It was a quiet day—more tranquil than those fraught with unresolvable moral conflicts.
In the center of a vast mansion stood a training ground paved with alternating white and red marble, its surface polished to a mirror-like gleam. This courtyard existed solely for sparring and honing one's craft.
Mangus stood at its center, gripping his greatsword—fashioned from a high–grade alloy—while wearing weighted training gauntlets, each bearing a hundred kilograms of counterweight. He was deep into his routine: swing after swing, reinforcing muscle memory. By now, he had performed ten thousand repetitions.
Maximus strolled along the edge of the courtyard as idle pastime. He had swiftly established his clan's presence on Ecliptaris with the aid of Nayxria's elemental magic, but today he sought distraction.
Mangus glanced up and called out, voice loud over the hushed wind. "Why not do a quick sweat training session, brat?"
Maximus paused, leaning on the hilt of his sword. "I'm too old to be called a brat, big brother."
Mangus stopped his sword swings and planted the tip of his blade into the marble floor, smirking. "Oh? Then show me something above brat level, Maximus."
Maximus sheathed his sword, closed his eyes briefly to gather mana, and then drew it again as a bluish aura flickered around its edge. He darted forward. "Sure, you grown child."
Mangus's sword erupted in crimson flame—like a hellfire inferno—but Mangus himself was no slouch; as a first‐rank Sword Grandmaster, he had honed his form to razor‐sharp precision.
In a blink, Mangus swung his blade from left to right in a wide U‐shaped arc, generating a barrier of compressed air so thick that it diffused the force of Maximus's approach, distributing it evenly across its length.
Maximus responded by expanding his aura, unleashing a rapid series of slashes. Yet despite his speed, not even a single strand of Mangus's hair quivered under the onslaught.
Thanks to the sword arts taught by Lucian, Mangus had reached the principal limits of human potential. This allowed him to slip through narrow openings—gaps that only larger or exceedingly sharp attacks could penetrate.
Breathing heavily, Maximus resorted to his magic: he summoned conflagrating waves of flame that roared like ocean whirlpools. The inferno coiled around Mangus in a colossal sphere, dragging Maximus into its centre as well, constricting his own space to force Mangus's surrender.
Mangus smiled—a flash of annoyance evident in his narrowed eyes.
With a sudden convulsion of mana, he ruptured the flame sphere at its core. Before Maximus could react, Mangus appeared behind him in a heartbeat, slicing the magical barrier in two. He pressed the tip of his sword gently yet insistently against Maximus's throat. "That should be enough for a little workout, Maximus."
From a stone pillar on the periphery of the courtyard, Aurelius watched, arms crossed, then offered a single, deliberate clap. "Such an entertaining display, Mister Rutherford."
Mangus had sensed no presence beyond Maximus until Aurelius spoke. He still lacked any means other than sight to detect another's presence. "Thanks for the compliment, Aurelius."
Aurelius strode forward and drew a dark red longsword—its blade bearing the Blackthrone sigil etched in silver. The weapon was sheathed in an aura that flickered like blood under moonlight.
"Your sword technique is impressive, Sir Maximus," Aurelius remarked as he approached the pair, eyes resting on Maximus's still‐glowing blade aura. "But why do you wield such a… low‐class aura form on your blade?"
Maximus straightened, jaw tensing. "What do you mean by 'low class'?"
Mangus tilted his head, a small grin playing at his lips. "I understand that his aura form is considered primitive, yet the technique itself remains top‐tier."
Aurelius extended his sword forward and poured mana into its edge. Rather than a roaring flare, this aura settled evenly along the blade in intricate patterns, enveloping it in a ring of energy that appeared both beautiful and razor‐sharp. "What would you call this, Mr. Rutherford?"
Maximus studied Aurelius's sword aura, curiosity plain on his face. "Is it really possible to maintain it like that?"
Mangus shook his head, brow furrowed. "Can't you see? None of us have tried this ourselves. We only use the standard methods: the overflowing form and the gentle form."
Aurelius's lips curved. "By distributing the aura this way, you can alter the impact of your attacks. There are endless variations—each with different effects."
Maximus exchanged a glance with his brother. "So there are no limits to it?"
Aurelius shook his head slowly. "No limits—though it does consume varying amounts of mana depending on the pattern."
Mangus's eyes brightened. "Why don't we try it, Aurelius?"
Aurelius smiled. "Sure—on one condition."
Mangus lifted his brow. "What?"
Aurelius's grin turned sharp. "Fight me with everything you've got, Mister Rutherford."
