There was a silence that defied explanation—not mere quiet, but an emptiness suspended in the air, as if the universe were holding its final breath. And in the midst of that void, stood a woman.
Her hair fell as softly as moonlight, pale cream in color like a rose that had forgotten its season. A deep violet gown draped her form, a stark contrast to her nearly translucent skin—like someone who had long danced with shadows.
She moved. Slowly. Her fingers lifted, clutching a violin that seemed almost fused with her being. And then, the melody began.
The bow brushed the strings with a whisper—soft, yet sharp enough to pierce the silence. Her feet began to move, dancing around the ruins of a world on the brink of collapse. Each step was like a final prayer, each note a wound whispered to the midnight wind.
She closed her eyes, unbothered by the cracks that spread beneath her. Unbothered by the fading sky, or the ground crumbling into the void.
She knew. This world was over.
And she—she only wished to stay with it until the end.
Let everything fall apart,
as long as the final sound
is her music.
Yet the noise that once seemed to rattle her head slowly faded, as if swallowed by a void of nothingness. All that remained was the gentle chime of a violin's harmony—soft, but unceasing—until the final part of her composition reached its end.
The small feet clad in black shoes, which once danced lightly on the brittle wooden stage, now seemed to tread upon dewy grass, holding the breath of dawn. A breeze swept by, stirring strands of her hair, carrying with it a scent of nostalgia—from a forgotten past, or perhaps a life on the verge of extinction.
Where am I now…?
Could it be that I am no longer… alive—without even realizing it?
Question after question crowded her mind, spinning in silence, unanswered. Until at last, as her body bent in a graceful bow to end the performance, her eyes slowly opened.
The gaze that lifted revealed a pair of mismatched irises. The right one, a gentle brown—like the earth she once walked upon. The left… a deep violet, mirroring the gown she wore that night—dark, yet harboring a strange light.
It was not a lens, nor a genetic mutation.
It was a gift.
Or perhaps… a curse.
A singularity that could neither be inherited nor imitated. It belonged to her alone—and only for moments such as this.
Her wistful eyes now fell upon the figure of a tall man, standing with his back to her. His silver hair shimmered beneath the dying light of the sky, and from the expression barely visible on his face, it was clear—they were the last witnesses of a world quietly crumbling.
The man slowly turned. A faint smile curved on his lips—warm, yet heavy with sorrow hidden in his eyes. His steps were calm as he drew closer, dissolving the distance between them, as though they had been apart for far too long.
His hand lifted, fingers slipping gently through her hair, stroking it with a soothing tenderness.
"You've made it this far," he whispered softly. "Now it's time for you to find your own happiness."
She didn't reply.
She stood still, unmoving, eyes locked on his face as if trying to recognize someone who had become a stranger.
"What happened to you?" Her voice was barely a breath, lost among the ruins. "You look… different. Like… a god."
The man chuckled quietly, a sound so faint it was like the hum of the sun's final descent. His palm returned to her hair—this time with a touch more pressure, as if trying to affirm something words could never express.
Then, without a single word, he lifted something from beneath his cloak—a dark-colored blindfold. With a gentle motion, he placed it over the girl's face, covering the violet irises that held the secrets of the universe.
At that very moment, the world beneath their feet began to crack—like glass struck by the hands of time—shattering in silence, then vanishing in an instant, replaced by an endless white expanse, silent and boundless.
The girl flinched. Her body reflexively stepped back. Her eyes swept across the unfamiliar space in panic, as if trying to grasp the meaning hidden within the emptiness.
Then, the silver-haired man stepped closer once more. He raised his hand and gently touched the top of her head, just as he had done before. But this time, the warmth felt unfamiliar—as if it was a farewell touch, never to be repeated again.
"It's time for you to find your own happiness... not for anyone else, but for yourself."
His voice was soft, yet it pierced deep. In the echoing silence, his body began to glow faintly. Thin cracks spread from his fingertips to his chest—like fragments of light losing their shape.
"Wait—!" the girl gasped, grabbing his hand tightly. Her small fingers trembled, as if trying to freeze time at this exact moment. Tears welled up in her weary eyes, blurring the figure that was slowly fading.
"What's happening...? Why does everything feel like a nightmare...?" she sobbed, her voice echoing in the void like a sorrowful tremor.
But the man only smiled. "I'll return…" he whispered, "To watch your performance, just like I used to."
And as those words ended, his body truly disappeared, dissolving into glowing specks of dust that drifted away, swallowed by the emptiness.
The girl collapsed. Her body went limp, as if her bones could no longer support the weight of reality. Her eyes widened, staring into the growing silence, wishing he would return—as quickly as he had gone.
"And if this is not the end, then I will wait—in every note, in every silence you leave behind."
...
And so, the story began—born from a silent ending.
From that day on, time itself seemed to halt for a moment. The universe, which should have collapsed, instead found a new balance—all thanks to one soul who chose to shatter for the sake of thousands.
The violet-eyed girl was swept into a fate she never asked for. Yet slowly, she began to piece together fragments of reality. She searched, tracing every crack in history left behind by the silver-haired man.
Through ancient manuscripts sealed by time, she uncovered the truth the man had divided his soul into six fragments. Each one bore a Mark of Aeons—a sacred sigil of power granted only to those chosen by the heavens.
These fragments scattered across the cosmos, each carrying shards of memory, hope, and sacrifice. But only one of them held the entirety of the founder's legacy the sixth soul—the core of all things, where his former self lay in silence.
The era in which he stood at the peak of the world became known as the Era of Aetherion—the golden age of Velvarheim, a mighty kingdom he forged from the ruins of the old world. But after his disappearance, the world lost its anchor. The throne of Velvarheim fell into the wrong hands.
Then came a dark age that devoured millennia—The Age of Varkratos—a time when blood became currency and will turned into curse. Under the rule of merciless tyrants, slaughter knew no end. Velvarheim transformed into a symbol of terror, not glory.
In time, the truth of the founder was buried beneath lies. Whispers spread that the Heir of the Hollow Star—as he was once called—had not sacrificed himself for the world, but in pursuit of immortality and absolute dominion.
Ironically, the kingdom met its end not through war, but through love... and betrayal from within.
The final king was rumored to have fallen in love with a princess from a realm he once conquered. Some believed he abandoned the throne for that love, attempting to flee the haunting legacy of Velvarheim. Others swore he perished in battle against the gods themselves.
But no one knew for certain. For after that day, Velvarheim vanished from the pages of history—leaving behind only ruins and whispers of legend.