The sky cracked on the day Caelum Ardent was condemned.
Not metaphorically.
Not in the way poets described tragedy.
The heavens themselves split open.
A seam of blinding gold tore across the firmament above Aethernal, the Eternal City suspended upon floating continents of crystal and light. The sacred barrier that had shielded the empire for millennia trembled like glass under strain. Choirs of celestial energy shrieked as if something divine had been wounded.
Below that ruptured sky, in the center of the Grand Ascension Plaza, a young man knelt in chains forged from condensed starlight.
Caelum Ardent.
Crown Prince of the Celestial Empire.
Prodigy of the Heavenly Flame.
Heir to the Throne of Radiance.
And today—
Traitor.
The plaza was vast enough to hold a hundred thousand citizens. Every terrace and balcony carved from luminous marble overflowed with spectators. Winged nobles hovered in midair, their halos shimmering faintly behind their heads. High-ranking priests formed circles of silver sigils. The Imperial Guard stood motionless in radiant armor that reflected the fractured sky above.
At the center, beneath twelve towering pillars representing the Twelve Primordial Constellations, Caelum knelt upon a circular seal etched with ancient runes.
Chains of Astral Binding wrapped around his wrists, suppressing his core.
The suppression was unnecessary.
He wasn't resisting.
He lifted his head slowly.
Blood trickled from a cut at his brow. His black hair—once neatly tied in royal fashion—hung loose around his face. But his eyes—
His eyes still burned gold.
Not the soft gold of sunlight.
The violent gold of a star about to go supernova.
High above, seated upon a throne formed from crystallized divine energy, the Celestial Emperor regarded him without expression.
Emperor Aurelius Ardent.
Ruler of the Upper Realm.
Warden of the Three Worlds.
His father.
"Caelum Ardent," the Emperor's voice boomed, amplified by the Heavenly Resonance Array, "you stand accused of stealing the Origin Flame, desecrating the Sanctum of Genesis, and conspiring with forces of the Nether Realm."
A wave of whispers rippled across the plaza.
The Origin Flame.
The heart of the empire.
The source of celestial cultivation.
The stabilizer of the Three Realms.
Without it, the Heavenly Veil would weaken. Monsters from the Void would sense the imbalance. The delicate equilibrium between Upper Realm, Mortal Realm, and Nether Realm would collapse.
It was not a crime.
It was apocalypse.
Caelum's lips parted.
"I did not take it."
His voice was not loud.
But it carried.
Perhaps because silence had already fallen so completely that even breath sounded intrusive.
From the right side of the throne platform, a man stepped forward.
White robes. Silver embroidery. Hair like falling snow. A gentle smile carved upon a face too perfect to trust.
Archon Lucerius.
Grand Strategist of the Empire.
Master of the Constellation Archive.
Caelum's mentor since childhood.
"The evidence is irrefutable," Lucerius said softly, yet his voice projected flawlessly across the plaza. "The Sanctum recognized only imperial blood. On the night the Origin Flame vanished, Crown Prince Caelum was the sole bearer of such blood within the chamber."
Murmurs grew sharper.
Suspicion hardened into belief.
Caelum stared at Lucerius.
For just an instant, the man's smile shifted.
Satisfaction.
That was when understanding struck.
This had been arranged.
The night before, Lucerius had summoned him to the Sanctum under the pretense of teaching him an advanced flame-harmonization technique. The chamber had been empty. The flame stable.
But when Caelum stepped forward—
The light flickered.
A strange resonance pulsed through his veins.
Then—
Darkness.
When he awoke, the chamber was in chaos. Priests screaming. The Origin Flame gone.
He had been unconscious for less than a minute.
Long enough.
"A father does not wish to judge his own son," Emperor Aurelius continued, his voice steady, distant. "But the Empire stands above blood."
Caelum felt something twist in his chest—not fear.
Disappointment.
"You raised me to protect this realm," Caelum said, his gaze locked on the Emperor. "You taught me the Oath of Radiance before I could walk."
The Emperor's expression did not change.
"If you are innocent," Aurelius declared, "then the Heavens shall vindicate you."
A massive sigil ignited beneath Caelum's knees.
Gasps erupted.
The Seal of Celestial Exile.
It had not been used in eight thousand years.
Exile was not imprisonment.
It was judgment by survival.
"You will be cast into the Nether Realm," the Emperor proclaimed. "Should you endure and return with proof of your innocence, your title shall be restored."
Everyone understood the unspoken truth.
No one returned from the Nether Realm.
The Nether Realm was not merely a lower plane.
It was corruption incarnate.
A world where divine energy decayed into miasma. Where ancient war remnants still wandered. Where fallen deities' corpses rotted into sentient nightmares.
