Alter stood before the threshold of the Trial of Ascension—a place ancient, untouched by time, veiled in primordial energy. The gates shimmered with layers of reality folding in upon themselves, faint whispers of souls long passed echoing in the silence.
He took a step forward.
From the depths of the trial itself, a voice emerged—timeless, unbound by any language.
"You have returned."
Alter's gaze held firm. "Yes. This time, I am ready. I have already unlocked the Creator's Authority. The seal has already been broken."
The voice answered, now echoing across the veiled dimension like thunder moving through stars.
"Then you are ready… to ascend."
And behind him, the world shifted.
A colossal staircase of pure light manifested—spiraling upward, impossibly vast, vanishing into a radiant sky with no visible peak. Each step glowed with cascading glyphs that pulsed in rhythm with his breath, as though the stairs themselves recognized the return of a sovereign soul.
Alter turned, facing the ascent with no hesitation.
He took the first step.
And then the next.
With each stride, the burdens of mortality, the bonds of the world, and the memories of love and legacy followed him. He bore them willingly. For them, he climbed.
The air shimmered with divine pressure. The very concept of time distorted. But Alter kept going—one step, one breath, one heartbeat at a time.
Two hours passed.
Or maybe more.
Finally, through the radiant veil, a structure emerged in the distance—a massive gate, towering and blinding, carved from a celestial alloy no mortal eye could fathom. Its surface shimmered with fragments of existence itself.
Alter pushed forward. His breath slowed. His heartbeat thundered.
As he reached the final step before the gate, he stopped.
For a moment—he felt the weight of everything. Of Selene. Of his children. Of the world he left behind.
He let out a quiet exhale.
His heart did not falter.
He had made his vow.
He stepped into the gate.
Light swallowed him whole.
There was no floor beneath him, no sky above. Only darkness streaked with flowing rivers of light—each beam containing memories, moments, and truths he could not quite grasp.
He had seen this place before… but it was buried in the deep marrow of his soul.
The rivers of light flowed through him—pulses of warmth, pain, joy, and fear.
Then… a speck of radiance.
It grew. It widened.
A star?
No, a sun.
No… a realm.
He was drawn toward it.
And in a single blink, he stood on a platform of polished marble suspended in a sea of clouds. The air carried divine weight, yet it welcomed him.
Before him stood two celestial gods, their forms robed in radiant white, adorned with flowing gold and silver etchings. Each bore two massive wings extending from their backs, beating slowly in synchronized silence.
They looked upon him with expressions both serene and solemn.
The gate had opened.
The path to the Divine Realm had begun.
Alter stepped down from the platform of radiant marble, his celestial armor gleaming faintly in the starlit mist. The air shimmered with divine resonance. Two celestial gods awaited him at the edge of the terrace—tall, graceful beings clad in robes stitched with threads of constellation light.
They bowed slightly, their expressions a blend of reverence and duty.
"Seraphina has requested your presence," one said, his voice echoing like a song played backward through glass. "We are to escort you to her directly."
Alter nodded once. "Then please—lead the way."
Without further ceremony, the gods turned and launched into the heavens. Twin arcs of light soared upward, threading through layers of shimmering atmosphere that folded open like veils.
They flew fast—but not too fast. Not yet. There was hesitation in their pace, an unspoken caution. Though tasked with escorting a sovereign, they were unsure of his true speed, his divine stamina, his presence. And so they glanced back. Once. Twice.
Alter caught the backward looks. He smirked faintly.
"Is that your full pace?" he asked, voice dry but edged with challenge.
They blinked. "No, we can go faster."
"Then try to keep up."
The moment the words left his mouth, a ripple of force erupted beneath his feet—and Alter vanished in a streak of gold.
Shocked, the two gods accelerated instantly, light flaring from their backs as their divine flight crests ignited. The sky tore in concentric waves as they pushed past normal bounds. But Alter matched them. Effortlessly. His flight left no trail—just the sharp displacement of space, like a needle threading holes into heaven.
