The gates parted like continents splitting under divine will—slow, deliberate, inevitable.
Aevion stood still, the gods encircling him like moons around a fragile star. Even they, beings who had walked since the foundation of the Celestial Realm, showed caution as the palace interior unveiled itself.
Beyond the threshold lay an endless hall, stretching farther than any world, carved from mirrored stone and flowing threads of celestial silk that shimmered like the tail of comets. Pillars of breathing crystal held up the skies within the throne room, and hanging gardens floated in circular orbits along the ceiling—each blossom crafted from condensed law and unbroken faith.
And there, at the end of the golden path, she sat.
The throne itself was forged from the bones of dead suns, laced with halos that never stopped spinning. Thousands of guards lined the path, each one armed with weapons that had tasted the blood of rebellions, void kings, and sovereigns of forgotten time. Their armor gleamed like judgment, their eyes unblinking, yet not a single one of them dared look directly at her.
The ruler of the Celestial Realm.
Not a withered, ancient god as stories would suggest—
But a girl.
She sat upon the golden throne like a single note within an eternal song. Her presence was gentle, but the weight of it fractured the silence. Her hair shimmered like woven starlight, cascading behind her like a tapestry of constellations. Her eyes—vast and impossible—were a color the universe hadn't earned yet.
And she couldn't have been older than nineteen.
Aevion's breath paused without his permission.
Her gaze drifted to him as the divine procession approached. She didn't move. She didn't need to. The world adjusted itself around her presence.
The thirty-seven gods lowered Aevion to the floor and stepped back. The silence felt like the moment before creation—too complete to be broken carelessly.
Then she spoke.
"Your name."
Her voice was quiet, but it rang from every pillar, echoed across every garden, whispered from the lips of the statues themselves. It wasn't a command. It was something softer, something smaller.
Aevion raised his eyes.
"Aevion."
Something flickered in her gaze. A thought not shared. A name tasted. Then vanished.
"And your reason for entering the Celestial Realm?"
He hesitated only for a moment. "...I wanted to walk," he said simply.
One of the gods twitched, as if to strike him down for his absurdity—but the girl on the throne lifted a single finger. The room stilled again.
She stared at him in silence, and though he said nothing more, something passed between them in that breathless quiet.
She leaned back against her throne, one leg crossing over the other. "You walked here," she repeated.
"I did."
"No fear?"
"I don't carry it."
She regarded him with an expression that was not amusement, but not displeasure either. Her fingers curled around the edge of the throne's arm. "Do you know who I am?"
"No," Aevion replied. "But I know you're not old."
At that, the smallest curve touched the corner of her lips. Not a smile. A… reaction.
"I am the current Ruler of the Celestial Realm," she said. "I hold dominion over Law, Starcraft, Time Conduction, Divine Trials, and Absolute Judgment. I am heir to the First Mantle. I pass decrees to eternity, and even eternity listens."
Aevion blinked. "Sounds like a lot of paperwork."
One of the guards snapped his spear to attention in outrage, but again, she lifted her hand.
And this time, her eyes never left Aevion.
"It is," she admitted. Her voice softened just enough that only he could have noticed. "You must be either foolish… or something more dangerous."
"I'm just a student."
"I've read every truth written in this cosmos. That may be the only lie that's ever made me curious."
Another pause. Then, a shift.
Her eyes narrowed slightly—just a ripple of thought, of suspicion, of interest wrapped in inquiry. "You don't kneel before me."
"I don't kneel before anyone," he said, his voice gentle. Not arrogant. Just… simple.
The throne room was quiet for a long time after that.
Until finally, she stood.
A collective breath was held by every god present. Her feet touched the steps of the throne like moonlight made solid. She walked toward him—slow, deliberate, bare feet against divine marble. Her aura was impossibly vast, and yet, the closer she got, the smaller the distance between them felt.
She stopped just in front of him.
Then tilted her head, studying him with the wonder of someone looking at something the world forgot how to describe.
"I'll allow you to remain in the Celestial Realm for now," she said. "But only under one condition."
Aevion raised a brow. "What is it?"
"You'll walk with me tomorrow. At sunrise."
