In another dimension and countless realms away from earth. Somewhere beyond time and space, suspended in an endless void of obsidian darkness threaded with glowing filaments of living gold, the Council gathered once again. This realm had no end, no up or down. No left and right—only an infinite expanse in which colossal shapes drifted like islands of light and shadow. Here, the Great Council of the Eternal Balance—beings older than universes itseld—maintained silent watch over the fates of worlds.
At its center hovered the First, a monolith of starlight crowned by shifting veils of cosmic mist. Beside it, the Weaver or the joker danced slender tendrils of golden energy through the void, mapping the flows of destiny. Opposite them floated the Silent Eye, the one and only figure in black, face obscured by a mask. Cloaked, elegant, tall. Not human. Not entirely.. Around these three lay lesser luminaries—sparks of possibility each entrusted with threads of creation and unmaking.
The First's voice sounded like the birth-cry of a star:
"The vessel of vengeance will finally awaken. His choice should be easy, yet his choice remains unmade as of now. We convene to guide his will toward the purpose we have long foreseen."
The Weaver's golden filaments wove tighter, looping around unseen skeins:
"Our goal is clear: Lucien must ascend as the God of Vengeance soon. In doing so, he will wield infinte power itself—justice tempered by righteous wrath—and through him, we shall reclaim our reign over these realms."
A soft hum rippled from the Silent Eye:
"His choice must be willingly. A forced hand is not healthy. Only by embracing the mantle can his essence bind seamlessly to our design."
The newcomer of the council had something to say—a violet-flare mote called the Whisperer—drifted forward, tremulous yet determined.
"I know we placed the Hunter upon his trail months ago, when the bounty was on his head. Not solely for his end, but to temper his resolve. If he had faltered, the Hunter would strike—and the cycle would end. But he prevailed, his spirit got stronger, sharpened by trial, but we need to test him again."
The First inclined, golden light rippling across the void:
"He was tested. And he grew because of it. Our new Hunter's blade serves both to cull and to forge. The child of vengeance must prove himself unbreakable."
A tremor of starlight flickered around the Weaver's fingers.
"Now, as his days of mortal routine continue, the hour of choice approaches. We must ensure he sees the path we lay before him."
The Silent Eye, projected a vision in the eyes of his comrades—a window opening into Tokyo's Command Post Five at 11:05 A.M., as Lucien joined Rylen, Jason and Emiluna for the standard gear checks. The Council watched every single breath he took, every quiet nod he offered, every moment of banter that grounded him to his short but mortal life.
The First's voice softened, yet its echo shuddered through the void:
"Observe how he clings to this human life—training drills, shared laughter with his loved ones, morning briefings with the rest of the Nighguard Corps. These fragments of routine anchor him as a human being. Yet beneath the calm swells the weight of destiny."
The Whisperer's violet sparks flickered in agreement:
"He senses the edge of a never ending conflict only he can stop in his bones. Soon, the Hunter's trial will resurface once—our final test for Lucien. And at the moment of triumph or tragedy, the call of the Council will resound within him."
A shimmer passed through the cosmic chamber as the living gold between stars shifted toward a faint portal. Through its shimmering threshold, a suppressed breeze of mortal sunrise drifted in—a reminder that for all their might, the Council's concerns lay with a single human heart.
The Weaver guided their gaze to Lucien's clenched fists, the careful way he adjusted his gauntlet straps as if bracing for an unseen struggle.
"He does not yet know why his soul trembles toward the chasm. He does not yet know of the hunter's blade—or of the crown we offer. But in each heartbeat, he inches closer to the fulcrum of choice."
The Silent Eye recorded the moment in silent communion: the way Lucien's shadow fell across the polished floor, how his reflection flickered uncertainly in the metallic walls of the armory.
"Soon we shall plant a whisper in his mind—an echo of power, a promise of purpose. And when he stands at the crossroads, he will remember the hunter's test and understand that only by our grace can he transcend the shackles of mortal duty."
The First rose, its voice gathering weight like collapsing star clusters:
"Then let our vigil continue. Let the threads of fate draw taut around him. When the Hunter's path converges once more with his own, we will speak in the silence between worlds—reminding him of the destiny we have forged."
As the portal vanished, the Council's chamber drifted back into its eternal hush. The vessel of vengeance—Lucien—remained unaware of the divine decision that was made above. Yet every unspoken promise had been woven into his days, every test laid upon his path a step toward that final moment.
And so, somewhere beyond mortal life, the Council's vigil endured and endured—anchored by a single truth: that when Lucien's heart trembled and made his final decision, and when the crown of vengeance would be held out to him, and through him, the Council would reclaim dominion over every realm and beyond.