Higher. Faster. The gods pushed to their limit.
Still, Alter glided beside them.
Their lungs began to burn. Not from atmosphere—they were gods—but from exertion. Maintaining this velocity strained even celestial conduits. Their veins pulsed with surging energy. Breath quickened. Forms wavered.
Alter, however, looked ahead without so much as a furrow in his brow.
They passed through the last arch of the upper sky, entering the veil of golden wind where the stars bent at their angles. And there it stood.
A celestial palace.
Suspended on a plane of luminous crystal, the palace shimmered with a thousand layers of architecture built across dimensions. Towering spires of mirrored silver spun gently in orbit around a central sanctum crowned by a lotus of stars. Threads of starlight streamed from its peak into the fabric of the cosmos.
The gods landed hard, staggering slightly from the force of the descent. Their robes flared around them, their chests heaving with restrained exhaustion. For too long, they had sustained peak speed.
Alter touched down lightly behind them. No heavy breath. No beads of sweat. His composure remained flawless.
The gods looked at each other, then at him.
What… is he?
Neither asked aloud.
"This is her sanctum," one managed. "You may enter."
The doors of cosmic glass, engraved with celestial glyphs, shimmered in welcome. The two gods turned in unison and stepped forward toward the halls—heads bowed, steps humbled.
And Alter followed, the light of his sovereign aura trailing quietly behind him like the breath of dawn.
The radiant doors closed softly behind him, sealing the celestial corridor in silence.
Alter took his first true step into the divine realm.
The air was unlike anything he'd breathed before—not wind, not aura, but a dense, harmonic presence that clung to every breath and echoed through every motion. Each footfall resonated across the polished light beneath him, the floor reflecting not his shadow—but fragments of his aura trailing like memory.
He slowed.
Not because he was tired.
But because he could feel it—
Her.
And there she stood.
At the heart of the sanctum.
Bathed in the glow of a thousand silent stars.
Seraphina.
She wasn't what he imagined.
She was infinitely more.
Long, golden-white hair flowed like silk unraveling across moonlight. Her skin glowed with a subtle inner luminance, not blinding—but soothing, like morning sun filtered through snow. Her wings, two broad arcs of radiant gold, extended behind her in slow motion, gently pulsing with light. No throne. No crown. Just a quiet, commanding presence woven into the very weave of the realm.
Alter paused at the edge of the platform, unsure whether to step closer or simply bow.
But then—
She smiled.
Not a formal smile.
Not divine pretense.
A smile that said I've been waiting.
"Alter," she said, voice soft and resonant. "You've finally come."
He blinked once, his expression unreadable. "...So you're real."
Her laughter chimed through the chamber, melodic and alive. "More than you expected?"
"Less ethereal, more… personable," he answered carefully.
Seraphina tilted her head, studying him with amused curiosity. "You're more composed than I anticipated. Most mortals collapse upon their first full step into this realm. You've not even flinched."
"I've walked through demon gods, fallen realms, and a screaming sky," Alter replied. "I figured heaven would feel… quieter."
Seraphina stepped forward slowly, her bare feet making no sound across the light. She examined him, not like a goddess sizing up a subject—but like a scholar regarding a living paradox. "And yet," she murmured, "you stand here with the weight of creation smoldering in your bones. Sovereign blood. Creator's breath. Dragon soul. And still you speak like a man."
Alter raised an eyebrow. "Would you rather I bark lightning?"
"I'd rather you breathe," she replied, smiling again. "You've never been here before, Alter. Never stepped into the heart of the divine realm. And yet you carry yourself like you've always belonged."
He looked around, gaze sweeping the immense chamber. "Maybe I have. Or maybe I just got tired of knocking from the outside."
A pause.
And then, something shifted between them.
Seraphina folded her wings back, her expression softening. "I've seen your journey from afar. The trials. The transformation. The flame that refused to die."
