The moment the first crack splintered across an egg's surface, the entire chamber seemed to hold its breath.
The air deepened. Moonlight condensed. Solar shimmer brightened. Oria's twenty wings unfolded protectively behind her, a veil of divine anticipation. Dante felt his heart steady itself—not with anxiety, but with awe.
"Here they come," Oria murmured.
The egg at the far left shuddered violently. Then another. Then three more. Soon all twenty-three great eggs trembled in unison, their surfaces humming, glowing, shifting, each radiance different—each signature distinct.
And the first one broke fully.
A burst of eclipse-fire tore outward, scattering flecks of colorless stardust.
A figure stepped into being, tall and elegant as a blade drawn from dusk itself. Eighteen wings unfolded behind her—nine pairs, each pair a living paradox:
One wing pure dawn-gold.
The other wing midnight black.
Where they touched, the veins glowed eclipse-silver.
She lifted her face, eyes bright as twin crescents of burning light.
She knelt instantly.
"Creator. Mother."
Her voice rang sharp, clear, swift—like a cutting wind.
"I am Portia. Eclipse Falcon. Primal Angel of Rapid Dawn and Dusk. Blade of Swiftness. Command, and I fly."
Dante felt his breath catch; Oria's entire being warmed with radiant pride.
"Rise, my daughter," Oria said, touching her brow. "Stand beside your kin."
Portia rose gracefully, her eighteen wings folding with perfect discipline.
The second egg cracked open with a low rumble. A massive figure emerged, muscles carved like living stone, fur-lined armor forming across his frame even as he took his first breath. His wings—also eighteen—were thick, heavy, and built to withstand apocalyptic force. His mane of black-gold fur bristled with primal energy.
He pounded a fist to his chest.
"Bazazath. Chaos Bear. Primal Angel of Adaptive Fury. Your shield and your hammer."
Another egg broke in a gentle cascade of crystalline petals. Snow-flurries drifted around a slender avian figure stepping forth, his eighteen wings feathered in white frost and cosmic-blue. His eyes were calm, calculating, serene.
"I am Suriel, Storm-Owl of the High Peaks," he said softly. "Primal Angel of Ranged Sovereignty."
A fourth egg burst with a crack like snapping bones. A lithe figure with elongated limbs and four muscled arms emerged—hair wild, body wrapped in combat-hardened instinct. His eighteen wings were jagged, powerful, built for siege-breaking war.
"Domiel," he growled. "Four-Armed Ape. Primal Angel of Ruin and Siege."
The chamber's light pulsed again.
An egg split down the middle like a tree trunk opening. Roots of luminous wood spiraled out, forming a temporary cradle for the child within. A calm figure stepped forth, aura smelling faintly of earth, rain, and sap. Elven markings glowed across his skin.
He bowed deeply.
"Ophiel. Wood-Elf lineage. Primal Angel of Terrain and Attrition."
Before Dante could reply, another egg exploded in pink-gold foxfire. The scent of perfume, mischief, and lethal charm filled the air. A graceful woman emerged, tails of fire flickering behind her—even though angels did not normally have tails at all. Her eighteen wings shimmered in seductive rouge and incandescent gold.
She winked.
"Araqiel, at your service. Alluring Fire Kitsune. Primal Angel of Medical Flames and Temptation Warfare."
Oria gave Dante a mildly concerned sidelong glance.
Dante shrugged helplessly.
The next egg cracked with a sanguine glow, revealing a pale, sharp-eyed figure draped in black velvet. His aura pulsed with stealth, hunger, and forbidden elegance. Fangs glinted when he smiled.
"Inian, Vampire of the Veiled Hunt. Primal Angel of Stealth and Intelligence."
Another egg rippled with thunder. A towering eagle-winged angel burst out with a shriek that rattled the chamber's walls. Lightning curled through her feathers.
"Nuriel!" she proclaimed proudly. "Storm Eagle! Primal Angel of Aerial War!"
As her wings snapped open, Bazazath gave an approving grunt.
The next egg opened like a calm blooming flower, revealing a turtle-shelled colossus, serene and immovable. His eighteen wings were heavy with layered plates of divine armor.
"Aphaeleon," he said simply. "Bastion Turtle. Primal Angel of Defense and Fortification."
A sharp howl split the chamber as another egg burst. A wolf-like angel leapt forward, silver fur streaked with violet runes. His eighteen wings were sleek, fast, predatory.
"Rahatiel! Knight-Wolf! Primal Angel of Close-Quarters Mastery!"
His tail wagged once—just once—before he stiffened and pretended it hadn't.
The next egg opened in a swirl of lunar flame, revealing a dragon-born angel crowned in silver horns. His eighteen wings bore the patterns of embers and starlight.
He bowed his head respectfully.
"Sansanvi, Dragon of the Dawning Flames. Primal Angel of Assault."
One by one, more emerged—until twenty-one Primal Angels stood assembled, each born directly from Dante and Oria's fused essence, each eighteen-winged, each a sovereign exemplar of their warpath.
And then the chamber shifted again.
The crack echoing through the next egg was quieter—less forceful, more… profound. Dante felt a vibration in his soul. The egg wasn't large, but it hummed with the pure frequency of moonlight and dreamstuff.
It didn't burst.
It unfolded.
A small figure stepped out, slender and radiant, with wings made of liquid moonlight—eighteen in total, but they flowed more like living silk than feathers. Her eyes were crescents of soft silver luminescence.
She bowed gracefully to both creators.
"I am Arenriel," she whispered. "Dream Angel. Holder of the Moon's Light. Guide of the Sleepless Paths."
Her presence quieted the entire chamber.
And then another egg opened—this one in a pulse of shadowed moonlight, a darker mirror to Arenriel's emergence. The figure inside rose slowly, wings of void-silk and nightmare-flame unfurling—eighteen in number, elegant and fearsome.
Her eyes gleamed midnight-violet.
"Anariel," she said. "Nightmare Angel. Holder of the Moon's Darkness. Hunter of Corruption."
Arenriel turned toward her counterpart.
Anariel inclined her head in acknowledgment.
Two sisters—light and dark—equal in power, opposite in nature, united in origin.
The chamber trembled.
The remaining eggs cracked all at once—the Royal Guard Primordials. A hundred smaller eggs smashed open like falling stars, and figures made of twilight-chaos materialized in perfect formation.
Their leader stepped first: a tall, androgynous figure of shifting silver and black fractal patterns. Their eighteen wings bent light around them like distorted glass.
"Onorex," they announced in a voice that resonated like layered echoes. "Captain of the Twilight Guard. We stand ready to defend the Palace and the Mirror."
In perfect synchronization, one hundred Twilight Angels knelt behind them, forming a fractal mandala of wings and light.
Dante exhaled slowly.
It was overwhelming.
It was miraculous.
It was perfect.
And Oria—her expression soft, proud, maternal—placed a hand on Dante's shoulder.
"Our children," she whispered. "Our host."
The chamber glowed with divine radiance, warm and intense, as twenty-three Primordial Angels and one hundred Twilight Angels rose in synchronous reverence.
A faint cracking sound echoed.
One egg remained unopened.
It trembled.
A thin fracture cut across its surface… then spread… then split—
Dante and Oria leaned forward—
And before the light inside could reveal the next Primordial…