The air over Mount Ru'vei did not tremble.
It knelt.
First came a stillness so complete that even the light forgot how to shine.
Then the clouds folded inward like curtains, revealing a vast emptiness in the sky — an absence shaped like two descending figures.
One radiated serene wrath, golden and vast, each step chanting sutras that were never written yet always known.
Buddha — Jinasvara the Radiant Silence.
The other moved like equilibrium taking form, neither bright nor dark, but perfect — a law given shape.
The Arbiter — Calystria of the Twin Mirrors.
When their feet touched the mortal soil of Azure Blue, every beast bowed its head.
Every river slowed.
Every mountain exhaled.
For the first time in twenty million years, two Elder Celestials walked the lower plane.
And they found…
Guru, Vaelion, and Lucien's clone sitting around a small wooden table.
Drinking tea.
No divine formation.
No defensive stance.
Just three beings who looked as though they were discussing weather.
Guru slurped loudly on purpose. "Ahhh, perfect timing. I was starting to think you two forgot how to walk."
Buddha's fury hit the mountain like a silent sun.
The sky behind him split into twelve golden mandalas.
The earth beneath him became a sea of lotus petals.
Even the wind bowed.
"Monkey King."
Jinasvara's voice echoed across continents.
"You were sealed for your rebellion. And yet you sit here, unbound, enjoying tea."
Guru tapped his teacup with a claw.
"Please. I've been sealed, unsealed, resealed, repackaged, and redistributed more times than you've counted breaths."
Buddha turned—not to Guru, but to Lucien's clone.
His face, usually placid, was iron.
"You."
Golden light sharpened around him.
"You unmade my seal. You trespass upon heavenly law. Do you know what you have done?"
Lucien's clone raised his teacup without looking up.
"Buddha," he said softly, "I've always wanted to ask you something."
Jinasvara paused.
The mountain held its breath.
Even Calystria turned her mirrored gaze upon the young man.
Lucien looked up at Buddha with eyes calm enough to cut lightning.
"What do you embody?"
Buddha frowned. "Enlightenment. Liberation. The path beyond—"
Lucien lifted a finger.
A gesture small, but absolute.
"No. That's what your scriptures claim."
His voice grew quieter.
Sharper.
More real than truth itself.
"I asked what you embody.
Not your religion.
Not your followers.
Not the role Heaven assigned you."
A hollow silence spread.
For the first time since stars learned to burn, Jinasvara hesitated.
Because he knew the answer, but he could not say it.
Not here.
Not before these beings.
Not before the one who sat like a paradox wearing human skin.
Lucien leaned back.
"See? You can't answer. Because the moment you speak your truth, Buddha…
your authority fails to match your essence."
Jinasvara's aura flickered. A golden crack ran through the nearest mandala.
Calystria stepped forward.
Not angry.
Not offended.
Merely… curious.
Her voice was soft — the kind of softness that could snap an empire in half if it chose.
"Lucien Dreamveil…"
The Arbiter's mirrored eyes reflected infinite versions of him — each one stronger than the next.
"…why did you unmake the seal?"
Lucien's smile sharpened just a sliver.
"Because Guru wasn't sealed for crime," he said.
"But for inconvenience."
Guru snorted. Vaelion chuckled.
Lucien continued:
"Because Heaven fears unpredictability."
Calystria's eyes shimmered.
"And because," Lucien added, pouring more tea into all five cups — including theirs —
"I don't tolerate cages."
Silence.
Deep.
Dangerous.
Cosmic.
Calystria finally spoke, voice calm as a blade laid upon a throat:
"Your actions destabilize balance."
Lucien tilted his head.
"My existence is destabilization."
"Then you threaten the cosmic order itself."
Lucien smiled.
"Good."
Even Guru blinked at that one.
Vaelion's storm flickered in amusement.
Buddha clenched his fist, golden sutras exploding outward —
—but Calystria raised a hand.
The mandalas shattered like dust.
"Not yet," she said softly.
Her mirrored eyes locked onto Lucien.
"If you intend to unmake Heaven, at least tell us why."
Lucien's clone set his teacup down.
The world dimmed.
The void rippled.
A shadow of the true Lucien — the one sitting on his Throne in the merged Primordial Void — blinked into their vision behind him.
A throne made of dreamstuff and paradox.
Eyes ancient.
Smile gentle.
Presence unbearable.
And in that moment, Buddha and the Arbiter realized:
They were not speaking to a clone.
They were speaking to a fragment of a concept that should not exist.
A Heaven-Void Paradox.
Lucien's clone whispered:
"Because the heavens forgot why they existed."
And the mountain cracked beneath the weight of that truth.