"And I've heard of you," Alter said, his voice lowering. "Whispers in dragon tongues. Visions during trials. Even Xian'Zhul spoke your name with reverence."
"But never a meeting."
"Until now."
They stood within arm's reach, two forces—one forged in sovereign fire, the other born of celestial grace. There was no battle between them. Only recognition.
Seraphina looked down briefly, as if embarrassed. "I'd imagined this moment a thousand ways. None of them included me nearly laughing the moment you arrived."
Alter smirked. "Then I've exceeded expectations."
"You always do," she said softly.
The chamber dimmed slightly, the starlight drawing inward—signaling the passing of time.
Seraphina straightened, the warmth in her voice giving way to something more composed. "As much as I would like this moment to last longer, we must not linger. You've crossed into this realm with a title none have held in millennia."
"Let me guess," Alter sighed. "More formalities."
She nodded gently. "An assembly has been called. All attending divine hosts and spheres have gathered to acknowledge your arrival and recognize your ascension."
He tilted his head. "That many?"
"You've shaken both worlds," Seraphina said. "They don't know whether to kneel… or prepare for war."
Alter's expression didn't change. "And which would you prefer?"
Seraphina smiled. "Neither. I'd rather they listened."
He crossed his arms. "And who's in charge of this divine gathering?"
She turned toward the radiant corridor leading deeper into the sanctum. "Solien. She will preside over the event."
Alter's gaze sharpened slightly. "…I've heard her name often. Always tied to judgment."
"She is more than judgment now," Seraphina replied. "But she will not go easy on you."
"I don't want easy."
"Good." She stepped forward, gesturing for him to follow. "Then walk with me. The gods are waiting."
Alter gave one final look at the vast, star-filled chamber—the place where he met her, at last. The one whose voice he had only heard in fragments. Now real. Now beside him.
And he walked.
Into the realm above.
Toward the divine assembly.
Toward Solien.
They walked side by side beneath the vaulted canopy of drifting light.
The corridor ahead stretched like a suspended bridge across stars—no walls, no ceiling, only columns of crystal-light that hummed softly with memories of creation. Above, entire constellations moved in slow, swirling rhythm. Below, endless clouds of divine mist veiled realms that no mortal or immortal had ever reached.
Alter's steps were steady, but his eyes flicked to the surroundings with quiet alertness. Seraphina noticed.
"Impressive, isn't it?" she asked, her voice low, almost playful.
He gave a sideways glance. "Feels like I'm walking through someone else's dream."
"It is," she said gently. "This corridor was built from Solien's breath and my own will. The path between judgment and grace. We forged it together during the First Alignment."
Alter's eyes narrowed, absorbing the words. "So it's more than stone and light."
Seraphina nodded. "It's a place where truths are spoken quietly. And burdens, if shared, can walk lighter."
Alter let that linger in the air for a moment. "Then I'll speak one."
She turned to him, silent.
"This is my first time stepping into the divine realm," he said. "And yet… none of it surprises me."
"Because you've seen worse?"
"No," he replied. "Because a part of me always knew I'd end up here. It's as if… the path was always bent in this direction. As if every broken shard of the world I walked through was quietly pointing toward this ceiling."
Seraphina didn't speak. She listened.
Alter continued, voice quieter now. "But standing here, beside you… I realize something else."
"What is it?"
"I'm not here to become one of you," he said. "I'm here to remind the gods why the world still exists."
A silence followed—not tense, but profound.
Seraphina exhaled slowly, her gaze flickering with starlight. "That… is a dangerous truth to carry into a room full of immortals."
"I don't plan to shout it," he replied.
She looked at him again, more fully this time. Her eyes searched his face, the sharp lines of his jaw, the quiet focus burning behind his golden dragon-slit pupils. "You walk like one of us… but your fire still smells like earth."
"I'm not sure whether that's a compliment."
