In the Hall of Stars
Beyond matter, beyond time, in a place no mortal tongue could describe, the Monarchs and Rulers gathered once more.
It was a chamber suspended in space, orbiting the corpse of a dead reality — the remains of a universe erased by vote.
Seven golden thrones lined one side, each shaped uniquely to reflect its ruler:
Razor, the Blade-Born — seated on a throne of molten edges.
Ion, the Star-Caster — his chair pulsed with white gravity.
Others, silent but watchful — keepers of law since creation's breath.
Across from them, thirteen crimson thrones blazed:
Obraen, the Blood Monarch.
Cyrthien, the Pale Thorn.
The rest — ancient lords of will, entropy, and dream.
Between them floated a single point of trembling light: the memory of Carsious stopping a falling stone in his sleep.
"A child," Razor said. "And yet already bending matter."
"A weapon made without a master," said Cyrthien.
"The Fracture," whispered Ion. "It's real."
Silence thickened.
Then Obraen spoke.
"The Watcher failed. This world must end."
A heavy pause.
Even some of the Rulers hesitated. It was no small thing to erase a kingdom — a final act with no undoing.
"If we do this," said Razor quietly, "we do not return."
"Then summon the blade," Obraen hissed.
A single word was spoken — not heard, not remembered — and space split open.
From the breach emerged a colossal being wrapped in silver flame, taller than any mountain, with a face like a dying sun and eyes like black mirrors:
Graxunar, the Divine General.
He had been used only four times in recorded eternity.
When he moved, stars shook.
When he breathed, galaxies bowed.
He stood at the edge of the council. His feet never touched the stone. He bowed to none.
"Why am I summoned?"
"Destroy the kingdom of Xandria," they answered together."Erase the boy."
He nodded once.
Then disappeared.
The Last Night of Xandria
Wind changed that evening.
It was warm — too warm. The sky above Xandria turned a strange, deep orange, like the sun had slowed. Birds flew low. Dogs howled at nothing. Horses refused their reins.
In the capital, torches flickered in patterns no man had lit.
The priests locked themselves in the temples.The Arcanists went silent in their towers.The King, bruised and still healing, stood atop the palace gates with his hand on his sword.
Queen Liora sang to her child, her voice strong but her hands trembling.
Far above them all, the sky split open — not with thunder, but with silence.
And through it stepped Graxunar.
No horn announced him. No army marched. He needed none.
He stood above the city, suspended in place — a figure of impossible size and weight, yet utterly still.
Time slowed. Wind stopped.
He raised his right hand.
The city vanished.
Not burned. Not broken.
Unwritten.
Palaces, walls, rivers — gone in less than a breath.
The southern legions in their barracks never screamed.The mages mid-chant dissolved mid-thought.The bells of the cathedral rang once, then fell silent forever.
Within seconds, only the throne room remained — cracked, crumbling, lit by dim light through broken columns.
The Throne Room
Altherion crawled toward the ruined dais, his armor blackened, one leg twisted. Blood pooled behind him.
Liora crouched over the cradle, her arm shielding Carsious even as dust fell from above.
Graxunar entered without a door — simply stepping forward into being.
The floor shook with his presence.
The King raised his blade with trembling fingers.
"If… you must kill someone," he rasped, "take me."
"The child… he doesn't even know what he is."
"You fear him," the Queen said, rising. "But he has done nothing."
"We offer you this," she said, removing her ring — her last heirloom — and placing it in her palm. "And this," Altherion said, sliding his sword across the ground. "Let our legacy be placed in his hands… if not our lives."
Graxunar approached the child.
His shadow covered the room.
The boy lay quietly, violet eyes barely open. He looked at Graxunar with no fear — no understanding — just curiosity.
Then… the Divine General did something strange.
He knelt.
He touched the boy's forehead gently.
Inside Graxunar's mind, thousands of battles, screams, and final words had left scars. He had never hesitated, never wept.
But something about the child stirred a memory — of silence before creation… of possibility.
"He did not choose to be born," Graxunar said softly."And yet he is the reason kings kneel and stars fall."
He turned to the Queen.
"Your kingdom is no more. Your names will fade from stone."
To the King:
"Your sword will never be sung. Your body will not be found."
They said nothing. Their eyes said everything.
He looked to the child.
"But this one will be remembered."
He reached forward, and took Carsious into his arms.
The child did not cry.
"I will take him where none can follow. I will teach him nothing. I will guard him… until the day he decides what he is."
And in a beam of light without sound, Graxunar vanished into the space between worlds.
Leaving behind ash.
And silence.