The Observatory of Lyra floated on a fractured asteroid, its faceted walls refracting distant starlight like scattered diamonds. Inside, Mariel sat at a low, crystalline table strewn with data‐filaments and holo‐charts, her pale fingers dancing across a projection of the newly born Phoenix Galaxy. Every arc of gas and glittering star represented decades of her life's work.
Her apprentice, Tavin, leaned over her shoulder, curiosity bright in his dark eyes. "Master, this quadrant, your readings don't match the star‐maps."
Mariel frowned, lifting a delicate finger to pause the projection. Holographic constellations froze mid‐twirl. "That's impossible," she murmured. "I calibrated for cosmic drift two standard cycles ago."
Across the chamber, the projection stuttered. The edges of each star began to blur and dim, until they bled together into impossible shapes. Tavin's breath caught. "Is that... a new constellation?"
She shook her head, heart thudding. "No. It's not made."
On the display, the nebulae dissolved entirely, leaving a yawning black sigil at the galaxy's core. It was terrible in its simplicity: a circle of perfect nothingness, devouring adjacent light as though it hungered.
Mariel rose abruptly, sloshing her tea, an amber swirl in a crystalline cup across the table. The liquid formed droplets that hovered like tiny suns before vanishing in the air. "Tavin, step back."
He obeyed, confusion flickering into alarm. "What's happening?"
She pressed trembling fingers to her chest, as if to still her racing heart. The sigil on the holo‐chart pulsed in time with her pulse or so it felt. Each beat sent a shockwave through her body: she tasted metal, smelled ozone, and glimpsed a panorama of darkness so absolute it shone.
"Master?" Tavin's voice wavered.
Mariel's vision blurred. Images flashed behind her eyelids: collapsing stars, shredded dreams, a vast face without features, peering into the cosmos as though seeking... meaning? In that instant, her life's connection to the astral tapestry rewrote itself. She could feel her own essence unraveling, as if the sigil fed on her soul.
"Report—now!" she gasped, stumbling back.
He reached to steady her, but she waved him away and crumpled to the floor. The chart shattered into fractals, each fragment dissolving into dust. "Master!" Tavin dropped to his knees beside her.
Her lips twitched into a weak smile, eyes distant. "Remember... Lyra's last light." Then her hand went limp; her breath stilled like a star's final flicker.
Some distance above Lyra, in the Nine Heavens' sapphire spire, Seraphiel halted mid‐stride. His wings, a hundred million feathers of burning gold—folded with unnatural stillness. He often patrolled the celestial courts, but this silence was different: it was a void pressing against reality itself.
A tremor coursed through every fiber of his being, as though the cosmos shivered at its core. He drew the Blade of First Law from his side, the hilt fashioned from living starlight, the edge honed on the bones of creation.
He closed his eyes. In the perfect hush, a single truth echoed: something uncreated had awakened.
On the asteroid's jagged surface, Tavin pressed an emergency beacon into the air. It flared with sapphire fire and shot upward, a streaking comet of warning. But the fissures in reality that caused Mariel's collapse had begun to spread. Cracks raced across the rock, spitting embers of twilight where the void pierced through.
Tavin scrambled to his feet and snatched the heavy crystal chart‑case from the table. Inside lay centuries of star‐data—now as meaningless as dust. He sprinted across the observatory's fractured floor, past drifting holographic prisms, and hurled himself toward the intake shuttle.
Behind him, the asteroid groaned. Walls rippled like disturbed water. A new sigil identical to the one that claimed Mariel burned into the surface, swallowing chunks of rock as though a hungry maw devoured it.
Tavin smashed down on the shuttle's hatch release, and the door slid open. Inside, the cockpit lights sputtered. He flung the chart‐case onto the seat beside him, then slammed the hatch. The shuttle's engines stuttered, coughed, and roared to life, blasting the craft outward just as the observatory's outer wall collapsed.
He watched in the viewport as the asteroid shattered, chunks of crystal drifting into oblivion. From the swirling wreckage, faint glimmers of starlight winked out like dying dreams.
Tavin exhaled, voice raw: "It's begun."
Far above all realms, at the Prism Throne of the Creator, the beacon reached its destination. An orb of pure radiance trembled, then blossomed outward as God's voice spoke in every mind simultaneously:
Heralds, assemble. A Rift breaches reality. Cross it. Learn its nature. Return—or perish.
At those words, four figures materialized on the throne's gleaming platform:
Vashiel, Law‑Knight of the First Circle, armor inscribed with runes that glowed with the authority of universal decree.
Korayn, Titan‑blooded warrior, muscles coiled like living mountains and scars alight with molten fury.
Luminara, Mistress of Starlight, suspended in mid‑air, her hair a drifting nebula, eyes reflecting the birth of suns.
Theron, Sage of the Deep, hooded and inscrutable, an orb of shifting waters cradled in his arms.
Seraphiel joined them, blade in hand, wings unfurled like banners of dawn. No introductions were exchanged; each knew the stakes.
God's decree lingered in their minds, a pulse of divine command: the fabric of reality unraveled at Lyra, and something beyond creation stirred in the Primal Void.
They turned as one toward the gash in the sky that marked the Rift's location, a wound of roiling darkness ringed by crackling lightning of unreal hues. Seraphiel's voice rang out, steady and clear:
"Heralds, we cross into the unknown. Stay united. Nothing there conforms to our laws."
And with that, they soared forward—Vashiel's sword blazing straight into the maw, Korayn's war‑cry shattering the air, Luminara's light carving a path, Theron's waters pushing back the darkness, and Seraphiel leading the charge.
In a flash of impossible geometry, the Rift swallowed them whole.
Silence fell.
And the Primal Void began to close around them.
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and then Add to home screen.