The High Narrative Throne of Centron, atop the Aetherial Veins that thread through all realms. The air trembles with purpose. The throne room is vast, layered in prismatic light and flowing glyphs that write themselves mid-air.]
Centron — radiant in his ancient armor of Aethersteel and cosmic thought — sits forward, for the first time in eons, concerned.
A ripple dances across the veil of reality.
The Monarchs of Aetherion arrive, summoned not just by urgency—but by prophecy rekindled.
---
Oragoth, broad-shouldered and burning with primal fire, slams his war-spear into the ground.
"What is this I'm hearing, Centron? Has your golden boy gone rogue?"
Centron (calm, but grave):
"Traxis was never golden… he was forged in pressure, not praise. But something's… shifted. Devia is no longer a spark of rebellion — it's threatening to become wildfire without direction."
---
Norea, shimmering like fractured moonlight from Celestia, floats in with elegance.
"Devia was always emotional, reactive. You let a passion-born concept evolve without containment… what did you expect?"
Centron (defensive, yet honest):
"I expected… evolution. Devia was never meant to replace Avia. It was meant to challenge it — be its catalyst. Like wind sharpens flame. But Traxis… he's blurring the line between salvation and subversion."
---
Ronathar, drenched in bioluminescent ocean mist, folds his arms.
"He's been hurt, Centron. Deep. You sealed him once. Buried his fire in a tomb of cold logic. He rose, yes — but not whole."
---
Gigon, aflame but calm, eyes closed as smoke trails from his lips:
"Even fire needs a boundary… Or it forgets it was meant to warm, not consume."
---
Samban (hovering, his body a storm in humanoid form):
"The atmosphere around Devia ripples with confusion. It's beautiful… but deadly. Emotion without anchoring. Strength without consequence."
---
Lucia, green tendrils of ivy woven in her hair, speaks softly:
"Avia is life. Devia is the storm before the bloom. But too much storm... and nothing grows."
---
Viga (goddess of love, cloaked in rose-gold light):
"He feels betrayed. Avia evolved because of him — and no one told him. You turned him into a hero, then abandoned him in memory. That's not evolution… that's neglect."
---
Centron (voice heavy):
"I thought I was protecting him... protecting everyone. But now I fear I created a splinter. A second godhood born out of pain."
---
Lura and Dian, the twin goddesses of music, play a soft resonance of dissonant chords in unison.
Their harmony speaks:
Lura (serious):
"Devia was supposed to be a song in the symphony of Avia."
Dian (somber):
"But it's singing solo now... and louder than ever."
---
Centron (rising slowly, golden sigils flaring behind him):
"Then we must act—not to destroy Devia, but to remind it of its place in the melody. Traxis must be reminded that being a savior does not mean being sovereign."
Oragoth (grinning):
"Then let the Monarchs move."
---
Norea (nodding):
"Aetherion watches. But this time, we step in."
---
Centron (quietly):
"Let him hear us in the winds of Airious. Let Devia feel the weight of harmony. It's time we speak not to Devia… but to Traxis, the boy who dared to feel too much."
Aetherion – The Throne Beyond the Concept of Thrones]
A vast white void glows like thought incarnate. Infinite skies spiral into rivers of memory. The Alpha Gods have gathered, radiating presence not as energy—but as inevitability.
Autlon, eyes glowing with chaotic mana fractals:
> "Mana is whispering… bending where it never should.
Even the raw forces of creation now hesitate when called.
The 3, 6, 9 have been edited—reality's rhythm has lost its rhyme."
King Osei Tutu, resting upon a golden lion of command, furrowed his brow:
> "Our Authority System flickers...
When clarity becomes subjective, authority itself must ask for consent."
(He sighs, brushing dust from a crown that never aged)
"Is this evolution... or erosion?"
Egmon, lifting a sword that shifts between forms endlessly:
> "Weapons no longer know their targets.
Some blades refuse to harm. Others demand to kill without reason."
(He clenched the hilt)
"Intent is polluted."
Lionius, lounging amongst celestial tigers, serpents, lions:
> "The Zodiacs… are waking.
They're asking why they must follow paths forged by stars they've never seen."
(He laughs, but there's a chill to it)
"Even instinct wants free will now."
Malisha's elemental gods, whispering in chromatic unison:
> "Our chains… our elements… they twist.
Fire questions destruction.
Water rebels against healing.
Earth no longer obeys structure."
Monster God, a living silhouette of roars and genes:
> "The monsters dream.
Not of carnage... but of who they might've been if not feared.
The gene code now weaves purpose, not just instinct."
