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One thought can change everything. A calm ocean can become a battlefield of life and death in an instant.
Ten thousand years are nothing more than the blink of an eye. And a single second can contain eternity.
...
This universe is too vast to comprehend, filled with countless intersecting lives, each busy with their own affairs.
Humans are born and die. Trees grow and wither. Mountains rise and erode. Oceans come and recede. Planets form and shatter. The universe keeps changing.
Nothing can be compared fairly, let alone truly understood.
...
In the vast sky littered with stars, countless powerful beings struggle fiercely. They fight for one thing: the chance to stay alive, to walk the long path toward endless life.
Thousands, even millions of stars, merge to form galaxies. In the silent void of space, there is one ancient being. Its form is vague, its body wrapped in a soft glow that flickers with its movements. No one knows when it came into existence. Where it came from, or why it appeared—there are no answers. It doesn't speak, doesn't explain.
It walks slowly among the stars, and each of its steps radiates tremendous power. Because of its presence, the once dim galaxy bursts into blinding light.
The stronger it grows, the more cosmic dust drifts toward it. That dust clings around it, slowly forming small orbs. Under the being's mysterious power, those orbs turn into new stars, orbiting around it, spinning slowly, shining brightly in the void.
...
**Northern Continent, Early Fourth Epouch. Kingdom of Asterin.**
The capital city of Asterin stands on the spine of a long mountain range that splits the land. Bathed in golden sunlight hanging low in the sky, the city appears like a living painting—warm, bustling, and colorful.
On smooth stone-paved streets, white horse-drawn carriages move slowly, their wheels making soft sounds that blend with the chatter of merchants and the rhythm of footsteps. Gothic-style buildings with tall windows and pointed arches stand close to each other. Street lamps are wrapped in wild yet orderly vines, bringing freshness to the elegant and sturdy architecture.
Bakeries, bookstores, and flower stalls line the sidewalks. Children run around laughing, holding pieces of bread or small pouches of marbles. In a corner of an open-air restaurant, noblewomen sit close together, their faces half-hidden behind fans, discussing topics never far from family, power, or who wore whose dress.
The entire city is filled with light and life, seemingly untouched by the dark rumors slowly spreading in the north.
At the city's heart stands the Tower of Remembrance—also known as the Nexus. The tallest building in the entire kingdom. Made of white marble that reflects light like a mirror, the tower rises to the sky as if trying to pierce the clouds. Each side is adorned with carvings depicting the kingdom's long history: ancient wars, grand treaties, and Asterin's rise from divided lands.
A spiral staircase inside leads to chambers known only to a few. There, keepers of knowledge, Harmony priests, and royal advisors gather. Stained glass windows scatter light into shades of red, blue, and gold dancing on the walls. At night, the tower's peak emits a soft glow—not from torches, but something older and brighter than fire.
In its front courtyard, a marble fountain spins slowly. At its center stands a winged angel statue, holding a spear in one hand, the other outstretched toward the sky. Its face is calm, yet its gaze is firm. Every day, people come and toss coins into the clear water—gold, silver, and bronze scattered at the bottom like sunken stars.
The Tower of Remembrance is not just the city's center—it is its soul. Each morning, its shadow stretches long across the streets, and at night, its peak remains visible even as the city grows dark. People don't always look upon it in awe—they are used to it, like air or sunlight—but its presence is felt. It lives in folktales, lullabies, and whispered prayers. For the citizens of Asterin, the tower is not just a symbol of power—it is proof that they…
Not far from the tower, just a few streets downhill past a small square, stands the Cathedral of Harmony—another grand structure shaping the face of this city. Built from the same white marble, but adorned with larger stained-glass windows and pointed spires that reach like fingers into the sky.
A few blocks away, through a quieter district shaded by ancient trees, stands the royal library. The building is majestic, crystal-blue, with large windows and arched rooftops covered in soft moss. Inside, the air is cool and full of gentle shadows from light filtering through the high stained-glass ceilings and walls.
