Seravyn
The light had not dimmed for an age.
In Elyndris, my skies burned white-gold, my oceans shimmered with dawn, and yet… there was something missing. A hollow hum beneath the brilliance.
For the first time since Father's silence, I felt prayers.
Soft, trembling, desperate things that rose from the mortal realm below — not from Kaerynox blood, but from the fragile, lesser races. They prayed for warmth in their nights, for strength against their hunger. They prayed to light.
To me.
Their voices struck my veins like lightning.
Each word shimmered through my body until the golden sigil upon my heart ignited once more. The sound of it — their faith — made my skies sing.
But faith is a dangerous thing. It pulls at what sleeps.
As I opened my eyes, a tear of pure light fell. It did not strike the ground; it became a sun, orbiting my realm.
Then, from within that sun, a whisper echoed — soft, but endless, like time itself folding inward:
"My light… still burns in you."
The sound froze me.
I could not move, could not breathe. I looked to the horizon, but nothing stirred there. No body, no form — only the whisper reverberating within my soul, the tone as familiar as the pulse of my own creation.
Father?
No answer.
Only the tremor of divine memory shaking the veil that kept him apart from us.
My realm began to pulse.
Each mountain cried gold. Each river shimmered white. The mortals below bowed beneath a sun that did not set. And though they prayed for me — I could feel it was his voice they truly reached.
A god's whisper moving through their faith to find me.
For the first time since the birth of the Twin Flames, I was afraid.
Nyxara
The mortals prayed for light.
Fools. They never understand what light takes away.
Their cries reached my realm too — the sound of their fear echoing through the silence of Nethralis. Each plea was a wound, cutting through my stillness, pulling me from the void where peace used to reign.
I felt it before I heard it — the trembling in my veins, the silver blood burning cold.
Then the darkness around me fractured.
Through the cracks, I saw what they called hope.
A curse.
My eyes opened, and the world around me breathed in. The stars, dead for ages, began to flicker. I reached out, touching the edge of their prayers. My voice slipped through the chasm of silence like frost down a blade.
"Your fear… gives me form."
The mortals trembled. Some fell to their knees. Others whispered my name, though none knew it. Their terror was honest — and from that honesty, I was fed.
And then — I heard him.
The same whisper Seravyn heard in her realm, the same impossible tone that made the silence bleed.
"My silence… still answers you."
Father.
The void around me shivered. My crown of mist cracked with light. I turned, searching for him — for the shadow that once knelt above suns and void alike.
But he was nowhere. Only the echo remained, vibrating through every atom of my existence.
I reached toward it — and for an instant, my hand brushed light.
The Mortals
They saw it before they felt it.
The heavens split — one half gold, the other silver. The sky bled brilliance and shadow in equal measure.
Their temples shook. Their oceans turned still.
They screamed not in terror, but in awe.
Some fell prostrate, whispering Kaelith's name though none had ever been told it. Others tore their garments, believing the end of days had come.
But deep within every soul — even those that had never seen the twins' light — something awoke.
An ancient memory of creation.
Of the god who once walked between suns.
Seravyn
The light in my realm fractured.
Through it, I saw something move beyond the veil — a ripple of silver cutting through gold. I reached out, and for the first time since the Eclipse, I felt her.
Nyxara.
My breath trembled. The warmth around me turned sharp. The world began to quake as our realms aligned — two opposing tides colliding across existence.
I whispered her name through the radiance.
"Nyxara…"
And her voice came back like a blade drawn from water.
"Seravyn."
The veil screamed.
Nyxara
Her warmth burned across my dark.
I hated it. I loved it.
The silence in me cracked like glass.
"Why do you shine so loud?" I whispered.
"Why do you darken what I heal?" she answered.
And for the first time, our realms trembled together.
The Veil
Between them, a line of silver fire appeared — twisting, pulsating, alive. The mortals below saw it as a wound across the heavens, bleeding light and shadow alike.
Every creature fell silent.
Even the Kaerynox looked to the sky.
And through that wound — the whisper deepened.
Kaelith
"Faith returns…"
The words thundered without sound.
Every world stilled. Every god that still breathed froze.
"And with it…"
The suns bent their light, the void folded inward, creation itself held its breath.
"I awaken."
Seravyn & Nyxara
The light shattered. The silence broke.
Both of us fell to our knees as the sky ignited with his symbol — a crown of light and shadow twisting in the heavens.
Our realms trembled, merging for an instant before the veil sealed once more.
We felt him.
Not fully awake. Not yet.
But present. Watching. Waiting.
I whispered through the fading roar, "Father…"
And his voice — soft, distant, eternal — replied:
"Build. Become. Bleed."
The veil closed.
Elyndris burned bright again, Nethralis sank back into stillness.
But across all worlds, mortals began to whisper a new name —
not of light, not of silence, but of the god who breathed through both.
Kaelith.
And in that moment…
The Veil Trembled.