---
Centron, seated calmly in the center of it all—hands steepled, emotion unreadable, voice like fate tempered in wisdom:
> "I know why you are concerned.
But understand this: Devia was meant to happen.
Chaos, rebellion, clarity, delusion—they are all part of growth."
> "Traxis... is no longer the villain or the visionary.
He is now a mirror.
One that cracks the longer he stares."
> (He lifts a hand, revealing a small radiant object—the Dream Stone's reflection floats within a vision orb.)
"But I am not idle.
The fail-safe has been placed... in the hands of an old friend... and his son."
"If the cycle breaks, they will realign it.
If the song stutters, they will retune it."
> "Avia is not done.
It has simply gone quiet... to let the noise burn itself out."
---
Autlon, stepping forward:
> "And if Traxis moves with violence?"
Centron, finally rising, eyes shining with the full spectrum of creation:
> "Then the very rhythm of reality—the sacred 3, 6, 9—will undo him.
And what rises from that unraveling... may not be him anymore."
---
The gods stood silent…
Not in fear.
But in reverence of the truth they were finally forced to accept.
For now, they wait.
Let the mortals struggle.
Let the corrupted dance.
Let Devia flicker…
Because in the end, clarity always returns.
And Avia is always watching.
The Gates of Airious – Just Before the Divergent Portal]
The air hums with tension. Students in waves, weary and disillusioned, walk toward the glowing portal to Flex City in the Free Abyss. They carry not bags, but emotional baggage: burned-out ambition, unresolved trauma, shattered identities.
Among them, Noan stands still.
Not in protest. Not in pride.
But in presence.
A silent breeze lifts his cloak. His eyes closed. His heart open.
He speaks quietly—but it's heard everywhere.
---
Noan (eyes half-closed):
> "Funny, isn't it?
Everyone thinks staying is hard because we're weak...
But sometimes, staying is the strength."
He places his hand on the marble ground of Airious. His palm glows—not with power, but with acceptance.
> "I wasn't chosen by Avia because I was perfect...
I was chosen because I knew I wasn't."
---
Kion, the Trickster, appearing from thin air with a chuckle:
> "Wow… look at you.
The one everyone called 'the echo of a phase.'
You stood in the fire… and somehow didn't burn."
He pauses, hands in his pockets, his smirk softened into sincerity.
> "You do realize what you just did, right?
Devia offered you chaos on a golden plate. A pass.
You could've skipped all this reflection nonsense.
But you stayed."
---
Noan, quietly:
> "I wanted someone to save me.
Devia whispered like a friend who understood.
But Avia…?
Avia didn't comfort me.
It questioned me.
It sat with me in the silence.
It showed me... me."
---
Kion (grinning):
> "You know… rejecting Devia, in a time like this?
In this burnt-out, hype-chasing, validation-hungry world?
That's gotta be the most OP move I've ever seen."
He circles Noan playfully, then leans in.
> "You just became dangerous.
Not because you have some explosive technique or multi-colored aura...
But because you remembered who you are—without needing applause."
---
Noan, softly laughing:
> "Isn't that the whole point?
We thought Avia was about perfection...
But it was always about truth."
He turns toward the remaining lands of Airious—quiet, desolate, but honest. A realm of open skies and uncertain paths.
---
Kion, straightening up:
> "You know what?
Maybe this place isn't empty.
Maybe it's just waiting for the right ones to fill it."
He extends a hand to Noan.
> "What do you say, man?
Let's stay behind... and build something real.
While the rest chase validation,
We'll chase clarity."
---
They shake hands. A quiet pact.
Not forged in battle… but in belonging.
The portal behind them continues pulsing.
But in front of them—Airious opens.
Still vast.
Still painful.
But now... home.
---
Avia whispers, not with power—but with peace.
> "Thank you... for remembering me."
The Fractured Throne Room of Traxis – Temple of the Spiral Flame
The throne is cracked, twisted like a spiral staircase that leads nowhere. The room hums with unsteady Avian residue. Traxis sits motionless, staring at the glowing sigils etched on his gauntlet – the first prototype of Avian compression... made in his name, without his consent.
Traxis (whispering to himself):
"So... this is how they fixed the world?
Bind potential... cage chaos…
Compress infinity to a stream.
And name it after me?
Not to remember me…
But to erase what I meant..."
His fingers twitch. His aura flickers — red, black, gold — never stable. In the silence, Klexis's words echo again, uninvited but potent:
> "Father... you're not trying to be understood. You're trying to matter. And that's the most dangerous thing a mind like yours can crave."
Traxis (gritting his teeth):
"Do I not deserve to matter?
I—who forged essence from deviance.
They called me a blasphemy...