It devoured the weak.
It reshaped the strong.
Caelum exhaled slowly.
If this was Lucerius's plan, then simple death would not satisfy him.
He wanted erasure.
Public disgrace.
Total annihilation.
Very well.
Then Caelum would refuse to disappear.
The sigil flared brighter.
Chains tightened.
Pain lanced through his meridians as the Astral Binding dug into his cultivation core.
Above him, the cracked sky widened.
Golden light twisted into spiraling vortexes.
Energy gathered.
At the edge of the platform, Lucerius stepped closer.
He lowered his voice—just enough for only Caelum to hear.
"Forgive me, Your Highness," he murmured. "The Empire requires a sovereign unburdened by compassion."
Cold realization pierced deeper than any blade.
Lucerius wanted the throne.
And Caelum, with his refusal to execute conquered rebels, his insistence on reforming cultivation access for commoners—
He was an obstacle.
"You miscalculated," Caelum whispered back.
Lucerius's brow lifted slightly.
"I survive."
Then the world shattered.
Light engulfed him.
Sound vanished.
Gravity reversed.
He felt himself ripped through layers of reality, his body compressed into a beam of divine force hurled downward through dimensions.
The last thing he saw—
Was Lucerius smiling.
Darkness welcomed him.
Not empty darkness.
Living darkness.
Caelum crashed into stone.
The impact broke ribs.
Air left his lungs in a violent gasp. His chains dissolved upon entry, but the suppression remained embedded in his meridians like poison.
He forced his eyes open.
The sky above was not sky.
It was a swirling mass of crimson clouds streaked with black lightning. The air reeked of iron and decay.
Jagged mountains pierced the horizon like broken teeth.
The Nether Realm.
He tried to circulate celestial energy.
Nothing answered.
His core was silent.
A faint laugh echoed in the distance.
Low. Guttural. Inhuman.
Then came the sound of movement.
Heavy.
Multiple.
Shapes emerged from the shadows between cracked pillars of obsidian ruins.
Creatures twisted beyond recognition—once humanoid, now warped by centuries of miasma. Skin gray and split. Eyes glowing sickly green. Claws dragging across stone.
Netherborn.
They smelled weakness.
And he reeked of divine energy.
One lunged.
Caelum rolled instinctively, pain exploding through his side. He grabbed a shard of broken obsidian and drove it upward into the creature's throat.
Black ichor sprayed.
The creature shrieked—but did not die.
It grabbed his shoulder and hurled him against a fractured wall.
Something snapped.
His vision blurred.
More approached.
He couldn't outfight them.
Not like this.
His core was suppressed. His ribs broken. His spiritual channels locked.
So he did the only thing left.
He reached inward.
Past suppression.
Past silence.
Into memory.
He remembered the night Lucerius guided him through advanced flame resonance.
That flicker.
That pulse.
The Origin Flame had reacted to him.
Not resisted.
Responded.
A fragment.
Something had entered him.
He had felt warmth in his chest for a split second before darkness.
Now—
In the abyss of his inner world—
He felt it again.
A spark.
Tiny.
Faint.
But alive.
The Netherborn lunged together.
Caelum inhaled sharply.
"If you're there," he muttered internally, "answer me."
The spark flared.
Pain tore through his entire being as the suppression seal cracked.
Just slightly.
A thread of golden fire slipped through.
It was not stable.
Not controlled.
But it was enough.
Flames erupted from his palm—not the pure gold of celestial light.
But gold laced with black.
The Netherborn recoiled, screeching as the fire touched them. Instead of purifying them, the flame devoured their corruption and grew darker at its edges.
Caelum stared at his hand.
This was not the Heavenly Flame he had mastered.
This was—
Something else.
The spark pulsed again.
Not just a fragment.
The Origin Flame had not been stolen.
It had chosen.
And it had chosen him.
The ground trembled.
A roar echoed from deeper within the ruins.
Far larger than the Netherborn.
Far older.
Something had sensed the awakening.
Caelum forced himself upright despite broken bones and searing meridians.
Blood dripped from his lips.
Above, crimson lightning forked across the sky.
"So this is exile," he murmured.
He looked toward the distant black horizon where colossal skeletal structures pierced the skyline.
Then he smiled.
Not gently.
Not kindly.
But with promise.
"You wanted to erase me," he whispered into the wind, as if Lucerius could hear across realms.
"You should have made sure I died."
The golden-black flame coiled around his arm like a serpent awakening from hibernation.
Behind him, in the shattered ruins, ancient symbols began to glow faintly—as if recognizing something long forgotten.
Far above, beyond layers of reality, the fractured heavens trembled again.
Because somewhere in the Nether Realm—
A Sovereign had just been reborn.