The floor isn't wood, but a smooth, pale gray surface that reflects light faintly. Tall shelves stand close together, filled with books and scrolls of parchment. A few visitors sit hunched beneath hanging lamps, reading in silence, as if any sound would be too heavy for a place like this.
As the prayers in the cathedral reach their peak, a man walks slowly outside the building, just leaving the library's side door. The late afternoon sunlight touches his face as he steps toward a long wooden bench near the church entrance.
Inside, the prayer session ends. Priests and worshippers draw sacred symbols on their chests and conclude the ritual with music echoing across the great hall.
"Praise be to Harmony!"
As that cry rings out, the halo behind the statue of the god glows brightly, illuminating the entire room. Tiny stars of blue light drift slowly down toward the congregation.
Their expressions change—more peaceful, full of faith, as if they've just received a blessing straight from the heavens.
The light gradually fades. Worshippers begin to file out, speaking softly or not at all.
The man still sits on the bench, wearing clothing that seems foreign among the townspeople. His face is stern, short white hair, and his ice-blue irises pulse calmly, like the low winter sun on the horizon.
If anyone looked more closely, they might notice how strikingly similar his face is to the statue of the god inside the church.
But the worshippers only glance at him briefly, assume he's a stranger, and keep walking.
---
The sky begins to darken. The first stars twinkle faintly over the quieting city. A night breeze carries the scent of incense and wildflowers from the gardens around the Tower of Remembrance.
Inside a vast, quiet meeting room, candlelight flickers softly, casting gentle shadows on the white marble walls.
At the center of the room, a man sits still. His face is firm, his eyes sharp—ice blue, like a frozen lake under moonlight. He wears a dark coat that drapes neatly over his shoulders. His long fingers are calmly interlaced atop an ancient wooden table. Before him, a teacup steams gently, untouched. He is simply waiting.
Then, it happens.
Something shifts.
The air grows heavier. Shadows in the room's corners thicken, as if alive and breathing. Candles flicker violently, nearly extinguished, and the crystal light on the ceiling glows faintly, as though unsure of its purpose.
From that deepening darkness, a figure steps forth.
Tall and graceful, her presence fills the room with tense silence. A long black gown sweeps the floor like moving mist, and on its surface, constellations slowly shift, recognizing their place in the cosmos.
Her body is not entirely human. From ribs to waist, two pairs of feathered arms extend. One pair clutches a massive black scythe, its blade thin and sharp like the rift between worlds. The other pair remains open, fingers long and haunting.
Meanwhile, a pair of human arms dangle gently at her sides. In one hand, she holds a glowing red orb, like a blood moon lit from within.
Her face is hidden beneath a black veil that drapes from her head, covering her eyes and brow. Only her pale lips are visible—silent, yet her presence alone speaks volumes: she is no ordinary being.
The room stills, as if time itself holds its breath.
But in an instant, the silence breaks.
The darkness around her slowly fades. The starlight on her gown dims, revealing a simple black dress that remains elegant. Her mystic form vanishes, leaving behind a veiled woman, her face faint beneath the sheer cloth falling gently over her shoulders.
She steps forward quietly. Her every movement glides like a shadow over water—smooth and soundless. The air around her still carries the hush of her former presence.
At the room's center, a man is already waiting. Sitting in a relaxed posture, his ice-blue eyes gaze sharply, fully aware.
She approaches, then slowly pulls out the chair across from him. As she sits, her gown flows perfectly to the floor. For a moment, they are silent. Only soft breaths and flickering candlelight fill the room.
Then her lips move.
"Yerem," her voice is calm, almost a whisper floating in the air.
The man doesn't answer immediately. He watches her intently, as if trying to take her in fully. After a few seconds that stretch long, the corner of his mouth lifts slightly.
"Amanises," he finally responds, voice light, smiling.
Amanises gazes at him calmly without expression before smiling and saying, "It's been a long time."
Her voice is gentle, It's really calming.
"It has," Yerem nods slowly, then pushes the cup toward her. "Sit. The tea is still warm. I just brewed it. Tastes pretty good, give it a try."