"It is," she said. "The heavens are bloated with beings who forgot why they ever looked down. We need someone who remembers."
Their steps brought them to an arc of violet flame suspended in midair. Passing through it, the corridor bent slightly—forming a curving ramp that rose through rings of starlight.
Alter finally asked what had been simmering quietly since he arrived. "You said you've watched me from afar. But… why?"
Seraphina slowed. "Because your presence stirs the threads of both realms. Flame and balance. Chaos and purpose. I didn't know what you were at first—just that something ancient was echoing in your wake."
"And now?"
"I know what you are," she said. "You're not divine. You're not draconic. You're not even bound to this system anymore."
She paused. "You are becoming the flame that gods are measured by."
Alter's throat tightened slightly. Not at the compliment—but the weight of it.
He didn't respond.
Not at first.
But then, quietly: "I didn't ask for any of this."
"I know," she whispered. "That's why you're the one who deserves it."
A long silence passed between them.
Then Seraphina added with a playful smirk, "Besides, if I left it to the others, they'd have chosen another sunborne peacock to set the world on fire."
Alter chuckled. "I assume you're referring to someone specific."
"Oh, several."
They both laughed softly, and for a moment, the stars above shimmered a little brighter.
As they approached the final arch—a golden ring shaped like the closed eye of a dragon—Seraphina slowed.
"Beyond this arch," she said, her tone now shifting, "is the Spire of Echoed Decree. The gods are gathered. Solien stands at the heart of the dais."
Alter's aura surged slightly—just enough to remind the corridor of who he was.
Seraphina met his gaze, her expression serene. "Ready?"
"No," he said honestly. "But I never needed to be."
And together, they stepped forward—into the light that awaited.
The moment Alter stepped beyond the final arch, the light changed.
It thickened—not just in brightness, but in weight.
This was not mortal radiance.
It was divine pressure, layered through thousands of will-threads, converging into one vast celestial gravity.
The hall that emerged was a circular convergence chamber—the Spire of Echoed Decree. Vast and suspended in space, its seven spiral balconies held beings older than memory. Seraphs wrapped in flame. Gods cloaked in silence. Entities who did not speak unless the world cracked.
And every one of them was here for one reason.
Him.
At the center of it all was a floating obsidian-gold platform—the Echoed Dais. Etched with eternal law and haloed in judgment flame, it hovered just above the floor.
There stood Solien.
The Radiant Sovereign.
God of Divine Judgment and Radiant War.
Eyes of golden galaxies. Hair like sunlight drawn into form.
Armor traced with moving glyphs. And behind him, a radiant wheel—the Circle of Verdict—hovered in perfect stillness, awaiting his command.
He was not the highest being.
But he was the hand of the one who was.
Aurexion—the Crown of the Infinite Flame—watched from beyond. Silent. Absent. Yet everywhere.
Solien raised one hand.
A hum passed through all rings of the Spire.
"Let it be recorded."
His voice was not loud, yet it carried with it the vibration of decree. Light above his palm swirled into glyphs, aligning in time-synchronized threads.
"The Prime Dragonic Sovereign stands before us. Alter—born of storm, flame, and mortal will. He who shattered the Vein, who silenced a Demon God, who emerged Sovereign of all dragonkind."
Each line was etched into the air—recorded into celestial memory.
"He enters not as a supplicant. Not as divine. But as an anomaly who walks with Creator fire."
Gasps stirred among the upper tiers.
One god muttered, "He's not even catalogued in the Eternals Index."
Another: "His energy signature clashes with divine sequence. He is misaligned."
A third, in hushed awe: "No… he is unwritten."
Solien raised his hand once more.
The murmurs died instantly.
His gaze fell upon Alter. Measured. Immovable. "Do you speak for yourself, Sovereign?"
"I always have," Alter answered.
"Then speak now," Solien said, "and let the Echo record it. No flames. No illusions. Just truth."