The dark void settled into deeper silence after the Council's vigil faded. But beyond their own dimensional realm, strands of fate had already begun to weave new patterns. Across the gulf of countless possibilities, unseen currents stirred toward Lucien—vessel of vengeance or the King of Hell, unwitting pawn of gods.
Back on earth, in Tokyo's predawn hush, Lucien moved through the fifth´s command post's empty corridor—gears prepped, mind focused as always, heart beating in gentle sync with the world he vowd to protect. Even as he felt used by the government he still promised himself to protect humanity till his last breath. Yet in that moment, a tremor rippled through reality, so faint only the Council's Silent Eye would have perceived it. A fracture in the weave of worlds, where golden filaments of their realm brushed against the mortal plane.
Back into the void, the Weaver's hands twitched:
"The convergence approaches. The vessel will soon stand at the crossroads."
The First echoed, voice resonant as deep-space echoes:
"Then we must speak beyond these mere whispers were giving him. Our own will must crystallize into truth he cannot ignore."
Gathered around their place, the Council deliberated again. The Weaver coiled golden strands around a new schema—a hollow diamond of light representing Lucien's coming choice.
The Whisperer spoke in urgent tones:
"Our Hunter failed to break him back again. Lucien's spirit endured yet another test. Now, we send our own emissary: a shard of our power, borne on currents of cosmic judgment."
The Silent Eye shimmered, projecting the mortal timestamp: 02:01 A.M., 25 June—If im correct this is when Lucien last dreamt of the Creator and the King of Hell. In that vision, he had glimpsed both thrones, yet awoken alone.
The First raised its luminous staff:
"Then let the shard descend onto earth. Let it find him in the emptiness of his vigil, so that he hears us clearly this time—not as a distant whisper, but as the voice of destiny itself."
It slowly descended on Earth: the Shard of Vengeance. It shimmered with the Council's essence—justice honed by merciful wrath—and vibrated with the potential to awaken Lucien's true power.
The Weaver smiled out of excitement:
"This shard will pierce his solitude in half. It will hum within his breast, reminding him of the mantle reserved only for him."
The Whisperer nodded, violet sparks dancing around the arrow's tip:
"And when he grasps just a little of it, his will shall resonate with ours. The path will lie open before him, and then we will take back everything that is ours."
The Shard of the Council pierced through the barrier between worlds, hurtling across the cosmic void in silence.
Downward it plunged through the stratosphere, atmosphere and the clouds, a streak of golden light unseen by mortal eyes, ready to hunt for its pray.
By accident it passed the Grand Canyon's rim and dropped into Archer Irving's exile—a big miscalculation, for the Shard sought Lucien, not Archer. Archer would recognize it and destroy the shard in an instant. But the currents of fate seldom flow straight.
The Shard's trajectory warped, guided by the Weaver's subtle manipulation powers. The Shard flew over the Pacific in a second, crossed continents by hidden currents. It finally descended through the mess hall's clatter, slid past Rylen's exosuit closet, and it settled upon Lucien's forehead—unfelt, unseen, yet imprinted upon his soul.
Lucien, already bent beneath the weight of sleepless nights and the cosmic choice waiting for him, paused mid-breathe. A soft resonance stirred in his chest—an echo older than memory. He froze for a mere second, eyes narrowing as if sensing an electric charge in the air.
Rylen yelled from across the room:
"Lucien, you okay, i heard rumbling?"
Lucien shook his head, throat tight with unnamed wonder:
"Something… shifted i think."
A gentle warmth bloomed beneath his liver, pulsing on the same wavelength as his heartbeat. The artificial Shard that the council made it without the Creator of Gods intercepting it had awakened his God of Vengeance spark, stirring his latent divine essence.
Lucien closed his eyes, memories of the Creator's three-part mural flooding back into his head: the Crown of Hell, Vengeance Reclaimed, and his Mother's Pride. But now, interwoven with those visions, was the golden thread of the Council's purpose—justice wielded without mercy's absence.
Across the countless realms, the Council perceived the Shard's success. The Silent Eye shimmered with approval:
"He feels us, he knows of our existence."
The Weaver's tendrils tightened around the diamond schema:
"His resolve will strenghten more and more as time goes on. The next step is clearer then the sun: we must guide his hand when our final Hunter appears in front of him."
The First inclined, starlight cascading across the chamber:
"Then prepare the Crucible. Let Lucien make his choice in the forge of his last and final trial—our final test to bind him to the mantle of Vengeance or will it make him the King of Hell."