The moon still lingered above Domina Noctis — pale and stubborn, as if it refused to hand the world back to the sun. Beneath that silver watchlight, the ground shimmered faintly. Magic residue clung to the air, a remnant of Sora's creation — the beginning of something that was neither kingdom nor sanctuary, but a shadow between both.
Dorte stood nearby, arms crossed, watching Sora crouch in the dirt with a stick.
"Are you… drawing circles?"
Sora didn't look up.
"They're called foundational seals. Very important. Highly advanced. Don't interrupt the artist."
"It looks like a potato with horns."
"It's a prototype sigil of eternal dominion."
"Ah, yes. Truly terrifying."
Sora sighed, staring at his crooked doodle. The truth was, he had no idea how to build a domain from scratch. The system had just kind of… given him the land, muttered something about "authority of shadows," and left. Typical divine bureaucracy.
The shadows around him rippled like smoke. From the darkness rose three figures — his earliest minions. They bowed deeply, though one tripped halfway through.
Sora glanced at them. "You three again. You need names, don't you? I can't keep calling you 'Hey you with the glowing eyes.'"
The first minion, tall and armored, knelt. "Master, we serve as—"
"Shh," Sora cut in, raising a hand dramatically. "I shall name you… Umbra."
The minion blinked. "Umbra?"
"Yes. Latin. It means 'cooler than you think.'"
Dorte muttered, "Pretty sure it just means shadow."
Sora ignored him and turned to the second minion — smaller, cloaked in tattered black fabric with faint violet hair.
"And you,"
Sora said, squinting.
"You have the look of someone who'd stab me for fun but apologize after. I'll call you… Noiré."
Noiré tilted her head. "Master, that sounds feminine."
"Exactly."
"…But I'm male."
"Not anymore."
Dorte snorted. "You're building a kingdom and starting a gender crisis."
Sora continued without shame, pointing at the third — a silent one with a cracked mask and heavy aura. "And you, my quiet little existential horror… Grave."
The minion nodded once, voice echoing like stone. "It suits me."
Sora clapped his hands, satisfied. "Good! Umbra, Noiré, and Grave — the founding shadows of Domina Noctis!"
Dorte muttered, "You realize you sound like someone naming his cats."
Sora smirked. "Cats have more influence than most emperors."
Domina Noctis stretched below — a vast chasm where darkness pooled like ink, threaded with veins of glowing blue light. The air was cooler here, thick with hidden magic.
Sora leaned on a jagged rock. "It's not much yet, but it'll be home. A domain where even broken things can belong."
Dorte stood beside him, eyes scanning the terrain. "You know this place is technically cursed, right?"
"That's why it's perfect."
"…You're impossible."
"I prefer 'efficiently unreasonable.'"
A moment passed. Then Dorte said, quieter, "You really believe this world needs a place like that?"
Sora looked at the distant moon. "No," he said. "But I think I do."
For once, Dorte didn't argue.
---
Over the next few days, as Dorte busied himself cataloguing ruins and trying to build something resembling a fence ("to keep the existential dread out"), Sora wandered the surrounding lands — partly out of curiosity, partly boredom.
From the cliffs of Noctis, the continent unfolded in vast layers — mountains of the Oni tribes to the east, glimmering like obsidian veins; the Elven dominion of Eryndal shimmering in the west with forests that hummed in moonlight; and beyond, plains roamed by Demi-Lions, proud and short-tempered, forever arguing about honor and whose roar was loudest.
He'd heard rumors too — the Succubus-Human Confederacy, who claimed to heal through pleasure and diplomacy (in that order); and the Beastfolk Territories, chaotic but alive, where clans rose and fell faster than empires.
And, scattered throughout, humans — fragile, inventive, endlessly troublesome.
Sora smirked to himself. "A world stitched together by idiots and geniuses. Feels like home already."
When he returned, Dorte was waiting with a half-built shelter and a frying pan that had definitely seen combat.
"I made food," Dorte said proudly.
Sora stared. "…That's a lizard."
"A local delicacy."
"It's still blinking."
Dorte shrugged. "So's your kingdom."
---
As the moon rose again, the air shimmered. A faint dome of shadow formed over the valley — the Veil of Dusk, Sora's mark of sovereignty. It pulsed once, sealing the land away from wandering eyes.
The three minions knelt, the ground trembling softly as their loyalty bound to the domain's heart.
Sora spoke quietly, more to himself than anyone.
"From this point on, the world can call us monsters, demons, heretics — I don't care. Let them build their towers in sunlight. We'll build ours in shadow… and we'll make it beautiful."
Dorte smirked. "You say that like a man who's planning to redecorate the apocalypse."
Sora grinned. "Exactly."
They stood together beneath the moon, the newborn kingdom breathing around them — not of gold or glory, but of whispers, laughter, and purpose reborn in the dark.
And somewhere, in a faraway chapel, Seraphine paused mid-prayer, her heart stirring as if an echo had called her name.
---
Later That Night – Inside the Makeshift Hall
The hall of Domina Noctis was, in truth, an oversized tent held together by ropes, stubbornness, and possibly Dorte's insults. Inside, a single table of black stone glowed faintly, covered with parchment.
Sora sat cross-legged before it, quill in hand, wearing a face of exaggerated authority.
"Alright, Dorte. Time to draft the official laws of Domina Noctis. Every great kingdom needs structure."
"Or at least a door that doesn't fall off," Dorte murmured.
Sora ignored him and scribbled dramatically:
> LAW ONE: All shall respect the sovereignty of night.
Dorte leaned in. "Sounds poetic. Also meaningless."
Sora"Meaningless? It's foundational philosophy!"
Dorte"It's bad poetry."
Sora grumbled and wrote another.
> LAW TWO: No crying in the throne room. Except the king.
Dorte tilted his head. "Are you planning to cry often?"
Sora "I prefer to call it existential weeping."
Sora scribbled again.
> LAW THREE: All minions shall receive two days of rest per century.
Umbra, standing nearby, blinked. "That seems… generous, Master."
Dorte deadpanned. "You're a kind god."
Sora ignored them, proudly rolling the parchment. "There. A constitution worthy of legend."
Dorte: "More like a sleep-deprived comedian's diary."
---
Morning
Morning crept slowly over the veil — not bright, but soft, filtered through layers of faint mist. Shadows curled lazily along the cliffs like sleeping cats.
Sora stood outside the half-built structure, arms folded, cape fluttering in the cold wind. His domain — incomplete, fragile, chaotic — pulsed faintly beneath his feet.
Dorte joined him, still holding the pan. "So, what now?"
Sora smiled. "Now we build. Slowly. Quietly. Until the world notices what it tried to forget."
Dorte nodded. "And when they come?"
"Then we welcome them," Sora said, eyes glinting faintly, "with tea, sarcasm, and probably violence."
Dorte smirked. "Sounds like home."
---
Thus began the rise of Domina Noctis, the shadowed domain beneath the Veil — born not from conquest, but from defiance, friendship, and one idiot king who believed darkness could be kind.
> "And so the empire of night laughed first — before the world learned to take it seriously."