The skies over Nyuga were never meant to bleed.
Amiya had seen war—celestial clashes, mortal rebellions, starborn purges.
But nothing like this.
Nothing like what the Nayron Kings had unleashed.
From the Observatory Temple's balcony, she watched the horizon devour itself.
Flames surged.
The peaceful realm of the Nitine people was burning.
And it was her fault.
---
Hours Earlier
She had warned the Celestial Council.
Visions in the Loom of Light had shown it all:
Black fire spilling across meadows.
Thunder from breathless skies.
Orcs birthed in molten pits.
She named the threat—Monshin and the Imperial Paladins.
But the Council dismissed her.
"You are Hope, Amiya. Not War."
So she disobeyed.
She flew to Nyuga.
Alone.
---
The invasion had already begun.
Three Nayron Kings—Myuthor, Namgari, and Ondharo—descended like elemental plagues.
Thunder cracked.
Flame fell.
Orcs swarmed the forests in endless waves.
In a hidden village buried beneath the roots of shattered trees, she found them:
Darius and Sylaya Salurga.
And their infant son—Matt.
He didn't cry in fear.
He burned in rage.
A dormant flare of divine energy shimmered around him—volatile, ancient, unshaped.
Sylaya pressed the baby into Amiya's arms.
"Take him. They'll find us. He's all we have left."
Amiya hesitated. "He has Nitine blood. If the Council—"
Darius seized her wrist.
His eyes burned—not with fear, but truth.
"He has more than that.
He has yours."
She froze.
"You don't remember, do you?
That day at the River of Echoes…
You weren't alone."
Amiya's wings trembled.
The ceiling cracked.
A thunder-spear pierced through stone and flame.
Darius shoved her toward the escape tunnel.
"Go."
She ran.
Behind her, the home collapsed in fire and ash.
---
Now
She soared over burning ruins.
Matt clutched tight to her chest.
His tiny hands curled in fury.
Nyuga was gone—its cities shattered, its warriors broken beneath flame and steel.
The Paladins had sent this death.
They called it justice.
But it was genocide.
Amiya saw Sylaya's soul rise in the fire.
Darius's broken blade buried in the mud.
She couldn't save the realm.
She wasn't meant to.
But she could save him.
"I'm sorry, my son," she whispered.
"I'll give you the world they stole from you—
even if the gods damn me for it."
And with that, she vanished.
Into light.
Into exile.
Into defiance.