In the depths of the Celestial Citadel, where stars hung like chandeliers and rivers of light flowed across marble floors, the air trembled with unease.
For the first time in over three centuries…
The Watcher's Bell tolled.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
The Archons of Heaven gathered in silence—tall, faceless beings wrapped in divine flame, halos cracked and spinning slowly above their heads. They circled the Solar Throne, where no one had sat since the day Velzaria was cast from the heavens.
Until now.
A presence filled the throne.
Blinding. Cruel. Infinite.
It spoke not with words, but with command.
> "The seal weakens."
One of the Archons knelt. "The Queen of Ash rises."
> "Her Hand moves swiftly. Three clans have already bent. The Nightborn, the Thorns, the Ashblood…"
Another Archon stepped forward. "Shall we deploy legions?"
> "No," the voice answered. "Too slow. Too visible."
A pause.
> "Send the Spear."
The Archons froze.
> "Are you certain?" one asked. "The last time the Spear was loosed…"
> "It did not fail," the throne replied. "It shattered empires. It will break the Shadow before the flame spreads."
The air quivered.
A name echoed through the realm:
> "Seraphiel."
Far below, in the mortal realm—beneath a storm of stars—a man awoke in a crater of light.
His hair was white as snow, eyes burning gold. Wings of pure flame erupted from his back, and in his hand appeared a spear forged from the core of a dead star.
He opened his eyes.
> "The Queen's shadow will fall," he said.
And then he vanished into the wind.
---
Meanwhile…
Aeron stood at the highest tower of Thornmar, watching the night sky pulse with red streaks of magic. The empire was stirring beneath him—beasts being tamed, warriors drilling, war councils forming.
Velzaria approached from behind, robes dark as the void between stars.
> "Three clans. One city," she said. "The pieces are falling into place."
> "Not fast enough," Aeron replied. "We need the veil broken. We need Vaelinth."
Velzaria stared toward the horizon, her lips curving faintly.
> "Then we let the fire spread. One more week. And I will unleash my full wrath."
But before Aeron could reply…
He felt it.
A tear in the air.
Something ancient and holy ripping through the sky like a blade.
He turned toward the horizon—and saw a streak of light falling from the heavens, trailing thunder and flame.
> "What is that?" he asked.
Velzaria's eyes narrowed.
> "Something that hasn't walked this world since my fall."
The impact came miles away—but the tremor rocked the land like an earthquake. Towers swayed. Birds scattered. Magic rippled through the ground like a scream.
> "They've sent a Seraph," Velzaria said. "Heaven has broken its silence."
Aeron's jaw clenched.
> "Then let them speak."
> "No," she said darkly. "Let them bleed."
The land still smoked.
Ash drifted down from the heavens like poisoned snow, blanketing the cragged ridge above Stormfall Hollow, where the divine meteor had struck.
Aeron stood at the edge of the crater, cloak snapping in the wind, his blade-arm flexing restlessly.
Beside him, Vandrak sniffed the air.
> "Doesn't smell like fire."
> "No," Aeron replied. "It smells like judgment."
The crater wasn't empty.
At its center stood a lone figure—barefoot, bare-chested, bloodless. Skin pale as frost. Hair glowing faintly gold. A long, slender spear rested at his side, its tip burning without flame—a kind of holy heat that didn't need fire to destroy.
His wings were not feathered.
They were carved from light. Bladed, symmetrical, inhuman.
> "Is that…?" Vandrak asked.
> "Seraphiel," Aeron said quietly. "Heaven's first spear."
As if hearing his name, the figure turned.
Eyes like dying stars locked with Aeron's.
Then, without a word, he vanished.
> "Move!" Aeron shouted.
Too late.
Seraphiel reappeared mid-air, descending like a comet, spear crashing into the earth between them. The explosion sent Vandrak flying into a cliff face, while Aeron barely raised a wall of shadow in time to block the impact.
It still cracked his ribs.
Seraphiel didn't gloat. Didn't curse. Didn't monologue.
He just stepped forward, spear dripping golden energy.
> "You carry her mark," he said. His voice was soft—but absolute. "You are unworthy."
> "Then why not end me?" Aeron growled.
> "I intend to."
Seraphiel charged.
Their blades met—light versus shadow, blinding-fast, a blur of perfect precision against brutal adaptability. Aeron struck wide, feinted low, wrapped shadows around Seraphiel's legs—but the spear moved like a thought, parrying each strike and slicing apart Aeron's tricks as if they were illusions.
Every blow pushed Aeron back.
Every parry cracked the ground.
