Prologue — When Gods Make War
The sky burned with the color of ending.
From horizon to horizon, divine banners shimmered — rivers of silver and scarlet unfurling across the heavens as the Valkyrie of Ruin, the mother of all war, raised her hand. Behind her, an army of billions knelt in reverence, their armor gleaming like molten stars, their chants shaking the bones of creation itself.
"Forward," she whispered — and the world obeyed.
Mountains shattered as celestial steeds screamed through the firmament. Kingdoms — entire civilizations — burned beneath her gaze. The ground itself seemed to bow before her majesty.
Amid this apocalypse, a single figure stood beside her — a youth, half-covered in blood, eyes blazing with divine madness.
Her second son.
He laughed as he tore through gods and men alike, wielding blades of lightning, fire, and wrath itself.
Every kill sang through his veins. Every scream felt like worship.
"Mother!" he roared, grinning. "Which kingdom shall fall next?!"
The Valkyrie smiled — cold, proud, magnificent.
"Whichever amuses you most, my son."
And so another kingdom died screaming.
Far above the battlefield, within the Celestial Palace, the Supreme Emperor sat in silence — an old god cloaked in power so vast it bent time itself. His gaze fell upon a figure kneeling before him — his first son, the shadow behind the throne, the serpent with a golden tongue.
"The Valkyrie grows reckless," the Emperor murmured.
"Her wars feed chaos."
"And chaos," said the schemer softly, "feeds opportunity."
They spoke of treason in whispers.
Of a weapon — a Divine Relic sealed beneath the palace.
Of stealing it before dawn.
And of silencing whoever dared oppose the plan.
Yet, as empires trembled and gods plotted…
One man slept.
In the heart of the golden palace, sprawled across silken sheets, a youth dreamed without care.
His name was Azelion Draegyr, third son of the Emperor, born under omens of ruin and brilliance.
Arrogant. Domineering.
Beloved by mortals, loathed by gods.
The hero of his own illusions.
He smiled faintly in his sleep — unaware that the world outside was burning in his family's name.
Because Azelion did not care.
Not yet.
But destiny has a way of waking even the most unwilling gods.