Mangus yanked his sword from the marble floor, the metal scraping across the polished surface. He gathered mana, enveloping the blade in a halo of flickering light. "You're serious?"
Aurelius responded by igniting his own aura. "As always."
In an instant, they surged toward each other. Mana exploded on impact as their swords clashed. Aurelius's aura shimmered in dark‐red waves, fluid yet as hard as steel, swirling around his blade in a perfect circle that hinted at hidden depths. Mangus, too, was formidable—a thunder‐type user whose sword crackled with blue‐white lightning, sparks cascading from every swing.
Their contest escalated into a rapid ballet of strength and speed. Maximus stepped back to watch, leaning against the pillar—almost as if he were conducting an assessment rather than a duel.
Mangus drew power from his lightning aura, using it to enhance his reflexes and reaction time. He darted around Aurelius, seeking an opening.
Aurelius responded by swinging horizontally in a wide arc, a tornado of crimson flame slicing through the air. Its roar echoed in the courtyard, drawing tendrils of ash from the ground.
Recognizing the threat, Mangus unleashed a concentrated bolt of lightning into the vortex, attempting to destabilize Aurelius's stance. The lightning crackled as it met the swirling flame, creating a shower of incandescent sparks.
Aurelius halted his sweeping motion, plunging his sword's tip into the marble. Mana coalesced around him, forming a colossal vortex of dark red energy that pulsed and hummed. When he released it, a tidal wave of flame erupted across the battlefield, consuming every lingering essence of mana and setting the marble ablaze. The sheer force cracked slabs of stone, and the ground trembled beneath their airborne skirmish.
It was then that a bolt of violet lightning tore through the sky, descending toward the courtyard. From its core emerged Cadrina—her form encased in crackling purple energy. She landed lightly on the burning marble and scanned the devastation with wide eyes.
"Mangus, are you trying to destroy the entire estate?" she shouted, voice sharp as ice.
Mangus merely grinned, adrenaline coursing through him at the spectacle unfolding.
Cadrina's expression darkened. In a swift gesture, she wove an intricate sigil in the air and unleashed a ninth‐class binding spell. Invisible chains of mana snaked across the courtyard, severing the flow of aura and destabilizing the swords' energies. Mangus's lightning aura sputtered, and Aurelius's vortex flickered.
Both combatants found themselves ensnared by glowing chains of pure mana. Yet, mere seconds later, the chains began to crack under the force of their superhuman wills. Each brother stood at the peak of mortal potential; the binding would hold only for so long.
Frustration clouded Cadrina's features. She pressed her fingertips against her temples, muttering an incantation. A blackened, multi‐faceted cube of ninth‐class magic materialized above her palm. With a resolute toss, she hurled it toward the battlefield. It struck the marble and burst open, releasing a hemispherical barrier of mana that rippled in all directions, creating a protective dome around the courtyard's perimeter.
Cadrina placed a gentle hand on Maximus's shoulder, her voice softening. "I hope you never descend into their brand of madness."
Maximus inclined his head respectfully. "I appreciate the warning, big sister."
A rippling portal of violet energy opened overhead. Without looking back, Cadrina stepped through and vanished.
The Dark Mansion
Deep within the cavernous halls of the Dark Mansion, Dren Ashveil—the leader of the Revenant Circle—bowed before a throne carved from obsidian and studded with onyx. Perched upon that throne was Lucian, the Demon God of Darkness. His form radiated quiet authority; even seated, he seemed to absorb the torchlight and command it.
Lucian's gaze, dark and fathomless, was fixed upon Dren. "Speak freely, Dren."
Dren hesitated a heartbeat before bowing his head. "My Lord, I wish to thank you on behalf of the Revenant Circle for granting us this sanctum."
Lucian's lips curved in a faint, patient smile. "You are my people. It is my responsibility to see to your needs."
Dren straightened, clearing his throat. "My Lord, may I ask a question?"
Lucian inclined his head. "Proceed."
Dren's voice was tinged with caution. "How many beings exist that hold dominion over the multiverse?"
Lucian sighed, as though bearing the weight of eons. "After the end of the Great Darkness, the primary ruler was the God of Light. Beneath him stand ten Celestial Arbiters—you may call them kings over the multiverse. Yet there are independent entities that do not serve under the God of Light: Abyzoth, the Infernal Overlord and King of Hell—master of the dead; Drakthûr, Sovereign of Scales and God of Dragons; Calamorus, the God of Disaster, known for his insatiable hunger for power; the Elemental Kings; and Reveria, Goddess of Reincarnation, who dictates the fate of souls. And there are others…"
Dren's brow furrowed. "My Lord, why does the God of Light not simply eradicate them all to eliminate the threat?"
