Celestial POV
We forged a child from the heart of a dying sun.
Wrapped her in prophecy.
Bound her soul in chains of fate.
We told her she would rule the heavens.
We told her she would never fall.
But tonight—
the sky bleeds.
A scream of light tears the night apart, a comet with a pulse — the Celestial Heir plummeting, her destiny unraveling in a trail of fire. Fragments of her memory burn off like ash in the wind.
The stars look away.
Terrified.
The Celestial Council watches from their palace of constellations, faces pale with dread.
"The prophecy is broken," whispers one.
"No," says another, trembling. "It has begun."
Below, the Mortal Realm prepares to devour what the heavens cannot protect.
In the darkest pit of the Abyss, something ancient wakes. A coil of hunger. A voice in black wings.
She falls.
Claim her.
The realms hold their breath as the star-child plummets toward smoke, war, and a wolf with golden eyes.
May the world survive her heart.
Scene — The Battlefield Awakening
Elira's first breath tastes like fire.
Her lungs burn with smoke as she pushes up through mud slick with blood — too much blood. The night presses cold and heavy, the sky above a lid of dark steel.
Around her: corpses.
Soldiers. Hundreds.
Their armor still warm.
Her fingers shake as she touches her own skin — searching for wounds, identity, reason.
Nothing.
Only the faint glow pulsing under her skin, silver-white like a trapped star.
She chokes on a sob.
Who am I?
No answer.
Only silence and death.
Then — a sound.
Bootsteps. Deliberate. Heavy.
Her heart stutters.
A towering figure emerges through the smoke — a man a head taller than any she'd known, broad shoulders carrying the weight of command and war. Darkness moves behind him like a living shadow, coiling and uncoiling, tasting the air.
He looks carved from a battlefield:
black hair matted to his jaw
bronze skin stained with blood
a blade dripping red at his side
His voice slices through the silence.
"Don't move."
A cold edge kisses her throat before she even sees the sword. She freezes. Breath trembling.
His eyes — gold, burning — assess her like a threat.
Or prey.
"Who sent you?" he demands. "What trick of war is this?"
"I…" Her voice is raw. "I don't know. I can't remember—"
"Lies." His grip steadies. He is inches from ending her.
The shadow behind him whispers against her skin — hungry.
Terror squeezes her lungs, yet something deeper churns beneath it:
Recognition.
An ache in her ribs.
As if some part of her already knows him.
He leans closer, voice low and lethal:
"Last chance. Name. Rank. Allegiance."
"I have none!" she cries. "I swear it!"
A soft glow flickers from her chest — silver light pulsing under skin and bone. His eyes narrow. Not fear. Calculation.
"What are you?" he murmurs, not to her — but to himself.
The shadow behind him shifts, forming terrible fanged shapes of smoke and hunger. She stumbles back in panic.
His gauntleted hand clamps around her wrist.
"Run," he warns coldly, "and I will hunt you."
Kael's POV
She should be sobbing.
Begging.
Pleading for her life.
But she lifts her chin.
Eyes unbroken.
Starlight staring right into the monster inside him.
The serpent coils within his ribs, hissing:
> Kill her. She is power. She is danger. She is yours to consume.
His jaw locks. His grip tightens to silence the shake in his hand — why the hell is his hand shaking?
"You… are not mortal," he says finally.
"I don't know what I am," she whispers, voice trembling yet honest. "Please. I woke up here. That's all."
He almost believes her.
Almost.
The wind shifts as his soldiers — silent wolves in black armor — emerge behind him, masks snarling in the moonlight. Even they hesitate as the silver sheen of her skin reflects the dying flames.
His command is instant:
"Secure the perimeter."
They move like shadows obeying a god.
He drags her closer, his breath cold against her ear.
"You will come with me," he says. "Until I decide whether you live."
Her pulse races against the clamp of his fingers.
"Why?" she breathes.
The real answer claws at his throat:
Because the moment I saw you, the monster inside me roared your name.
Instead he growls:
"You fell from the heavens. Things like you don't fall without purpose."
He pulls her forward, forcing her to walk.
She stumbles — then straightens — refusing to look broken.
He hates the flicker of admiration that stirs.
The serpent laughs in the dark.
> How lovely, it purrs.
The star walks beside the wolf.