Xin sat with his chin slightly dipped, eyes lowered in thought. Xin's fingers traced the edge of his seat, the cold stone biting into his skin. He felt small here, a speck in the vastness of the Theatre's silent grandeur, yet his heart thrummed with purpose.
He looked up at the man seated across from him.
"So… what kind of offers can people get here in this place?" he asked, his voice steady despite the weight of the moment. "I heard some come here to receive blessings from the Sovereigns?"
Shun chuckled softly, his voice like dry leaves brushing stone. "You came here without knowing the full picture, huh?"
Xin gave a slow nod. He wasn't offended by the observation. It was true, he had wandered into the Black Theatre with little more than fragmented knowledge, rumors of the place, and a purpose burning in his chest. Undertown's stories had painted the Theatre as a crucible of fates, a place where destinies were forged or shattered. He had heard of men and women who entered its halls and emerged as legends or never emerged at all. The tales had drawn him here, a moth to a flame, though he wasn't entirely sure what he sought. Not yet.
Shun leaned back in his seat, his fingers still curled loosely around a chipped crystalline table. Its surface caught the dim light, refracting it into a kaleidoscope of faint colors that danced across his weathered hands. He was older than Xin, his face lined with the scars of battles and years, but his eyes held a sharpness that belied his age. There was a weight to him, a quiet authority that made Xin feel like he was sitting across from a storm contained in human form.
"Let me start from the top then," Shun said, his tone measured, as if he were unraveling a tapestry one thread at a time. "As you already know, the progression of ranks from Balancer goes like this: First is Aetherion, then Sentinel. Most people barely reach that level. And then… Calamity."
Xin's brow furrowed slightly. The titles were familiar, but distant, like echoes from stories told in the shadowed alleys of Undertown. As a child, he had listened wide-eyed to tales of warriors who could sunder mountains and mages who wove spells that bent time itself. The ranks were more than titles—they were milestones of power, each one a testament to a person's ability to transcend their mortal limits. But Calamity… that was a word that carried a different weight. It was a name spoken in hushed tones, reserved for those who had become forces of nature.
"Calamity…" Xin murmured, almost to himself. "You mean like the Triad of Ruin?"
Shun raised an eyebrow, surprised the young man had even heard the name. "Exactly. The Triad of Ruin: Cole Blackburn, the Witch of Darkness, and Jin Lei. All of them Calamities, all of them legends."
Xin's eyes lit up at the mention, a spark of awe flickering in their depths. "I saw Cole and Jin during the Guild Wars at Oasis… just for a moment. Their presence felt like gravity itself bent around them. Like the air itself was heavier in their wake." His voice softened, tinged with something close to reverence. "But the Witch…" His words trailed off, clouded by mystery. "They say she was the one who led the Realm Invasion."
"She did," Shun said grimly, his tone carrying the weight of old wounds. "She was a demon masquerading as salvation. Some say she bathed in the screams of gods during that war. But that's just one story."
Xin absorbed the words, silently contemplating the truth buried in tales. The Realm Invasion was a wound in the world's history, a cataclysm that had reshaped nations and left scars on the fabric of reality itself. The Witch of Darkness was its architect, a figure shrouded in myth and terror. Some called her a savior who had sought to remake the world; others called her a destroyer who had brought it to the brink of ruin. Xin had heard both versions, whispered in the taverns and markets of Undertown, but the truth remained elusive, like smoke slipping through his fingers.
"The rest of the Crowns are also Calamities," Shun continued, his voice pulling Xin back to the present. "Though not all choose to make themselves known. Their numbers are few, and their appearances… even fewer."
He paused, then leaned forward, his eyes locking onto Xin's with an intensity that made the younger man's breath catch. The air seemed to grow colder, the shadows deeper, as if the Theatre itself were listening.
"But what you asked about...the Sovereigns. They're not the same as Calamities. They're something else entirely."
Xin leaned in, his curiosity a living thing now, clawing at the edges of his mind. "What are they?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Shun's gaze didn't waver. "The Sovereigns," he said, "are gods in all but name. Divine architects of this realm. They don't lead armies or crush nations with their fists. They don't need to. They influence reality itself—its laws, its flows, its very essence. They're the ones who set the stars in motion and wove the threads of fate. And sometimes, if they favor you, they grant blessings—divine protections that can elevate you beyond mortality. Powers that can make an Aetherion rival a Calamity, or a mortal stand against a god."
Xin's heart quickened, a pulse of excitement mingling with unease. The idea of such power was intoxicating, but it came with a shadow. Nothing so grand could be without cost.
"And if you truly gain their favor…" Shun continued, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, "they may even grant you a wish."
Xin's breath caught in his throat. "A wish?" The word felt heavy on his tongue, like a stone dropped into still water.
Shun nodded, his expression unreadable. "Something sacred. Rare. And often paid for in blood, devotion, or something worse. There are entire factions...orders, cults, guilds, that exist solely to pursue Sovereign blessings. Some people train their entire lives, sacrifice everything, just to stand before one. Most are never even acknowledged. The Sovereigns don't care for the unworthy."
His words hung heavy with implication. Xin's mind raced, conjuring images of cloaked figures kneeling before altars of starlight, of warriors bleeding out in forgotten temples, all in pursuit of a fleeting chance at divine favor. He wondered what kind of person could earn such a gift—and what kind of price they would pay.
The silence stretched, broken only by the faint glow of the crystalline table between them. Xin's thoughts churned, piecing together fragments of stories and rumors. He had come to the Black Theatre seeking… something. Answers, perhaps. Power, maybe. Or a path to a destiny he could only dimly sense. But now, sitting across from Shun, he felt the weight of his own ignorance. The Theatre was a place of choices, and he had yet to understand what he was choosing.
He looked up, his voice quiet but curious. "So… which Sovereign are you seeking?"
Shun shook his head, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I'm not going to the Sovereigns."
Xin blinked, caught off guard. "Then what are you after?"
Shun's eyes burned with a quiet intensity, a fire that seemed to draw the light from the room. He leaned forward, his voice hushed, reverent, as if speaking the name might summon its power.
"I'm seeking the progenitors of dragons," he said. "The Dragon Primordial."