Lucian's voice was gentle but firm. "If he killed every independent power, the multiverse itself would unravel. These beings bear responsibilities beyond mere dominion; they counterbalance one another. Should they vanish, the consequences could be far more disastrous than any war."
Standing beside Dren was Seliora Vantess, Vice Captain of the Revenant Circle. She stepped forward, curious. "My Lord, can you explain what a universe is—and how it relates to the multiverse?"
Lucian's expression softened. He rose from the throne and paced slowly, each footfall echoing in the cavernous hall. "A universe is defined by the composition of all matter and energy within a domain. In simpler terms, it is a self‐contained reality with its own physical laws."
Seliora's brows knit together. "I'm not sure I follow, my Lord."
Lucian paused, as if choosing each word with care. "Universes existed since the birth of the gods, but at that time they were raw and lawless. We—the gods—refined them for the benefit of lesser beings. We imposed natural laws, established constants, and wove order into the void."
Seliora tilted her head. "But if the universe has no end…?"
Lucian shook his head. "No end in that sense. A universe is a loop—boundless to normal observation yet limited in scope. Within its own framework, it is infinite; in the grand scheme of the multiverse, it is finite."
Seliora's eyes widened. "But what is the moral behind this—why must lesser beings be confined?"
Lucian arched a brow. "You must understand: lower beings—mortal races—are not harmless. They have slain dragons, ancient royal guardians. If they crossed universes unchecked, what would distinguish them from gods? The moral is simple: to limit unfettered freedom. Universes may seem arcane, but they are easier to control. If mortals manipulate cosmic forces for selfish ends, the multiverse itself could shatter."
Dren frowned. "My Lord, what do you mean by 'natural laws'?"
Lucian's gaze turned distant, as though seeing the vast lattices of reality. "Without logic, life has no meaning. Consider: what happens if planets do not orbit stars? If space itself ceases to exist? If time becomes fluid? Or if atoms change their properties at random? The answer is the end of life's structure."
Seliora pressed on, voice tinged with apprehension. "So you mean that lesser beings live in a cage?"
Lucian's gaze softened, though his resolve remained iron‐clad. "I never said it was a cage. Humans and other races may traverse universes if they master transportation magic or break a universe's boundaries. We do not forbid it—we even create wormholes and black holes to facilitate long journeys. They are free to explore, provided they respect the balance."
With that, Lucian turned, his robes swirling like living shadow. He descended the obsidian steps. "That is enough for today. Soon, we will establish a Library of Knowledge on Ecliptarius."
Seliora inclined her head. "Yes, my Lord."
Lucian paused at the foot of the stairs, gaze piercing both Dren and Seliora. "Dren, dispatch our assassins across the multiverse. We must remain one step ahead. Seliora, continue your work with Nayxria—there are urgent matters demanding my attention."
Dren and Seliora bowed once more before slipping into the shadows of the Dark Mansion.
The Grand Banquet of Ecliptarius
A grand banquet had been organized to celebrate Ecliptarius's founding. Invites had gone out to every acquaintance of Lucian—alliances were the foundation of this new realm. Allied guilds, noble families, and powerful clans gathered beneath one glittering roof.
They assembled in the Hall of Celestial Tides.
The Hall of Celestial Tides rose like a shard of midnight sky within the heart of Ecliptarius. Its soaring columns—each carved from dark obsidian flecked with silver—stretched upward to a dome swirled with living starlight that pulsed in time with the hall's magic. Along the walls, tapestries of iridescent fabric depicted the creation of the realm: molten rivers forging crystalline spires, gods weaving fate's tapestry, and guardians of light and shadow standing sentinel over the newborn land. Chandeliers of floating crystal orbs hovered overhead, casting a soft, ethereal glow that danced across polished marble floors. Aromas of rare spices and roasted game drifted through the air, mingling with the distant strains of celestial harp music. In every corner, gilded filigree etched with arcane runes shimmered, drawing the eye and hinting at hidden enchantments that bound the hall's energies together—an architectural marvel where every breath felt like stepping into a legend.
Lucian made a sudden appearance at the top of the grand staircase, as if he had never left. He was a vision of divine authority: tall, lean, and impossibly handsome in a way that transcended mortal standards. His midnight‐black hair cascaded like ink over his shoulders, framing a chiseled face with high cheekbones and eyes that glowed with the faintest ember of starlight. Even the long robes he wore—embroidered with threads of void and silver—seemed to ripple like a living shadow around him. In his hand, he rotated a crystal wine goblet filled with a deep ruby‐hued vintage; the liquid inside mirrored constellations.