Alter stepped forward, his boots striking the celestial floor with a faint ripple of sovereign resonance. The temperature spiked. The air trembled. From behind him, the faint outline of Ignivar—his fire dragon mount—briefly shimmered into the chamber before fading into embers.
"I came here," Alter said, "not to be welcomed. Not to be tested."
He turned slowly, meeting the gaze of each divine balcony.
"I came because your laws are breaking. Because demons pierce your wards, and gods argue over names while corruption spreads through the Veil."
His aura surged, glowing gold and crimson at once.
"And I came—because someone had to."
The Spire trembled.
Even those seated among the Fourth and Fifth rings flinched as his dragonic sovereign aura spiraled upward and collided with the Spire's upper dome.
Solien's eyes narrowed—but he said nothing.
Alter continued. "I don't care if I fit your titles. I don't care if my name isn't etched into your lexicons. I've walked through realms none of you have dared to touch. I've fought what even you couldn't see coming."
He paused.
"And I've seen what's on the other side of the Veil."
Now the silence was different.
Heavy. Expectant.
Solien slowly stepped forward, the Circle of Verdict behind him shifting into an open arc—symbol of recognition.
He lifted both hands, and the light of the dais bent to his command. "Then let it be written: The divine hosts have heard the Prime Dragonic Sovereign. Let none question his right to stand here. Let none deny his power. Let none feign blindness to the coming storm."
He raised his right hand high.
"And let it also be recorded—this is not a coronation."
A murmur stirred.
Solien's voice sharpened, final and absolute. "This is a warning."
The Circle behind him flared into radiant light, rotating in tandem with seven divine rings suspended above—echoes of Aurexion's own seal.
"For if this one falls to corruption… not even I will be able to stop him."
He stepped back.
The chamber bowed—not in worship, but recognition.
Even the uppermost gods lowered their heads.
Alter stood alone in the center of the dais.
And above all, far beyond the Spire, in the silent Sanctum of Eternum Oris…
A golden ring of flame pulsed once.
Aurexion had seen.
He would not intervene.
Not yet.
The doors to the Spire of Echoed Decree closed behind them, leaving the roar of divine voices far behind.
Only silence remained—high above the divine lattice, in a sanctum reserved for those with Authority high enough to shake worlds.
Solien stood by the floating central table, his presence radiant and absolute. The constellation orbs above dimmed, and the room shimmered into privacy.
Seraphina stood beside him—quiet, dignified, and unreadable.
But perched invisibly on her shoulder was a tiny, glowing version of herself: Chibi Seraphina.
She said nothing.
But held up a little hand-crafted banner stitched with celestial thread:
🪧 "Wow. He really walked in there like he owns the stars."
Seraphina's left brow twitched, but she remained composed.
Alter stepped into the chamber, unfastening his gauntlets and lowering them onto a radiant projection disk. "Was the whole assembly necessary?" he asked.
Solien didn't answer at first. He simply turned his golden galaxy eyes toward him. "Yes."
"That's what I figured."
Seraphina let out a breath, stepping forward beside Alter. Her presence no longer held that divine distance—it was calmer now. Familiar.
She reached out gently and brushed some stray soot from his shoulder—likely left over from his aura's ignition.
"You were trembling when you stood up there," she said quietly. "But not with fear."
Alter offered her a small smirk. "You saw that?"
"I always see you," she replied, brushing past him as if checking him for wounds. "And yes… that's exactly what a mother says."
🪧 "It's the little things," said Chibi Seraphina's new sign, with a sketch of a proud mama phoenix.
Alter exhaled softly. "That's not a role you have to play, you know."
"I'm not playing," Seraphina said, now behind him. "I watched your rise through fire and storm. I've seen you take burdens that would break gods twice your age. I watched from the other side of the Veil when you tore apart the Demon God. And I wept."
Alter turned to her, his voice quieter now. "I didn't know."
"You didn't need to," she said, folding her arms with that cool maternal grace. "You needed to survive."
