Above the Plane of Dominion, where time flowed like molten glass and reason bent to the will of higher laws, the great bastion of House Seraphiel stood in stern defiance of chaos. It was a sanctified citadel sculpted from radiant stoned mined from the inner crust of collapsed stars. Every column hummed with law; every chamber echoes with the will of its masters.
And yet, on this day, serenity fractured.
Cherubim Alzurael, Warden of Secrets, Keeper of the Eastern Chorus, and soverign of House Seraphiel sat upon a throne woven from binding light. His thousand wings were folded tightly behind him, every feather emanating grim fury. Beneath the solemn arches of the Harmonic Hall, gathered the heads of nine Ducal Houses-Thrones each had been summoned under emergency writ. These were not mere figureheads; they governed domains vaster than galaxies. Yet in the presence of Alzurael, even their brilliance dimmed.
"We are betrayed," Alzurael vegan without preamble, his voice descending in waves that distorted the very perception of reality. "House Empyrean has moved upon Earth."
A murmur broke across the assembled. Murmurs were rare among Thrones, every breath was usually measured, carrying with it a politically correct tone.
"They seek elevation," said Duchess Virael of House Solanon, her crystalline form pulsing with heat. "Their ambition was known. But Earth-"
"Is forbidden," Alzurael spat, the word shattering into sonic shards that required recalibration of reality to mend. "They breached the Decree of Inheritance."
"But why?" asked Lord Caeltheron of House Thamir, leaning forward. "They must know the risk. No house, not Dominion, not Throne may claim Earth."
A pause befell the chamber, then the unspoken truth was voiced. "They must know something," muttered one of the lesser Thrones. "Something buried."
Alzurael's wings twitched, and shadows danced across his face. "Precisely. We did not seal Earth to protect it. They must know we sealed it because it protects something else."
Silence fell once more, but this time heavier.
"Khaliel has provoked war," said Duchess Virael. "And yet he moves as if his victory is assured. That should trouble us more than the violation itself."
Another murmured assent. But beneath their words, something darker stirred; not merely outrage, but fear.
Alzurael turned toward the great star-map unfolding in the chamber's air. He motioned, and it twisted to reveal Earth's Nexus. His voice now softened with something cold.
"The Confluence Thread is unraveling. If they unseal what lies beneath that world.... the balance may not hold."
A single question remained unspoken, shivering beneath every sentence:
"What did the Seraphim hide on Earth?"
Salt Lake City, Utah.
The wind was calm. The sky, innocent. But reality had begun to erode.
Above the Rockies, a thunderless storm churned, black clouds spiraling in fractal geometries, lightening flashing with no sound, only emotion. Satellites shorted. Radios screamed static, as the innocents drove unaware of the fate about to befall their planet.
A shimmer tore open above the stratosphere, and from it descended a gleaming vessel, faceted like an impossible gemstone, its surface constantly rewriting itself. It did not fall, rather it entered, folding through dimensional fabric with practiced ease.
Militaries across the globe immediately were alerted and Air Forces scrambled their fighters to investigate, missiles armed and emergency protocols though to be never needed were activated.
But none of it mattered. The vessel never retaliated instead, it simply existed, a sovereign truth imposed on a world never meant to witness it.
Across the world, similar events unfolded: in Kyoto, Nairobi, Reykjavik, buenos Aires, each a point of resonance in House Empyreans celestial arrays. The harmonic structure of Earth's confluence was being activated, not assaulted.
In the eyes of the humans, it was an invasion but to House Empyrean, it was an orchestration.
In a Dimensional Outpost controlled by the Empyreans, Lord Khaliel stood in the center of a crystalline command chamber, cloaked in ceremonial regalia that thrummed with cosmic rhythm. His eyes watched Earth through a viewport not made of glass, but folded perception. Around him, his commanders moved with precise, silent reverence.
Khaliel did not see Earth as home, nor a conquest.
He saw it as structure. A foundation encoded by a force long buried, perhaps by the Divine themselves. Humans were variables. Movable, malleable but not insignificant and definitely not precious.
"They will resist," said General Serach, one of Khaliel's most trusted advisors.
He nodded. "Let them. Resistance clarifies what matters. And every blow they strike affirms our necessity."
He turned toward the arrays now seeded in the Earth's magnetic field.
"Begin the extraction cycle. Seed the dreams. Let them see us as not angels or monsters, but an inevitability."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Inside a Denver hospital, news broadcasts screamed contradictory headlines.
PENTAGON SILENT ON GLOBAL CRISIS
CELESTIALS APPEAR OVER SKIES?
IS THIS FIRST CONTACT? OR LAST?
One by one the news poured in and the headlines only grew despair in the hearts of the populus. People prayed. Riots taking place on the streets and politicians emerged from their safe havens in attempts to reassure their constituents, but the internet groaned under the weight of existential panic.
Others, those who were attuned in ways they couldn't explain, fell into seizures, seeing winged figures burning through clouds in their minds.
In the streets, one could take a look and immediately garner the despair that has taken hold of an entire race, however, they were not being attacked nor contacted. The invaders made no demands. They didn't destroy, they were here to replace.
Control towers stopped responding, not destroyed but reassigned. Currency began failing, not through sabotage, but through the nullification of its abstract value in celestial harmonic fields. Days went by and languages subtly began shifting. Small differences at first, syntax, rhythm, tone. It became apparent to some that Earth was not being killed, it was being rewritten.
And in that rewriting, humanity began to frac ture.
Some looked to fight. Militias formed. Governments activated black protocols. Others collapsed into cult-like worship, declaring the return of the divine. Yet the silence of House Empyrean offered no comfort as these were not Gods. They offered no salvation, only procedure.
Far above, in the folds of dimension between time ticks, Khaliel watched as Earth's resistance flickered against the quiet grandeur of celestial law.
"It begins," he said to no one in particular.
But behind his confidence, a flicker of strain remained. His evolution pulsed deeper as his body resisted the confines of its physical containment.
And far across the void, in secret chambers beyond even Seraphiel's reach, a Seraphim stirred.
Not in anger.
But in preparation.