Descending the staircase, Lucian addressed the assembly, voice resonant and calm. "Thank you all for gathering tonight for this grand opening ceremony. I, Lucian Blackthrone—also known as the Demon God of Darkness—congratulate everyone who struggled and laboured to bring Ecliptarius into being. Enjoy the festivities this night."
A chorus of cheers and raucous applause erupted. Goblets were raised; laughter and clinking toasts filled the hall as guests celebrated their shared triumph.
Maximilian leaned toward Seraphina, nudging her shoulder. "Just this much after so many years of struggle."
Seraphina shook her head with a gentle laugh. "What is the matter, Maximus? You did nothing but babble about those years—most of the work was done by me and my daughter‐in‐law."
Valen passed by, chuckling, as he overheard his grandmother's teasing.
Maximilian give a gaze to valen "Sure, Valen—laugh all you want, you little brat."
Maximilian scowled, but his eyes shone with affection. "Keep talking, Seraphina. I'll remember this."
Nearby, Aurelius lounged against a marble pillar, swirling a mocktail in a crystal tumbler. His posture was relaxed, yet he watched the crowd with keen interest.
Cassius Blackthorne approached and raised his cup beside Aurelius's. "Cheers, elder brother."
Aurelius clinked his glass quietly. "Cheers."
Cassius lowered his voice. "I heard you were defeated by the head of the Rutherford family."
Aurelius raised an eyebrow. "Are you here to mock me, Cassius? He is much older than I am."
Cassius shook his head, tone teasing. "But not much—in power and knowledge, brother."
Their conversation was interrupted by a graceful woman in a white and dark blue ensemble—Celestia Valtorin. Her robes flowed like moonlight on water. She approached with a warm smile and extended her hand.
"Hello, I am Celestia Valtorin—a friend of your father's."
Aurelius's expression tightened imperceptibly as he recalled Cassius's mental aside: She's the one who got Father into all that trouble yesterday. Yet he maintained a polite smile as he shook her hand. "Pleased to meet you. I am Aurelius Blackthrone, eldest son of the Blackthrone clan."
Celestia's eyes sparkled. "You certainly resemble your father."
Aurelius inclined his head. "I take that as a compliment."
The banquet continued well past midnight. Strong wines and elaborate dishes flowed freely; many guests, both mortal and divine, felt the warm haze of drunken revelry.
Lucian departed the hall quietly—no grand announcement, only a ripple in the air as he slipped away. His absence went unnoticed by some, but not by those attuned to his presence.
The Council Chamber
Somewhere deep within the mansion sat the Council Chamber, a circular room lit by bioluminescent crystals embedded in obsidian walls. At its centre stood a plush ebony couch, and upon it reclined Lucian, his posture more relaxed than earlier. Across from him knelt Kazeroth, a tall, cloaked figure whose dark robes trailed like living shadow. He produced from a pocket of subspace a large, opalescent egg and placed it gently on a velvet‐lined table.
"My Lord, this is…" Kazeroth's voice trailed off as he awaited Lucian's words.
Lucian regarded the egg with a solemn gaze. "The child of the God of Dragons."
Kazeroth stood quietly. "Yes, my Lord. The God of Dragons's wife entrusted this child to the God of Darkness for proper care. She perished in battle by my hand, yet even then she insisted I deliver her child into your protection."
Lucian inclined his head thoughtfully. "It appears she understood the situation well at the time."
Kazeroth hesitated. "My Lord, the God of Dragons is bound by contract to the God of Light."
Lucian closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling slowly. "So he must serve as a subordinate to the God of Light."
"Indeed, my Lord."
Lucian opened his eyes, gazing at the egg. "Why has it not hatched after all these years?"
Kazeroth knelt lower. "My Lord, the child is ready, but it requires its owner's mana to fully awaken."
Lucian set his jaw. "Then I must infuse my mana into this egg."
He extended a hand over the smooth surface of the egg. A sliver of void energy curled around his fingertips, drawing toward it like moths to flame. The egg pulsed softly as it accepted his energy.
Lucian's dark eyes glittered. "Let us see how this child will shape our path."
He leaned back on the couch, observing the subtle glow spreading across the egg's surface. Outside, the winds around the mansion answered with a distant roar—an echo of destinies yet to be forged.