In the heart of the Solar Palace, light was not a blessing.
It was a weapon.
The halls blazed with eternal day. Walls of polished auric gold reflected a thousand suns, scattering brilliance until the air itself seemed aflame. Chandeliers of living fire drifted overhead without chain or cord, their flames perfectly controlled—casting no shadows, allowing no refuge. Courtiers flowed through the corridors in silks that shimmered like solar flares, laughter ringing too loudly, wine spilling too freely, every word edged with ambition sharpened by heat.
Here, darkness had no sanctuary.
Emperor Solaris reclined upon a dais of molten glass in his private pleasure chamber, a sanctum veiled by curtains of liquid sunlight. He was the living incarnation of his realm—tall, imperious, mercilessly beautiful. Skin bronzed as though kissed by endless dawns. Hair cascading in rivers of pure gold. His eyes burned amber, capable of warmth or annihilation at whim.
Entwined with him was Liora, his favored concubine.
Her dark hair spilled across silken cushions like ink across parchment, her body adorned only in chains of topaz that caught the light and shattered it into glittering fragments. One finger traced idle, intimate circles along his chest, her breath warm against his throat.
"You feel it, don't you?" Solaris murmured, voice rich with satisfaction. "The balance shifts. The endless night finally cracks."
Liora smiled, lips brushing his ear. "The moon has hidden too long, my lord. Let it burn."
Solaris laughed softly and pulled her closer.
The eclipse had begun.
He felt it in his blood—the tremor of the veil, the strain of ancient boundaries giving way. Solara's message had arrived hours ago. The crystals were placed. The rite prepared.
Soon, the Lunar Court would fall.
And with it, Prince Yue's infuriating neutrality.
One light.
One ruler.
The thought sent heat coursing through him, sharper than any pleasure.
His hand slid lower along Liora's spine—
When the doors burst open.
A captain of the Solar Guard strode inside, armor of white-gold gleaming, helmet tucked beneath one arm. He dropped to one knee, urgency eclipsing protocol.
"Emperor Solaris—forgive the intrusion," he said. "It is done."
Solaris stilled.
Liora withdrew gracefully, chains chiming softly as she retreated from the dais.
"Speak," Solaris commanded as he rose, light gathering around him until he seemed larger—terrible, radiant.
"The Lunar Palace collapses as we speak," the captain reported. "Our scryers confirm it. The basin is shattered. The veil tears wide in their realm."
He hesitated—only a fraction.
"Prince Yue is no more. Cast out, powerless, into the mortal world below. Princess Solara sends her regards… and awaits your promise."
Silence fell.
Then Solaris smiled.
It was not a gentle expression. It was victory made flesh.
He rose fully, unconcerned with his nakedness, and strode toward the great arched window overlooking the void. Beyond it, the moon hung eclipsed—a black wound in the heavens, rimmed in furious crimson.
"No more," Solaris echoed softly. He raised one hand, flames coiling across his palm like obedient beasts. "The Lunar Prince—guardian of dreams and shadows—reduced to mortal dust."
Behind him, the captain remained kneeling. "Shall I summon the court, my emperor? The news will ignite them."
"Let them ignite," Solaris said. "Proclaim it from every spire. Tonight, we feast. The new dawn begins."
The captain withdrew.
Liora approached again, but Solaris barely noticed. His gaze remained fixed on the eclipsed moon, satisfaction burning hotter than desire.
"To the end of division," he toasted to the empty air.
Far below, unseen and uncared for, a fallen star burned through mortal skies.
Solaris felt not even a flicker of regret.
The fall lasted an eternity.
And no time at all.
Yue tumbled through the mortal atmosphere, his body wrapped in a cocoon of fire. Time stretched, thinned, fractured—each heartbeat drawn into agonizing clarity.
The heat came first.
It seared across his skin as though the sun itself reached down to claim him. What remained of his robes ignited, curling away like burning parchment. Beneath the pain, something colder spread—absolute, final.
The last sealing of his power.
Frost crawled through veins that had once carried starlight.
