The wind atop Mount Kaerion is colder than death. It cuts through my scales, whispering the same words that have haunted us since the Silence began. He has not spoken.
Kaelith, our god… our origin… vanished beyond the veil of light and shadow. And yet, even in His absence, the pulse of His blood burns within us — golden fire beneath dark skin.
I am Vareth, eldest of the Kaerynox who remain in the mortal realm. We were once warriors of light and silence, twin-born with purpose. Now, we are builders of memory.
Our mountain rises above the world — a spire of blackstone and white flame. Below us, mortals crawl in ignorance. They pray to hollow skies, never knowing that a god's children live above them. We are His blood, and yet even we have begun to doubt.
Every dawn, I climb the same ledge, look into the horizon where the suns burn, and whisper,
"Lord Kaelith… have we failed You?"
No answer ever came — until tonight.
The storm rolled in like a crown of shadow. Lightning bled silver across the heavens, and the peak trembled beneath our claws. The others gathered — my kin, my blood. Thousands of Kaerynox, their wings folded, their eyes reflecting both gold and night.
And then — it came.
A whisper, soft yet eternal.
"Build me the gate between light and silence… that My daughters may one day cross."
Every drop of blood in me froze. The mountain seemed to breathe. My wings unfolded without thought, and the roar that left my throat was not my own — it was His.
Kaelith still watches.
We began that same night.
Stone and flame bent beneath our will. The mountain's heart split open, exposing rivers of molten gold. We carved sanctums into the rock, each one bearing the sigil of our god — the spiral star of balance.
The Kaerynox do not use tools. We shape the world with our blood and breath. Each of us dripped golden ichor upon the stones, watching them shimmer and hum with divine resonance. The Gate's foundation was born from pain and devotion — a sacred wound upon the mountain's crown.
For seven cycles we built. The mortals below saw lights and thought them stars. They heard roars and called them thunder. None knew that gods were working above their fragile world.
The Gate took form like a wound in reality — a vast ring of fused obsidian and crystal light, taller than our grandest halls. At its center, emptiness swirled — black and white, bleeding into one another like the breath of Kaelith Himself.
Each dawn, I looked upon it and felt both awe and terror. We were creating a bridge between realms — between faith and flesh.
The High Flame-Kin sang hymns in the ancient tongue, their voices deep and echoing:
"Kaer'thien, Aen Sol'var — Balance unto the Maker."
Their wings burned bright, light and shadow flickering together like dancing suns.
Yet not all felt the same devotion.
Some whispered that Kaelith had abandoned us. Others said He was dead.
I silenced them. Not with violence — though it would've been easy — but with truth.
I led them to the edge of the mountain, pointed at the stars, and said,
"Do you not feel it? His breath moves the heavens. His silence is not absence — it is command."
They bowed. None spoke again.
Weeks passed. Our citadel grew around the Gate — shining towers, bridges of crystal, terraces carved into the wind. From afar, it must look like a constellation fallen upon stone.
The mortals below began to notice. They built crude temples, thinking our lights were omens. They called us "the Celestial Beasts." None knew we were the firstborn of their god.
I sometimes watched them from above. They were small, fragile, violent — but they prayed. And I wondered if Kaelith heard their words, too.
The final night of construction was unlike any before.
The twin suns bled into one another — gold devoured silver, and the sky split open with silence. All of us gathered before the Gate. Our wings folded. Our hearts burned.
I placed my claws upon the core stone, feeling it thrum with divine energy.
And then… His voice returned.
"Vareth, my blood — the Gate will awaken when belief does. Guard it until My daughters return. When the light and silence meet again… balance shall breathe."
The words burned into my soul. I felt my veins blaze with gold until my eyes went white.
Kaelith's presence faded, but not like before. This time, I felt peace.
The Gate stood completed — silent, perfect, waiting.
I turned to my kin. "This is no monument," I said. "It is a promise."
Our roars shook the heavens. The mortals below fled their fires, staring up in terror as light split the clouds. They could not see us — only the glow of faith reborn.
When the echo faded, I stood before the Gate alone. My wings hung heavy.
"I will keep your promise, Father," I whispered. "Even if eternity forgets your name."
Then I touched the Gate once more, feeling it pulse — alive, waiting.
And for the first time since the Silence began… I felt Him smile.
End of Chapter 10 — "The Church of Balance"