Seraphis — Empress of the Silent Abyss
The Plane was a song of silence.
Silver rivers traced endless paths through the obsidian stone like celestial veins, glowing softly in the shadow of eternal stillness. Above, the cold suns hung motionless—frozen prayers in a sky that had never known life, nor the promise of death. It was a world sculpted from serenity, unchanging, eternal.
And at its heart, wrapped in the Cocoon of Authority, He slept.
Seraphis knelt before the Black Throne. Behind her, one step lower, her own silver-flamed throne stood untouched—an ever-present echo of her devotion. She had not risen. Not once. From the moment Veyrath had surrendered himself to Cosmic Sleep, she had remained as she was now: unmoved, unwavering.
Her divine body knew no fatigue. Her soul required no rest. Each breath she took was a vow pressed into the Plane's fabric.
I will be here when you wake.
Slowly, she lifted her gaze, eyes shimmering like galaxies, staring upon the cocooned silhouette of her King. Even in slumber, his power radiated through the Plane—an invisible second heartbeat, heavier than gravity, deeper than time. It pressed against her senses, shaping the rhythm of her eternity.
Her hands clasped tightly over her chest, just above her luminous core.
Love.
Not the fleeting thing mortals whispered about in moonlit dreams. Not the trembling ache that danced at the edge of mortality. This love was law. A pillar of being. A cosmic force stronger than gravity, sharper than light. It was her truth.
"Veyrath…" she whispered, her voice quivering like a blade drawn slow across fate. "My King. My maker. My beloved."
Her thoughts drifted, unbidden, to the moment of her creation. She remembered the touch of divine will—how she had been drawn from the breath of the void, shaped by authority, named and crowned by one who could command the stars to kneel.
He could have made anyone. He had made her.
Chosen her. Called her Seraphis.
The memory threatened to break her all over again.
She longed—ached—with a bottomless hunger to see him open his eyes once more. To bask in the weight of his gaze. To feel the world shift with a single glance from the one who had given her purpose, form, life.
"I will keep it whole for you," she vowed, voice steady despite the tremble in her soul. "The Plane, the Throne, your name, your will—all shall remain untouched, untainted, until you rise."
"I am yours," she whispered, "I have always been yours."
The rivers flowed on.The suns burned on.And Seraphis knelt—Empress of the Silent Abyss, lover of a King who slept beyond time itself.
Caelora — First Knight of the Void
She stood.
Always, she stood.
At the foot of the Black Throne, sword drawn, head bowed—not in submission, but in readiness. Every breath she took was measured. Every movement was deliberate. Caelora, the First Knight of the Void, had no room for rest.
She was the Blade of Veyrath.The shield between her King and the ruin of reality.The final edge that would greet any who dared defy his will.
Her armor, forged from dying stars and dusk itself, shimmered faintly under the chill light of the cold suns. Her silver hair fell like a banner of judgment, never stirring unless the Plane itself trembled. Her eyes, sharp and silent, remained fixed downward—until now.
She risked a glance.
Just enough to see him. Cocooned in divine silence. Cradled in power too vast to define.
He was beyond words.
Beyond gods. Beyond creation itself.
Caelora's fingers clenched tighter around her blade. She remembered the moment he forged her—not as a plaything, not as a servant, but as a Knight. She had been called not from nothingness, but from necessity. Trusted. Empowered.
He made me.He trusted me.He left me here because he believed in me.
The thought filled her with neither fear nor sorrow.
It filled her with savage joy.
She did not love him softly. Her devotion was not gentle. It was the kind of loyalty born in war and sharpened through fire. If Seraphis was the heart of his silence, then Caelora was its blade—uncompromising, brutal, unrelenting.
"If anything dares disturb you," she whispered through clenched teeth, "I will destroy it."
Her vow echoed across the stone like thunder beneath still water.
"If anything reaches for your Throne, I will cut it down."
"If even the stars forget to shine in your absence, I will remind them why they were born."
Her oaths were not empty words. They were writ in steel, in blood, in the very code of her existence. She would stand here for eternity if she had to. She would slaughter gods and tear down planes if it meant shielding his sleep.
All for him.
All for Veyrath.