30 years before the ascension of the celestial monarch.
Pain and confusion clouded her mind. She didn't know where she was, she was only afraid; she didn't know what to expect, other than pain and fear in the face of any change.
Sometimes she wished for death, but death itself was a change that terrified her.
That was why she ran. She just ran and fled, hiding in the rocks, in the caves, in the crevices of the earth, hoping no one would see her, hoping to go unnoticed.
But this change had surprised her: she had been saved. Dumbfounded, she watched as a total stranger rescued her, but now they were fleeing. They had managed to wound their pursuers, but they had wounded her in return. It wouldn't be long before death came for her too.
There was someone else. He was saying something to her; she didn't recognize the language, it wasn't the language of the kingdom, but she knew another language, a powerful language that might save her, but would also change her.
She didn't want to change, she wanted to remain herself.
But... everything had a cost. Time changes nothing; a person only changes when they do things. She didn't want to do anything, just remain stagnant; even if time moved forward, she would never change. She would be calm, always peaceful, always childish, always innocent; that way she wouldn't understand what she didn't want to understand.
But she had to... she had to grow up.
Aurora was on the ground. At this point, she saw how the woman who had saved her was now engaged in combat with two oni knights, who had dismounted their kirins to attack her. She wielded a spear in one hand and a sword in the other.
Meanwhile, in the distance, a very tall man—though small compared to the oni knights—was fighting one. His body was practically broken and he could barely defend himself; it wouldn't be long before he died. She knew this somehow, though she didn't understand how.
She had to act, and fast.
The fire obeyed her command as always, as if it were natural, as if it had been waiting for her. The flames flooded the earth and consumed, not the oxygen in the air, but the spiritual energy. The white flames turned golden and, like a sea of fire, inundated everything.
She was controlling the flames around her, sending them in all directions, and without realizing it, she began to sing a hymn in a language as old as this realm, which only she could understand.
"Sacred flames of the sun, bathing heaven and earth, cover existence with your warmth from the high heavens."
The flames devoured the oni knights, entering through the cracks in their armor and masks. They entered their bodies, burning their insides as they consumed them from within; no one was spared, not even the beasts.
In a couple of breaths, all that remained were charred corpses and molten metal.
The battle was over.
She collapsed to the ground, drained of strength. Dazed, she tried to speak, to tell them to flee, to get out of there, to live somehow.
To her surprise, she managed to speak and, unlike before, she now understood them.
"Flee quickly, it will arrive soon, it will be too late."
The woman who had saved her frowned slightly as she cradled her body, which was losing more and more strength, until she felt that everything would soon be over.
"It's already too late," the woman whispered in a warm tone, reminding her of the warmth of a mother, if she ever had one perhaps in another life. "Rest, just close your eyes, everything will be fine."
She didn't want to close her eyes; it was terrifying. But, for some reason, she trusted her; despite not knowing her, despite not knowing her name, she obeyed and closed her eyes. She had finally fulfilled her dream: there would be no more changes or uncertainty, only peace. An eternity of peace.
But, for some reason, this empty silence felt more desolate than a cruel life.
...
He had felt the disturbance in the air; it was expected, yet at the same time unexpected.
The abnormality was inevitable. When time allows for any change, it is normal for chaos to occur, especially when chaos is the most likely disaster.
The palace of the solar demon, the sect director of the shadowy branch thought to himself, with a doubtful expression.
The disheveled-looking old man stared at his own desk; on it, there was nothing that echoed his powerful status.
Only a book.
But not an ordinary book. It was one of the few liber of its kind that existed in the world, and it was incomplete, but despite that...
He could see the secrets that many mortals and immortals desired with such intensity that the life and fall of millions of lives was irrelevant to them.
"Solar demon."
Those words materialized in front of him: a prediction, a memory, a reality.
Past, present, and future coexisted at the same time. For transcendent existences, ignoring their rules was as simple as ignoring hunger while fasting.
Although, obviously, much more difficult.
"A choice," murmured Turin Andre.
The old man had before him a view of different perspectives. Two faces looked at him with curiosity, two faces from another time and place.
All three felt the threat, but they also felt the cure.
They only had to sacrifice something.
"It's viable," said one of the faces, indistinguishable due to the distance, although the question would be whether the distance was spatial or temporal.
"Her death will bring more good than harm, and her life perhaps more harm than good," added the second voice.
"But her death will bring him back. Killing the only good thing left of him is the reason she exists in the first place," Turin replied.
"That is also true," the first voice said.
"But it's also an allowable risk. We don't underestimate his power, but in the worst-case scenario, we would only die."
"Are you not afraid of death?" Turin asked curiously.
"Afraid of it, yes," both voices said in unison.
"But desiring it more," they added in turn.
Turin remained silent. The book said nothing more than those cold words. The demonic realm would open no matter what; it was an insidious plan years in the making that had finally borne fruit.
And then Turin felt older than before, but at the same time, with a firmer resolve.
"It is finally time, Father," he murmured sadly. "I will finally be able to see you again."