The stars pulse beneath my feet.
Not metaphorically. Literally. I stand atop a platform suspended in an endless void of constellations, light flowing like rivers of liquid time beneath my heels. It's a throne, though there is no chair. No walls. No audience. Just me, the cosmos, and the silence.
And her.
She kneels—head bowed, body still as a statue carved from moonlight. Her silver hair drapes over armor made of crystalline threads, and her eyes, though hidden behind long lashes, radiate tension.
"Please speak, my Lord. Your silence weighs heavier than judgment."
My throat is dry. Words. What am I supposed to say? I was just a guy. A college dropout who worked night shifts at a convenience store, played Genshin on a cracked tablet, and daydreamed about being anything else.
Now I'm a god?
No, worse.
The thing that commands gods.
"You said... I'm the Heavenly Principle?"
She flinches, ever so slightly. "You are more. You are the Throne. The Law. The unseen hand that has always been."
Yeah, well, news to me. My hands tremble, but my voice strengthens. "I don't remember being that. I don't remember anything."
"Then your mortal memories persist. That is... unexpected."
Unexpected. She says it like it's a glitch. A bug in the code. My very existence right now shouldn't be.
"What is this place? Where am I?"
She raises her head now. Her eyes are not quite human—pupils like eclipses, irises that shimmer with star-fire. "You reside in Celestia's Inner Court. Where time is unborn and laws unformed. The birthplace of the Divine Mandate."
I blink. Hard. That doesn't help.
"So I'm in... space? Heaven? A pocket dimension?"
She tilts her head. "You are above all those things."
Helpful.
Before I can ask more, the platform begins to shift. Rings of celestial runes orbit outward, circling us like gears in an ancient clock. A pulse reverberates through my bones. I hear voices—not speaking, but singing. A choir without a mouth.
She rises slowly. "Teyvat stirs. The elements churn wild and unbound. The world below requires a shaper. A law. A Principle."
"And that's... me?"
"It must be. You were chosen."
I want to argue. To tell her there's been some cosmic mistake. But I feel it now. Deep inside my chest. A pressure—not pain, not fear, but presence. Like my very soul has become a mountain, and the world is trying to balance on it.
I stare at my hands. They glow faintly—lines of light tracing veins like leyline circuits.
"What happened to the last Heavenly Principle?"
She is silent for a moment too long.
"There was none before you. Not truly. The world has followed fragments of your Will... echoes. Now you have returned. The Real and Whole."
Returned.
The word gnaws at me. Like I'm not some lucky reincarnate, but a reboot of something ancient. Something dangerous.
Suddenly, she drops to one knee again, head bowed. "The proto-Archons gather below. War simmers between the sovereigns of shade and flame. Chaos approaches. Your guidance is required."
A map unfolds between us—not paper, not hologram, but memory. Teyvat. Not the one I know. No cities. No Mondstadt spires or Inazuman islands. Just raw landmasses and elemental storms.
"If I were to... give law," I say slowly, "what would that mean?"
She lifts her head, eyes glowing. "It would mean balance. Order. The mortals would receive Visions from your Will. Gods would rise with your blessing. And rebellion... would be punished."
I frown. "Rebellion against what?"
"Against you."
My breath hitches. There it is. The seed of tyranny, wrapped in prophecy.
She continues, "They will defy you. One day. Even those blessed with your gifts. But if your hand is steady now, your reign eternal, then Celestia will stand untouchable."
I step back. The glowing platform responds—dimples beneath me like reacting to my fear.
I came from a world of choice. Freedom. Flawed as it was, at least we had that.
And now I'm supposed to build a world without it?
"What if I don't want to be some cosmic jailor?"
She tilts her head. "Then the world will devour itself."
The memory-map shudders. Entire regions flicker—fire engulfing forests, water erasing entire coastlines. Titans of raw elements clash like children with no rules. No purpose.
"So... I shape the rules," I murmur, trying to steady my thoughts.
"Yes."
"Then let's start with one." I stare into her eclipse-like eyes. "No blind obedience. Gods, mortals, Archons—whoever they are—should choose their path."
She blinks. Slowly. "A dangerous choice. But... yours."
The platform stills.
Then it descends.
As we fall through layers of light and memory, the constellations rearrange. I feel them form something new—an edict, a law.
And for the first time, I feel like I am the Principle.
Not a ruler. Not a god.
But a storyteller.
And the world below?
A blank page.