A feast was laid out before him, the table groaning under the weight of roasted meats, sweet breads, and wine that glowed faintly under lamplight. His family was jubilant, laughter spilling through the hall, their silver hair and eyes glimmered like stars. They celebrated the "good" news as though every shadow in their lives had been banished the moment he was accepted into the Cradle. To them, it was a blessing — proof that fate still smiled upon the Vespertine name.
But to Riel, the cheer was suffocating.
The Vespertines had once been giants. In an age long past, they were among the Moon God's chosen, silver-stained Ascendants whose very souls shone with lunar fire. That ancient glory had dwindled to embers, today it lingered only in the pallid silver hair and luminous eyes passed down like a fading inheritance.
His father was a Warden — second tier, formidable enough that no mortal could hope to match him. Yet in this world of gods and demons, such strength meant little. Compared to the horrors that walked among them, he was only a slightly larger ant.
Power defined everything in this world. Nine tiers, three spheres.
In The Third Sphere lay Sentinels, Wardens and Principals — shields of humanity, strong yet still mortal.
The Second: Home to Dominions, Virtues and Powers; beings who strode like gods to common men, bending nations with their presence.
And finally the First:
Thrones. Cherubs. Seraphim.
Legends carved into living flesh. They stood just beneath gods and demigods, immortals in all but name. To rise to that height, to gain that strength was to surrender one's humanity, to become something vast and terrible. Each one a miracle in their own right. A legend of an era.
His family's laughter rang out again, warm, proud, unknowing. They did not see the shadows gathering behind his eyes.
His sister smiled at him, her eyes filled with warmth.
"Riel, I am so proud of you. The family's honour will be restored because of you."
Selene Vespertine.
She had given her life to the Eternal Ocean of Silver, devout as a child of the moon. She once dreamed of climbing the ranks of the Order of the Silver Veil, but her talent had not carried her far enough. Those dreams dissolved, leaving her only the path of a mortal nun.
"I am only a hand," Riel muttered.
"You are below one," his father corrected, "but above millions. Just to stand within the Cradle and touch the Gods' Chosen is a gift that places you leagues beyond most. So rejoice, Riel… please."
And he tried. For their sake, he tried.
He let himself be swallowed by the celebration, the laughter, the fleeting joy. But as the moon climbed the sky and the festivities ebbed away, a heaviness returned. His family found rest. Riel could not. He knew what awaited him in sleep.
Each step up the stairs was a slog through mire. Even after all these years, the dread of night clung to him like a parasite. His shadow loomed across the bed—his tormentor, his reminder. He lay down and surrendered. Resistance was pointless. Once, he fought. Now? He no longer saw the point.
Sleep consumed him. And as always, it took him back.
To the forest.
Branches that twisted into hands of bone.
Soil that sprouted eyes which followed every breath.
A fog that clung to his lungs, acid in the air, each inhale felt like punishment, it was if this ghoulish world rejected life. Rejected him.
Behind the fog lay only darkness. Endless, impenetrable.
Once, long ago, Riel had tried to wander into it but the forest was a cage.
Crunch.
That sound again. The same snap. The same branch breaking beneath something unspeakable.
He knew what was coming. He knew, and still he did nothing.
Then, the jaws. Gleaming brighter than anything he had ever seen.
His remembered the hand that reached out to him earlier today. He remembered the pride his family had in him.
'You don't have to be strong at least not around me'
He did have to be strong for in this nightmare there was no one to hold him, to protect him, to fight for him.
He was alone.
And yet, something stirred. That fragile faith, their belief in him. It filled him, however faintly, with courage.
He moved.
Leaping aside just as the monster's colossal jaws clashed where he had stood.
The fog shifted as it circled him, revealing glimpses of its body. Twisted limbs bent and writhed. Fingers sprouted eyes. Mouths filled with claws. A patchwork of flesh, a mistake of creation, something only a cruel, twisted god would make.
It stalked him like prey
prey that had dared to resist. it was Curious. Almost insulted.
Then it lunged again—faster, hungrier. This time its teeth tore through his arm.
White-hot pain ripped through him as blood sprayed across the fog, staining it crimson. His scream echoed through the forest as his mind fractured under the agony.
The beast pounced once more—
—and he awoke.
The sun shone across his pale face, catching the sweat beading his skin.
With trembling fingers, he grabbed his arm, terrified to find it gone. But it was there. Whole.
The memory of pain remained, raw and searing.
And he wept.
An ugly, guttural cry tore from his chest.
The sound of a broken man was the roosters call this morning.