Memories assaulted him as the world slowed.
Solara's face, tears glinting as she spoke of unity.
The basin shattering, liquid starlight screaming into nothingness.
The Crescent Balcony collapsing beneath his feet.
His mother's sleeping form, untouched in the deepest chamber—never to wake now.
And woven through it all, those forbidden visions.
The mortal world.
Cities of light. Fragile lives. That nameless ache of longing.
Now that world surged up to meet him.
Clouds tore apart like veils, revealing a land painted in raw, earthen hues—vast emerald forests rolling into mist-cloaked mountains, rivers threading silver through deep valleys, distant villages huddled beneath thatched roofs.
No towers of glass.
No rivers of electric light.
This was an older world.
A world of blade and blood, of soil and survival.
The wind screamed past his ears, yet in the stretched moment he heard his own heartbeat—rapid, mortal, terrified.
He reached inward.
Once more.
A single thread of illusion. Anything.
Nothing answered.
The seal held firm—an iron cage around his soul.
He was empty.
The forest rushed up.
Ancient cedars exploded as he tore through them, branches snapping, leaves spiraling in slow motion. Then—
Impact.
The ground struck him like divine judgment.
Pain obliterated thought.
His body carved a crater into the forest floor, earth erupting skyward in a plume of dirt and shattered roots. Trees groaned and toppled nearby. Creatures fled—deer, foxes, birds scattering into the undergrowth.
Smoke rose, carrying the bitter scent of scorched soil.
At the crater's center lay Yue.
Broken.
Blood traced from a gash along his forehead, darkening hair that had fully lost its silver—now ash-gray, cropped short as if shorn by fate itself. His once-regal robes hung in tatters, stained with dirt and blood. The elegance of his features remained, but softened—stripped of divinity, laid bare by unconsciousness.
His chest rose and fell.
Alive.
Barely.
The forest watched.
Towering cedars formed a cathedral of green, needles whispering secrets in the wind. Mist clung low to the ground. Somewhere, a night bird called.
Deep wilderness.
Far from roads.
Far from mercy.
Time passed—minutes or hours, it did not matter. The mortal sun filtered weakly through the canopy as evening crept closer.
Then—
Movement.
Seven figures emerged from the trees, silent as drifting leaves.
They wore tailored kimonos of indigo and black, designed for motion, not ceremony. Half-masks concealed their faces. At each hip rested katana and wakizashi, blades worn with use.
Shinobi.
They surrounded the crater in practiced formation. One tested the scorched soil. Another scanned the treetops.
Their leader descended last.
She was taller than the rest, posture coiled and lethal. A long black ponytail trailed down her back. Above her mask, eyes like polished obsidian gleamed—not with fear, but appetite.
A hunter's gaze.
She stepped into the crater without sound.
Mizuki.
Captain of the Nightblade Clan's shadow patrol.
She crouched beside the fallen stranger, gloved fingers brushing his throat.
A pulse.
Weak. Steady.
Her gaze traced his face—too refined for a warrior, too pristine for a peasant. The remnants of his clothing shimmered faintly even in ruin.
Impossible.
One of her subordinates whispered, "Captain… a falling star? The sky burned."
Mizuki's lips curved beneath her mask. "Stars don't bleed."
Another voice, tense. "Demon? Sorcerer?"
Mizuki studied Yue a moment longer. Something stirred—curiosity, greed, instinct.
A prize delivered by the heavens.
"Bind him," she ordered softly. "Alive."
Black silk ropes appeared, securing wrists and ankles with practiced speed. Mizuki herself lifted his head, placing cloth beneath it—careful. Deliberate.
As they raised him, Yue stirred.
Pain dragged him briefly into awareness.
Dark shapes. Steel. Earth and smoke.
And her—eyes like midnight voids, sharp and predatory.
"Not…" he rasped. "Home."
Above, the crescent moon—whole and indifferent—glimmered through shattered branches.
Then darkness claimed him once more.
The shinobi vanished into the forest.
And the fallen star was carried deeper into the night.