High above the firmament, within the Solar Domain, where light hardened into crystal and eternity hummed like a hymn, soared the Solar Cathedral, the Holy Sanctuary of Light. At its heart stood still a lone figure upon an obsidian dais, his form was tall, severe and wreathed in pure radiance. He did not move, did not blink, only gazed into the shifting brilliance before him.
His luminous and pure white wings were vast, immaculate but folded— tight and not in peace, but in restraint. Every feather was flawless. They shimmered like forged glass, reflecting both dawn and judgment.
A fracture rippled through the harmony—brief, fleeting, gone as soon as it appeared. The herald's gaze did not waver, too detached for surprise.
Beneath his bare feet, the golden floor trembled, and the sunlight faltered for the briefest heartbeat.
He murmured, his voice neither warm nor cold.
"One of the Silent Covenants is breathing again. The Wheel has turned once more." The words were not spoken loudly, yet they rippled outward.
His eyes shifted downward, toward the direction of Terra Proper.
Through countless veils of flame and time, a single spark pulsed again, as a mortal had touched the throne of the Emperor.
Far from the realm of light, beyond the reach dawn it self, stood the Nocturne Tower, a monument of obsidian glass rising from a field of eternal snow. The domain it ruled was wrapped forever in tranquil night. Moonlight and silence reflected endlessly upon its surface, lending the place a serene so absolute, it felt sacred.
Within the tower, beneath a cascade of pale, unbroken moonlight, a figure sat upon a throne that should have been empty. The air froze around him, candles halted mid-flame. His visible eyes—pale as a dying moon—opened slowly. Beneath them, carved deep into his flesh, bizzare runes glowed faintly.
A whisper, faint as dust, coiled through the silence, followed by a dry chuckle. Sardonic. Ancient.
"That damn Scripture breathes again…"
The runes along the tower walls flared once, bearing the symbols of Death's Fourfold Law, as though remembering a moment long past.
The man rose from the throne with unhurried grace. He gazed pierced through the tower's vast window, far into the distance, beyond the Tranquil Umbrage Dominion.
A thin, mocking smile curved his lips.
"So… the Heir remembers, O Herald of the Divine Sun." His voice carried amusement.
"The silence will not last."
The tower darkened as he closed his eyes once more. The dim candle resumed their flicker. Time seemed to slipping back into motion as if nothing had occured.
Far below the realms of light, deep within suffocating gloom where stars and moon dared not shine, rose a grand palace atop an eerie, barren hill. It was shrouded in grim and chilling darkness.
They called it the Night Palace. Its walls were slick with blood from the ancient. Darkness here was not an absence, but, thickly presence.
Within, the Prince of Hollow, head of the Anemone Family, reclined upon his black throne. The air was thick with the stench of blood and death when the darkness flickered.
Tonight, for the first time in countless eons, he felt it.
"That resonance…" he muttered, sharp fangs baring in a hunger-split grin.
He rose, the shadows following his steps, curling and twisting like serpents eager to taste blood. The terrifying and oppresive aura coiled around his body as his eyes ignited into bloody crimson.
"That old covenant has tried to awaken again. Good."
His voice deepened, slipping into a growl—then laughter followed.
"Then let the carnage begin anew, Radiant Emperor. This time, I will swallow your people whole."
The darkness hissed like a legion answering its king. The hall drowned in shadow, leaving only his laughter—sharp, venomous, unending.
Somewhere beyond Terra Proper, where forests pierced the sky and mountains and oceans rang with distant destruction, something vast stirred.
The daytime sky of Karahara, the Sky Sanctum of the Tri-Sun Dynasty, dimmed as the clouds parted unnaturally and heavens darkened. Kin'u, Progenitor of the Three-Legged Crow race and Herald of Dawn, spread her colossal wings. They were wide enough to eclipse the sun itself.
Her cry split the heavens, reverberating across all of Arcadia.
"You cannot fight fate, Radiant Emperor!" She proclaimed
"Not in the past, nor in the future. They will descend."
Below her, Solar Augur, current Patriarch of the Yatagarasu House, gazed up with a strange light flickered in his eyes. He bowed his head in silence.
After some time, the floating plateaus stilled once more, the sky brightened, The lands resumed its motion as though nothing had occurred.
Far away, deep beneath the vast forests of Sylvan, something ancient stirred.
A presence opened its eyes calmly after a long slumber. Those eyes radiated wisdom, gleaming like dawn, and gazed warmly toward the distant Nandavara Dunes. No words were spoken.
The forest exhaled once, soft as sleep.
Then the eyes closed again, and the world fell quiet.
Across the realms, forces older than kings had felt it.
Something buried for eons had awakened.
And for the first time in ages,
the opening words of an ancient Scripture had been written once more.