There was no sky where the Astral Court stood.
Only light — woven and folded until it became a place.
Beneath that endless brilliance, the thrones of the old pantheon waited in a vast circle, each one carved from a different law of existence. One bled rivers of crystal; another smoldered with silent flame. Some were empty. Most had been for ages.
But tonight, they stirred.
From the edge of eternity, one by one, the Elders returned.
The first came clothed in stormlight — the sound of thunder trapped in human shape. His voice was the breaking of mountains.
"The Seal has cracked."
The second rose from shadow, a figure of obsidian and dusk whose face was never the same twice.
"A mortal carries the root-fire," she said. "You know what that means."
A third answered from within a sea of stars, her body transparent, galaxies orbiting her spine.
"It means the forge has chosen again."
The storm-being turned toward her, eyes flickering white. "Chosen poorly. The last bearer scorched the lower realms to ash. The one before that tore open the Veil. Mortals were never meant to touch the Prime Flame."
"Nor were we," murmured the shadowed one. "Yet we did."
Silence followed — heavy, vast.
High above them, the Celestial Sigil turned — a ring of light that kept the universe bound, older than the gods themselves. Its hum filled the chamber like a heartbeat.
From beneath it, a voice spoke. Not thunder. Not song. Something in between.
"Enough."
The light at the center condensed, forming a figure so radiant that even the Elders turned their gaze away. When it spoke, reality trembled — not from anger, but memory.
"He bears the Prime Flame. The cycle begins anew. You all know what that means."
The storm-being bowed his head. "He will burn the world."
The shadowed one smiled faintly. "Or forge a new one."
A murmur rippled through the Court. Dozens of minor thrones flickered into being — forgotten divinities waking, half-formed saints whispering from the edges of creation. They all felt it: the rising of the forge-light, the mortal who carried it.
The radiant figure turned toward the Watcher, who lingered silently beyond the circle.
"You were the first to see him. Speak."
The Watcher's voice was low, the echo of an ocean beneath the stars.
"He is not ready. But he remembers. The Flame remembers him."
That sent a tremor through the gathered host.
"Remembers?" the storm-being barked. "That cannot be. The Flame erases all who bear it."
"It remembers," the Watcher repeated. "I felt it when our gazes met. It knows its origin — and it recognized me."
The Radiant One grew still.
Light dimmed across the chamber. Even the Sigil's hum seemed to slow.
"Then the cycle is collapsing faster than expected," the Radiant One said. "The Veil will not hold long if the Flame's memory stirs."
The shadowed goddess leaned forward, voice soft as silk.
"Perhaps that is not a curse. Perhaps this time, the Flame seeks to break free from the cycle entirely."
The storm-being slammed his hand upon his throne, sparks scattering through the void.
"You would unmake the Order for a mortal? You forget what came of the First Forge!"
The shadows rippled around her smile. "I forget nothing."
Their voices rose, gods arguing like tempests colliding, thunder and whispers tangling across dimensions. The Court trembled. The Sigil spun faster.
And through it all, the Watcher stood silent, eyes on the void beyond the chamber — where something vast was stirring.
The Radiant One noticed. "What do you see?"
The Watcher's gaze sharpened. "The forges are answering. Across the cosmos, sleeping stars are waking. The flame is calling its kin."
"Then it begins," the Radiant One said quietly. "The last cycle."
For a moment, no one spoke. The universe itself seemed to listen.
Then the light shifted, and a new figure appeared at the edge of the thrones — not summoned, not bound. She walked barefoot across the air, eyes like molten glass, her presence older than creation's first sound.
Every god rose.
"You," the Radiant One whispered. "You were sealed beyond the Veil."
The newcomer smiled faintly.
"And now the Veil answers to him."
Gasps spread through the divine host.
"Who are you to speak for the bearer?" the storm-being demanded.
She looked toward him — and the thunder died.
"I am what remains of the First Flame. The one he remembers."
The chamber fell into silence so deep that stars outside seemed to stop burning.
"Then the cycle truly ends," murmured the Watcher.
The Radiant One turned slowly, the light of their form flickering like a candle in wind. "Prepare the Heavens," they said at last. "The mortal will ascend—or the cosmos will fall with him."
And with that decree, the Astral Conclave dissolved, its thrones fading into the light as the first tremors of destiny rippled through existence.
Far below, on the quiet world of Eirath, Kael stirred in his sleep.
The forge beneath his skin pulsed once, as if answering a call from beyond the stars.