Aevion looked at her for a long moment, then gave the softest nod.
"…Alright."
She turned, and for the first time, let her back face him. No one had ever earned that before.
The throne room trembled in silence.
And far above, the stars began to realign.
The palace gates sealed behind him with a whisper.
Aevion stood still for a moment, facing the wind.
The Celestial Realm stretched before him, painted in golds and whites, veiled in illusions older than reason. Spires curved like frozen lightning. Pathways floated in midair, humming softly beneath invisible magic. Lanterns glowed with dreamfire. People walked—no, glided—through the air as if gravity bent to their favor.
And he… walked alone.
Again.
Until—
A flash of white and purple shot through the clouds like a comet.
"Daddy!!"
A small figure darted through the sky, wings flapping in wild, desperate joy. The cry echoed through the high marble towers and startled a few passing nobles who glanced upward—only to gasp as a tiny dragon, no more than two feet long, dove straight for the boy below.
She hit him square in the chest.
"Oof—!"
Aevion staggered back, catching the creature with practiced instinct. Her scales shimmered like stardust kissed by twilight—pure white with soft violet undertones. Her big pink eyes gleamed like freshly polished crystals, full of light and warmth.
She nuzzled her head beneath his chin and let out a squeaky, happy growl.
"You're late," she muttered playfully.
"I wasn't expecting company," Aevion replied, a rare softness slipping into his voice.
"I missed you," she said quietly, then—after a pause—"A lot."
He said nothing. Just stroked the back of her head as she purred like a tiny thundercloud.
After a few moments, she stretched up her small wings and flapped once, twice—then curled herself effortlessly around the back of his neck. Her tail coiled across his collarbone, her chin resting just over his shoulder. She had always liked that spot, like a living scarf of devotion and warmth.
"I like this place," she said, blinking slowly as she looked around. "It smells... like old stars."
"Mm."
Together, they walked.
The capital city of Aevarium unfolded around them. Floating vendors sold perfumes brewed from sunlight and songs sealed in crystal. He passed beneath arches held up by statues that whispered secrets only once a century. Above, layered skies shimmered in slow rotation—this realm didn't revolve around stars; the stars revolved around it.
Nyxara occasionally lifted her head to comment on a shiny thing or a funny-looking robe.
But then the city changed.
It wasn't the kind of change one sees—it was something felt.
The crowd thinned. The light bent oddly around corners. Music faded. And in the middle of an empty square paved in glass, there stood—
A mime.
He was slender. Pale. Expressionless.
No paint on his face, no exaggerated features—just skin smooth like porcelain, and eyes that seemed to flicker with mirrors instead of light.
He raised his hands slowly.
Then mimed… a box.
Aevion stopped.
So did Nyxara. She lifted her head.
"...I don't like this part," she whispered.
The mime stepped forward—without footsteps. He didn't walk so much as glide, each motion a calculated piece of theater that didn't obey physics. He tilted his head, studying Aevion as if measuring a weight unseen.
Then he lifted one hand.
And touched Aevion's forehead.
No light.
No noise.
Only stillness.
Aevion blinked once—
And the world folded.
Not literally. Not entirely. But… something inside him turned inward. As if time forgot it was real. He saw not with his eyes, but with something older. Something buried so deep, it didn't have language. Shapes—impossible shapes. Thoughts without words. A spiral. A door. A name.
But not a name.
Not yet.
He inhaled sharply.
Nyxara squeaked. Her claws tightened slightly into his shoulder. "Something… woke up."
Aevion staggered back—but the mime was already gone. No dust. No echo. Only a faint outline remained in the glass tiles beneath his feet: a circle, drawn in silent dust.
Nyxara stared at it.
"I really don't like this part."
Aevion placed a hand on the spot where he'd been touched.
Whatever it was… it hadn't hurt.
But it hadn't belonged to this world either.
A bell rang in the distance. A divine, shimmering note that cut through the sky like a signal. The palace was calling again.
Their "w
alk" was about to begin.
He turned, wordless, the dragon still curled around his neck. The wind brushed past him, gentler now—as if aware that something had changed.
Something was watching.
Or maybe… waiting.