"The last page was never meant to be written."
- Unknown Scribe of the Omniversal Order
The stars wept the night the Chronicle was sealed.
Across a dying sky, fractured like glass, twelve omens fell - each one bearing the shape of a forgotten world. The multiverse shuddered, as if mourning the fate of timelines burried by their own makers.
In the heart of the rift, where time collapsed upon itself, a lone figure stood at the edge of existence.
Clad in tattered robes inscribed with runes from dead civilizations, the figure stared into the swirling abyss - a cosmic wound where stories were erased, not ended. In their hand: a single glowing tome, it's pages unmarked yet heavy with meaning.
Voices, broken by time, whispered through the void:
"The Chronicle lives... but for how long?"
"He must never know what he is."
"Let the child live unaware - until the echo returns."
The figure hesitated.
Then, with a gesture filled with sorrow and finality, the tome was cast into the flow of time - vanishing into the layers of forgotten futures and abandoned pasts.
Somewhere, sometime - it would be found again.
Far from the void, on a distant realm untouched by truth, a baby's cry broke the stillness of dawn.
Born under a sky that shimmered unnaturally, with a mark like a clock etched upon his palm, the child breathed his first breathe... as the world exhaled a secret it could no longer keep.
His name was not yet known.
But one day, it would echoed across every world, every timeline, every page of history.
Aetherion Vey
Thus begins the final Chronicle.
But first, let the boy forget...
Let the Academy shape him...
Let the echoes guide him home.