Morning settled gently over the Dreamveil estate.
Not as light.
As permission.
The crystalline halls shimmered as Arios and Lysera padded barefoot across polished stone floors, their small footsteps echoing softly. The estate always felt alive at this hour—walls humming faintly with Ydris' pulse, air warm with unseen currents of power that never pressed, never intruded.
In the open kitchen, Selene Dreamveil stood calmly at the center of it all.
She moved with effortless grace, white hair flowing down her back like moonlight given form, silver eyes attentive yet warm. The void of luminance responded to her unconsciously—absence becoming presence, silence becoming comfort. Food formed not from summoning, but restoration: ingredients remembered into being, perfected by inevitability itself.
Arios climbed onto his chair first, short white hair slightly messy, crimson eyes bright with curiosity. Lysera followed, her half-white, half-black hair falling unevenly over her shoulders as she stared at the steam rising from the plates, fascinated by how it curled and paused—just for a heartbeat—before continuing upward.
"Mom," Arios said, leaning forward eagerly. "This smells amazing."
Selene smiled faintly. "It's supposed to."
They ate together, unhurried. No urgency. No looming catastrophe. Just warmth, food, and the quiet strength of a mother who had survived eras.
Halfway through the meal, Selene spoke again, voice casual—but deliberate.
"You two will be going to school in ten years."
Arios blinked. "Ten?"
Lysera tilted her head. "School?"
Selene nodded. "On Aetherion, formal education begins at fifteen and ends at twenty. Five years. Enough time to learn structure, restraint, and perspective."
Arios grinned. "So we get ten more years here?"
"Yes," Selene said softly. "Ten years to grow properly."
Lysera hesitated. Her crimson eyes lowered to her hands.
"…Mom?"
Selene turned fully toward her daughter. "Yes, Lys?"
Lysera's voice was small—but steady.
"Will I ever be able to see Dad again?"
The room did not tense.
Reality did not react.
Selene simply smiled.
"Lys," she said gently, reaching out and brushing a strand of dual-colored hair from her daughter's face, "your father is always here with you. With both of you."
She placed a hand over Lysera's chest. Then Arios'.
"He's always watching. When you get older… you'll get a chance to see him."
Lysera nodded slowly, comforted.
Arios smiled—
And then froze.
His hands went to his head.
Pain wasn't the right word.
Pressure wasn't either.
It was… overlap.
Images flashed.
A man with white hair.
Crimson eyes like his own.
Standing behind a colossal tree—so vast it felt like it held realities together, its branches threading through existence itself.
A smile.
Warm. Familiar.
Lips moved.
Hey, son.
But Arios couldn't hear it.
He tried to look into the man's eyes—
And the vision shattered.
"Arios!"
He snapped back—
Selene was holding him, one arm wrapped around his shoulders, silver eyes sharp with concern.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
Arios breathed hard, then steadied.
"I… I saw someone," he said quietly. "He looked just like me. Was that… Dad?"
Selene's grip tightened—just a fraction.
"Yes," she said calmly. "That was him. But don't worry about it for now, Arios."
She pulled him close, resting her chin lightly atop his head.
Inside her mind, unspoken and cold with clarity:
It seems the seal is breaking.
That night, Selene stood alone beneath the moonlight.
White hair glowed softly. Silver eyes reflected the sky.
Once, she had been known as Seliora—of the Mirrored Six.
Wielder of the Void of Luminance.
Queen of Inevitability.
The one whose restoration could erase by perfecting.
She looked upward.
"I hope everything will be alright, babe," she murmured.
The moon did not answer.
But something watched.
⸻
Time moved.
Ten years, gentle and relentless.
Arios grew tall for his age, lean and sharp-eyed. His love for swordsmanship became absolute. Wooden blades became steel. Movements became instinct. Anything used against him once never worked the same way again—his body remembered, adapted, refined.
Veythar watched. Taught. Tested.
Lysera grew quieter—but deeper.
She noticed things others didn't.
A falling leaf frozen midair—held by a giggling spirit.
A shadow moving against the light—alive.
Time stuttering for half a breath, as if uncertain.
Null whispered wisdom in nine voices.
Creation and destruction bent to her judgment.
And through it all—
Lucien watched.
Uninterfering.
Unbound.
On the morning of their fifteenth birthday , Arios tightened the strap of his blade. Lysera adjusted her cloak, eyes gleaming with anticipation.
School awaited.
The world had no idea what was about to walk into it.
And the Era of Gotterdammerung took its next step.