In the Astral Sanctum, where constellations bent in reverence, stood the Three Second-Crowned Above Alls.
Sul, sovereign of soul paths, shimmered in veils of astral silk, her every breath pulling fate lines from the air. Her voice could seduce gods, her mind could shatter them.
Beside her floated Moac, the sentient celestial body turned human. Her skin glowed with starfire; her eyes were nebulae in motion. She bore the quiet gravitas of the cosmos itself.
And in front of them, arms folded, power cracking around him like the wrath of the firmament, stood Cal.
With golden-white hair flowing and robes of burning runes, Cal spoke aloud, voice like judgment made flesh.
"We are the chosen—anointed by the Kingly Ruler himself. We are not equals to the lower ones. We are Above All. This... Anu...is a threat to the entire order."
He turned, eyes piercing the horizon.
"He believes power grants autonomy. He believes chaos gave him license to rival the Source. He is a fool. I—Cal, wielder of the Nine-Colored Divine Tribulations—will remind him: the Order is absolute."