🪧 "He really does need to moisturize more."
The tiny sign was held aloft as Chibi Seraphina stood dramatically on one foot, wearing a tiny apron and holding a glowing bottle labeled "divine SPF."
Solien ignored the signs he couldn't see, though he caught Seraphina subtly suppressing a smile.
"I've judged hundreds of anomalies," Solien said. "But none like you. You don't disrupt balance. You rewrite the definition of it. That frightens some."
"Does it frighten you?" Alter asked.
"No," Solien answered. "It intrigues me."
He stepped forward and extended his hand. "I will not kneel to you. But I will stand with you, if your path remains righteous."
Alter shook it, firm. "I've walked too far through flame to veer now."
🪧 "Proud of him but will NOT say it out loud."
Seraphina coughed softly.
Alter smirked faintly. "You okay?"
"Just dust," she said.
Solien activated the celestial table between them. A glowing web of light unraveled—showing breach points across multiple realms. Rift fractures. Leyline scars. A spreading distortion labeled "UNCLASSIFIED."
"That," Solien said, pointing at the anomaly, "is your next destination."
Alter studied the glyph. "No coordinates?"
"None. Only echoes."
"I'll find it," he said.
Seraphina stepped beside him, laying a hand gently over the projection. "You're not doing this alone."
"I'm used to it."
"I didn't say you had to be."
🪧 "Admit it. You love her."
Chibi Seraphina waved the sign aggressively, heart symbols etched into the corners.
Seraphina's fingers twitched. She didn't acknowledge it.
Solien closed the map. "You leave in one cycle. Recon will follow. Don't be late."
Alter turned to leave, but paused beside Seraphina. "...Thanks."
She turned to him. "For what?"
"For being here."
She reached out and gently rested a hand on his shoulder—warm, protective, proud.
"Always."
As Alter stepped through the exit arch, the room fell silent.
🪧 "I'm so naming my next constellation after him."
Seraphina's eye twitched again.
"…Burn that," she whispered.
The sign combusted immediately, leaving Chibi Seraphina frozen in a shocked gasp as ash fluttered down her hair.
The door sealed behind Alter.
The flame-wreathed son had been acknowledged.
And his next trial had already begun.
Far from the divine sanctums, across realms and veils of law and flame,
a soft glow pulsed from a silver ring wrapped around a pale hand.
Selene stood alone atop the moonlit balcony of the Mythral Dawn Sanctuary, wind brushing through her snow-white hair. The night was calm—clear stars above, no wards flaring, no enemies near.
But her thoughts were far away.
She pressed her hand lightly over the ring on her finger—the Veil of Origin—a symbol of bond, protection, and the future yet to come.
A warmth stirred in her chest.
The glyph on the gem pulsed once.
Whisperlink opened.
"Alter," she said softly. Her voice, though quiet, was laced with a longing only distance could shape. "Can you hear me?"
The connection was faint at first—like a candle reaching across galaxies.
Then—his voice. Tired, deep, but anchored.
"I hear you."
She smiled to herself, eyes softening. "Are you safe?"
"As safe as I can be," he replied. "I just walked out of a divine tribunal. Solien judged me. Seraphina nearly strangled her chibi clone. I may have burned a few egos along the way."
She laughed gently. "You always did have a gift for subtle diplomacy."
There was a pause—comfortable, but fragile.
"…How are they?" Alter asked.
Selene's hand moved down to her abdomen, where her other hand rested instinctively. The Veil pendant around her neck pulsed, glowing faintly in rhythm with two tiny flickers of soul-light within her.
"They're quiet tonight," she whispered. "But I can feel them… sleeping."
A silence passed between them—thick, heavy with a love unspoken.
"They kick when I whisper your name," she said, voice catching slightly. "I think… they already know your voice."
Alter exhaled slowly, and though his body stood among gods, his soul now floated somewhere softer.