Vandrak lunged from behind—roaring, his massive sword descending—
Only for Seraphiel to twist, leap, and drive the butt of his spear into Vandrak's helmet, shattering it like porcelain.
The wraith general hit the ground, unmoving.
Aeron's rage flared.
> "You're not a champion," he spat. "You're just a sword on a leash."
> "I am a mercy," Seraphiel replied, eyes glowing. "One the world no longer deserves."
Then he drove forward—impaling Aeron through the side.
Pain.
Blinding.
He dropped to one knee, shadows failing to wrap around the wound. Seraphiel stood over him, lifting his spear for the finishing strike.
> "You will die forgotten. Just like your Queen."
And in that moment…
The air split.
A scream—low, ancient, female—ripped through the crater.
Velzaria.
Not in body.
In power.
She descended like nightfall, her presence a shroud of obliteration. The ground iced over. The stars dimmed.
And Seraphiel… paused.
For the first time, his perfect expression cracked.
Velzaria's voice filled the crater:
> "Touch him again… and I will remind Heaven what war tastes like."
The shadows coiled around Aeron's body—lifting him, healing him, rebuilding him with pure wrath.
His wounds sealed. His mask returned. His breath sharpened.
And Seraphiel took a single step back.
> "The seal is weakening," he said flatly. "That's impossible."
> "It's not a seal anymore," Aeron growled.
"It's a door."
A blast of shadow exploded from Aeron's chest—driving Seraphiel across the crater, crashing into the opposite ridge.
But when the dust cleared…
He was gone.
Not dead.
Not beaten.
Just… watching now.
Waiting.
The storm hadn't left.
Since Seraphiel's descent, the sky above Thornmar remained split—half ash, half blinding gold. Heaven watched.
But so did the Queen of Ash.
And Velzaria was done watching.
> "No more shadows," she said, her voice echoing through the high tower. "It's time the world sees the flame."
The war table flared to life beneath her hand, and a new mark appeared—Hallowgrave, a city nestled at the edge of the human kingdoms.
It was no fortress.
No bastion of knights or swords.
It was something worse:
> "A sanctuary," she spat. "A temple-city built to feed the gods. Every child raised there is bound by holy script. Every mother bleeds her prayers into altars."
She turned to Aeron.
> "You want to burn the veil?"
Aeron nodded.
> "Then we start with the lies they built on our corpses."
---
Two nights later...
The skies over Hallowgrave cracked with thunder—not divine, but demonic.
The Court of Ash had arrived.
Ashblood berserkers rode siege beasts made of bone and hellfire.
Nightborn assassins slipped through walls like oil through silk.
And the Obsidian Thorns marched as armored phantoms, their spiked banners glowing red.
Aeron stood at the front—not behind the army.
Leading it.
His cloak billowed as his voice cut through the storm.
> "The gods abandoned mercy the moment they raised their Spear. Now we raise the price."
The gate priests screamed, calling on the light.
But no fire answered.
Only shadow.
Velzaria herself descended atop the central spire—a vision of wrath and majesty, her wings of bone and black flame unfolding wide as the cathedral beneath her shattered like glass.
> "This is not a siege," she whispered.
> "This is judgment."
---
The battle wasn't fair.
It wasn't holy.
It was message.
Temples burned.
Clergy wept as their relics cracked and bled.
The holy bell tower—a symbol of the gods' eternal presence—was split in two by a single strike from Vandrak, his sword coated in radiant ichor.
Xyreya personally assassinated three Archbishops in under ten minutes.
But the people weren't all soldiers.
Some were just... believers.
Mothers. Children. The elderly.
Aeron stood in their path—his blade raised.
He didn't speak.
But he hesitated.
Until one of the priests spat at him.
> "You're no king. You're just her pet."
A child behind him screamed the name of their god.
And Aeron knew:
They wouldn't stop praying.
Even in fire.
Even in ruin.
Because they'd rather kneel to nothing than rise for truth.
He turned away—leaving the innocents alive.
> "Let them live," he told his army. "Let them witness."
Velzaria watched from above, her face unreadable.
Later, she approached him alone—atop the burned ruins of the Hallowgrave cathedral.
> "You spared them."
> "I didn't spare them," Aeron said. "I sentenced them to memory."
Velzaria tilted her head.
> "You're not what I expected."
> "I'm not what they remember," he replied. "And I'm not done."
He pointed to the south—toward Vaelinth.
The true divine stronghold.
> "One more city."
> "Then the seal dies," Velzaria whispered.
> "And the gods burn."
The ash cloud thickened.
And high above…
Seraphiel watched.
Silently.
Unmoving.
But no longer confident.
---