thread between the god he was and the mortal he would become.
They were thrown into different worlds, different lives, different fates.
But the universe bends for certain souls.
And when they meet again, destiny will bleed.