"I wish I could be there."
"You are," she whispered. "Every heartbeat. Every breath."
He closed his eyes, one hand brushing over his chestplate. "I don't deserve this, Selene. Not after everything I've done… everything I've become."
Her answer came without hesitation. "You don't have to deserve it. You built it. You protected it. You bled for it."
There was silence again.
Then—
"I still remember the night you placed the ring on my hand," she said. "And the way the sky bent around you when you said my name."
"I meant every word."
"And I never forgot them."
The Whisperlink pulsed once—quiet, steady.
"I'll return to you," Alter said. "No matter what the gods demand. No matter what this world becomes. I'll return."
She smiled, wiping a quiet tear. "And I'll be waiting. With two very loud reminders of who their father is."
He chuckled softly. "Please don't let them inherit my recklessness."
"No promises."
The Veil flickered again.
"I love you, Alter."
"I know," he whispered. "I love you too."
The connection dimmed.
But the warmth remained.
And in a quiet room far away, Selene stood beneath the stars, hands over her stomach, whispering lullabies to two unborn souls glowing faintly beneath the skin—twin stars cradled in light.
The chamber had dimmed.
After the council, after the glyphs, after Solien's quiet departure and Seraphina's final glance—Alter was alone.
He stood within his assigned sanctum, a preparation chamber overlooking a slowly spiraling sphere of shifting light: the Anomaly Nexus, where strands of reality thinned, collapsed, or bled into something that should not exist.
The Unknown Distortion pulsed just beyond the window—coils of warped space, shards of fragmented time, threads that shimmered with broken glyphs and incomplete equations. Nothing in the divine records matched it.
The gods had theories. Warnings. Charts written in fear.
But only Alter had been assigned to enter.
He slowly unsheathed Starsever, holding the blade horizontally across his forearm. The weapon—crafted from a dying star and the bones of an ancient dragon—whispered faint pulses of light across its edge. It recognized his purpose. It hungered for clarity.
Alter placed the blade carefully on the obsidian rest beside the divine window.
Then closed his eyes.
For a moment, the sanctum was still.
No roaring gods. No Sovereign flames.
Just the memory of Selene's voice echoing gently in his ears:
"They kick when I whisper your name…"
He exhaled.
And allowed himself one quiet smile.
"I'll come back," he murmured. Not as a promise. As a truth.
Behind him, a circular glyph opened—Seraphina's transport ring, bearing a divine seal co-signed by Solien and herself.
He turned toward it just as the chamber shifted, armor forming piece by piece across his body.
The Celestial Draconic Plate enveloped him—polished silver-blue scales fused with starlight alloy, a mantle of windswept energy flowing from his shoulders. His dragon insignia glowed across his chest, pulsing with the sovereign resonance of all elemental aspects: flame, ice, storm, earth, light, wind, and shadow.
On his back, Starsever magnetized itself to the mounting rack, locking into place with a flash of gold.
A projection sigil formed near his shoulder. It was Solien's voice—brief, final.
"You will enter through the first rupture corridor near the Veil-Edge. Expect gravitational inversion, potential time disruption, and non-verbal entities. If you see a name you recognize, run. Nothing from this realm should speak your language."
Alter gave a faint nod. "Understood."
Another voice whispered over the whisperlink—Seraphina, just as he neared the ring.
"You're not being sent because we believe it's safe."
He stopped.
"You're being sent because no one else will survive it."
He glanced upward, toward the swirling sphere of distortion spinning silently in the far sky—like a bleeding wound wrapped in auroras.
"I'll do more than survive."
He stepped into the portal.
In a flash of braided light and refracted heat, Alter vanished from the sanctum—launched into the void.
Far above, in the Sanctum of Aurexion, the 92% Authority entity did not speak.
But one of the seven divine rings around his throne tilted—shifting ever so slightly to mark the motion of a soul now walking the edge of creation.
The Unknown Distortion was about to know his name.