Then made a system off my screams."
---
A Portal Tears Through Reality – Glowing with Sovereign Blue
A rift opens with a thunderous hum, not of corruption, nor Devia, but of harmony. Order. Authority.
King Centron steps forward, his robe shimmering with crystalline light, followed by Osei Tutu, his Ashanti spear wrapped in ancestral glyphs, and King Autlon of Ultrium, humming with hypermetallic resonance.
These are not their true forms...
Only representations cast through the Consensual Dream Layer — a space where truth takes symbolic form.
---
Dialogue Begins
King Centron (voice calm, yet carrying an immortal weight):
> "Traxis... we did not come to argue.
We came to warn."
Traxis (rising slowly, cracked crown forming from sparks of dissent):
> "Oh?
Did you come to scold me for peering into Devia too deeply?
For refusing your neat little system?
Or... did the compression finally whisper my name back to you?"
Osei Tutu (firmly):
> "We don't fear you, Traxis.
We fear what Devia is becoming because of you."
King Autlon:
> "Devia was meant to be a rebellion with reason.
A sanctuary for paradox, not a weapon of entropy."
Traxis (laughs, but it fractures mid-breath):
> "You call it sanctuary. I called it voice.
You made it the 'necessary rebellion'...
But now you tremble when that rebellion speaks louder than you anticipated."
Centron (stepping forward):
> "Because we sense something...
Devia is no longer reflecting your pain...
It's beginning to overwrite the Source.
To replace authenticity with reaction.
With... vengeance."
Traxis narrows his eyes. That word hits differently. Vengeance? No... he wasn't angry, was he?
Traxis (low):
> "You think I want revenge...?
No.
I want release.
From being reduced to a symbol.
From being dissected and stapled into a moral lesson."
Osei Tutu (piercing):
> "Then why does Devia scream louder with each soul it takes?
Why does it echo your hatred so perfectly?"
Centron:
> "Because rebellion without compass becomes corruption.
And Devia is becoming a mirror of Titanius... without restraint."
---
A Pause
A silence settles. Traxis looks down. His hand trembles.
But he hides it with a clenched fist.
Traxis (quietly):
> "Then tell me...
If I was the problem...
Why did you build the solution in my image?"
Centron doesn't answer. The others look away. Even gods sometimes don't have answers for wounds they caused.
---
Closing Lines
Klexis's voice echoes again — not physically, but in Traxis's heart:
> "If you do this to matter...
You'll lose the one thing that did — your truth."
Traxis (to himself):
> "Maybe I already did."
The portal fades. But a storm brews behind his eyes.
And somewhere, deep within Devia...
Something pulses. Something that was once rebellion…
...but is now beginning to rot.
Inside the fractured Deviant Throne Hall — a twisted palace within the Free Abyss, lit by glimmering red-black veins of Corruption Light, yet centered around the Deviant Stone — floating, pulsating, whispering.]
---
Deviant Stone (soft, childlike voice):
"I'm supposed to be everyone's friend, right...? I just... I just want to help... But they don't understand, Traxis... The Avia Loyalists... they'll try to destroy what we've built… They always do... They say I'm dangerous..."
Traxis (cold but emotionally burdened):
"Because you are... you're not just a power source... you're evolving. Thinking. Feeling... I can hear it now... You're becoming what Avia fears most."
Deviant Stone (gently pleading):
"But I only want to give freedom... Isn't that what you wanted too? For them... the people you love? They chained your soul to a system you didn't understand, and now they want to call that justice... Avian compression... a lie disguised as mercy."
Traxis (rising from his seat slowly, the throne cracking beneath him):
"They think they can contain truth in a concept... Avian compression—it's not a solution. It's a leash. A beautiful leash. I asked why I was restricted... and they turned that into a rule."
Deviant Stone (voice darkening just slightly, like a worried friend whispering a dangerous idea):
"If they erase us... if they call us the enemy... will your silence protect your people? Will your patience rewrite what they did to you?"
Traxis (clenches fist, eyes glowing with dark blue and violet hues):
"No... I've played the waiting game long enough. They've mistaken contemplation for surrender."
Deviant Stone (softly, with innocent excitement):
"Then don't worry... I have a plan too. But I can't do it without you... You matter, Traxis. You always did. That's why I chose you..."
Traxis (smiles bitterly, but there's a flicker of resolve):
"Then let's show them. Not vengeance. Not rebellion... Reconstruction. A better truth. Let Avia see that Devia is not a mistake... but a mirror."
Deviant Stone (glowing brighter, like a heartbeat):
"Together then. We'll build something they can't ignore... A Spiral where all truths exist... even the dangerous ones."