The GodKing rose from his throne, his armored frame unfolding with deliberate power. As he took a single step forward, the very fabric of reality tore open—a jagged rift swallowing him whole. In the blink of an eye, he reappeared millions of miles away, the void of space stretching endlessly around him, stars winking like distant memories.
Shortly after, Ezmelral's lookalike—now at the Cosmic Level, just one realm below the GodKing's pinnacle—materialized beside him in a shimmer of ethereal light. Her eyes widened, taking in the desolate vista: shattered remnants of a world floating like cosmic debris, fragments of once-vibrant continents adrift in the black. "This place..." she whispered, her voice cracking with a mix of awe and sorrow. "I thought I'd never return."
The GodKing gazed at the ruins, his helmeted head tilting slightly. "The souls of your people still linger here, among the debris of your destroyed planet—L'uminix."
From their hidden vantage in the folds of time, the real Ezmelral turned to Raiking, her brow furrowed in confusion. "How does the reincarnation process work?"
Raiking's crimson eyes remained fixed on the scene, his voice a steady anchor amid the void. "Do you remember how Entities are formed?"
She nodded. "From Planetary, Universal, or Cosmic-scale supernovae. Their spirits from the souls of the dead, flesh from planetary debris, bones from the supernova's residue."
"Precisely." Raiking gestured as the GodKing drew a knife, slicing a small mark on his fingertip. A single blooddrop welled up, floating free among the stars like a crimson jewel, drifting toward where L'uminix's core had once pulsed.
"The GodKing is special," Raiking continued. "As the only Cosmic-scale Entity, his body is forged from billions—if not trillions—of stars and planets. He has near-limitless access to creation itself."
Ezmelral watched, transfixed, as a root from the distant Sacred Tree extended through the void, injecting into the blooddrop with a faint glow. In the next breath, the GodKing channeled the elements—his power weaving them like threads in a cosmic loom.
First, Earth Essence, summoning soil and stone to form the ground they would walk upon.
Second, Air Essence, filling the atmosphere with breathable oxygen for lungs to inhale.
Third, Gravity Essence, binding it all to ensure stability, keeping life rooted where it belonged.
Fourth, Water Essence, birthing rivers, lakes, and seas to nourish the reborn world.
Over the next six days—time compressed in their vision but unfolding in agonizing detail—Ezmelral witnessed the miracle: the small fusion of blood, root, and Essence expanding like a blooming star. It grew, layer by layer—continents forming from dust, oceans pooling in vast basins, atmospheres thickening with clouds—until what floated before them was L'uminix, restored to its former beauty, vibrant and alive once more.
Ezmelral watched the reborn planet of L'uminix shimmer below, its surface alive with fresh greens and blues, yet bathed in perpetual twilight. A frown tugged at her lips. "Where's the sun?"
Raiking's gaze stayed fixed on the horizon. "The species here were born to the dark. Their eyes draw light from even the faintest glimmer—piercing shadows where others see nothing."
She tilted her head, still uneasy. "And the plants? How do they grow without sunlight?"
"Their Essence Users speak to the earth itself," Raiking replied. "They channel the Light within the planet's Core. That energy rises through them, shielding the surface from decay and feeding the roots above."
Ezmelral's eyes widened, sparks of understanding lighting her face. "Then Earth Essence users must be the most treasured—bridges between the Core and the world above?"
Raiking gave a single nod. "Indeed. Were mortals ever able to wield Light Essence… they would be kings and queens here. Rulers of illumination itself."
Her thoughts raced, wonder carving through her doubts. "How many Essences exist, then? Truly?"
His voice lowered, contemplative, like an echo from beyond the stars. "Too many to name. The Cosmos shifts without end—what exists today may vanish tomorrow, and new forces emerge in their place."
She absorbed that, her voice soft but resolute. "So we shouldn't cling only to what we know… but keep searching. Keep adapting."
A faint gleam flickered in his crimson eyes. He said nothing, but his silence was approval enough.
They descended, air thickening as they pierced the newborn sky. Below, the GodKing and Ezmelral's lookalike stood in a field reborn—verdant and unscarred, life pulsing through every blade of grass.
The GodKing turned to his disciple. "You must choose the first two souls to return."
The girl hesitated, breath catching. Her parents' faces rose in her mind, their voices calling from memory. Yet a heavier thought pressed in: pure souls could lead better, guide the world away from ruin. She lowered her head. "If I choose my parents—bring them back together—what will the injustice percentage be?"
"The same," the GodKing answered.
She swallowed, eyes narrowing. "And if I choose others instead? Souls pure enough to survive even a Flood?"
"The same."
Her brows knit, frustration breaking her composure. "How? How can it not change?"
The GodKing's voice softened, steady as stone. "Your world never faced a Flood. It was not weighed and found wanting. It was destroyed—conquered, enslaved, its people torn apart by Deatheny hands. Every soul, from the dawn of its creation, will rise here again. All will return."
Her breath stilled. The weight of it pressed into her bones. "Then… is there truly no other path? Is doom always the end?"
He regarded her quietly, his armor glinting under the twilight sky, unyielding as the cosmos itself.
"There is."
Before the girl could form the question burning on her lips, the air rippled. A shimmer of golden strands wove themselves from nothing, coalescing into the graceful form of the Keeper of Balance. Ta'Narsha—Shona's mother—stepped forward, her presence a harmony of stillness and power, as if the very fabric of the world bent to steady itself around her. Ten arms folded across her form in a posture of measured authority, Ta'Narsha fixed the GodKing with a gaze as sharp as judgment itself. Her voice rang out, steady and resonant, like the hum of a perfectly balanced scale.
"So. You are the cause of this imbalance."
Ezmelral blinked, the word striking her like a riddle carved into the air. Imbalance? Her small hand clenched Raiking's cloak, seeking grounding as she looked between the towering figures.
"What does she mean?" she whispered.
Raiking's expression remained stoic, his crimson eyes reflecting the garden's ethereal glow. "Even though Entities can create life," he explained softly, "we are forbidden from doing so—unless it falls under a Flood Mission's jurisdiction. To birth anew without cause disrupts the cosmic order."
Ezmelral's brow furrowed, her heart twisting at the sight of ruined worlds adrift in silence. "But how is that fair to this world?" she burst out, her voice cracking. "They didn't choose any of this. They didn't ask to be destroyed."
Raiking's gaze drifted to the stars, his voice laced with the weight of eons. "The Cosmos is never a fair place, child. If it truly were, a supernova would restore a planet to its former glory rather than birthing an Entity from its ashes. Destruction and creation are entwined, but rarely just."
"So... there will never be true fairness?" she asked, her voice trembling, the injustice settling in her chest like a stone, heavy and unyielding.
Raiking met her eyes, his tone unflinching. "Mortals are not born equal—some with gifts that elevate them, others burdened from the cradle. How, then, can they demand the Cosmos bow below them, when even their own kind cannot achieve equity?"
Ezmelral fell silent, her thoughts drifting to her home on Exar—where Lightning and Water Essence users were exalted like living gods for their prowess in war and healing, commanding respect and riches. But Earth wielders like her father, or Air manipulators... they scraped by at the bottom, their talents dismissed as mundane, their lives a constant struggle against the hierarchy's unyielding grip. If even people can't be fair, she wondered, what hope is there for the stars?