Chapter 4 — The Awakening of Shadows
Epigraph — From the Nameless Scripture of the Aeons, Fragment XIII
"When the Moon bled, the stars turned away their gaze.
And beneath the roots of the world, the old ones stirred.
For even in silence, memory dreams… and dreams remember."
---
The crimson moon had not yet faded from the heavens when the first whisper moved through Enos.
It did not travel by sound or wind, nor did it follow any ley line drawn by mortal hands. It passed through the Aether itself, a subtle tremor that brushed against every soul attuned no matter how faintly to power. For cultivators in meditation, it arrived as a sudden dissonance in their breathing. For spirit beasts, it manifested as unease, hackles raised and instincts screaming. For ancient beings who had slept through ages, it was a sensation far more dangerous.
It was recognition.
Across mountains, seas, deserts, and frozen plains, old beings remembered pain.
---
In Valenholm, dawn struggled to assert itself. Gold light crept across the city's spires, yet the air still felt heavy with the aftertaste of crimson. Bells rang earlier than protocol allowed, summoning the Empire's most powerful bloodlines finally to the Hall of Concord. The chamber, vast and circular, was carved from star-marble shot through with veins of living Aether. Above, the dome displayed a shifting map of Enos normally serene, now trembling with faint distortions.
The great noble houses arrived in silence.
Representatives of House Li entered first, robes of jade and white flowing with restrained elegance. Duke Jian Li moved with unhurried precision, his expression placid, yet his eyes missed nothing. His house governed logistics, agriculture, and imperial infrastructure those unglamorous systems that kept the Empire alive.
House Ardentis followed, gold-threaded cloaks and sharp gazes announcing minds honed for strategy and governance. Duke Paul Ardentis stood tall, hands folded, already calculating futures branching outward from last night's events. He was the elder brother to the Imperial consort, Lady Mirrelle.
A crackle of restrained lightning announced House Vane. Duke Calros Vane's presence set the air buzzing, his lineage steeped in storm cultivation and military command. His jaw was tight, impatience barely leashed.
Finally came House Drakar. Duke Rhazek Drakar's footsteps carried weight, heat shimmering faintly around his massive frame. Dragon-blood stirred uneasily within him, responding to something far older than politics.
"The Aether surge was global," Duke Li began once all were present. "Every imperial junction reported oscillation. This was not a mere omen."
Duke Ardentis inclined his head. "The Imperial Heir was born under Eclipsera. Our archives tells us little about the precedent that occurred during the Age of Divine Dominion."
Calros Vane snorted. "Upheaval or orchestration? The Ancestors of my family are yet to give any helpful detail on the matter. I would like to know whether this was fate or interference."
Rhazek Drakar's voice rumbled low. "My blood answered a call beneath the palace. Whatever was born last night was acknowledged by the world itself."
The word settled heavily in the chamber.
Acknowledged.
---
Far from Valenholm, at the heart of the Great Forest, the largest, oldest forest in the Empire sat Mount Tiamat which pierced the sky like a dark crown. The forest around it stretched endlessly, ancient trees forming a living ocean of green. At the mountain's summit, coiled among obsidian stone and storm clouds, lay a colossal black western dragon.
The Dragon Sovereign's true body was vast beyond mortal scale. Scales like polished night reflected lightning as it crawled across his form. His breathing stirred storms.
An elderly cultivator approached cautiously, bowing deeply before the immense draconic eye that cracked open.
"Sovereign," the elder said, voice trembling but steady. "The Crimson Moon's resonance has spread across the Empire. The Imperial Heir has been born."
The dragon's pupil narrowed, vertical and ancient. Thunder rolled softly in his chest.
"So," the Dragon Sovereign rumbled, voice echoing through the clouds. "I wonder if truly this is the return of my old friend"
The elder hesitated. "My lord… should the sect prepare?"
The dragon exhaled, a long, slow breath that sent warm wind through the treetops. "Preparation is eternal. Panic is optional." His eye began to close. "I only hope those children are not planning something that will cause me too much headache in the future."
With that, the eye shut fully. Storms calmed. The dragon returned to slumber, though the mountain itself continued to hum.
---
In the west, beneath cliffs scorched black by wars erased from history, the Obsidian Steppes exhaled ash. Ruins cracked open. Sigils long buried beneath rubble reignited with sickly light.
Deep underground, in a temple carved from onyx and fused bone, the banished Demonic Sects gathered once more. Green-black flames cast warped shadows across scarred faces and horned silhouettes.
The Matron of Ash rose slowly from her throne. Blind eyes, pale and cracked, gazed into nothing and saw far too much.
"Finally the moon weeps," she rasped. "The seal weakens. Do you feel it?"
"We feel it," her followers hissed in unison.
"The Empire's heir has been born," one said eagerly. "The light rises."
"And where light rises," another murmured, "shadow deepens."
An elder devil cultivator leaned heavily on his staff, scales dulled by age and exile. "You forget what the Crimson Moon heralds. The last time it rose, it was followed by the end of the Age of Divine Dominion. This is not our hour."
Silence fell.
"It is his," someone whispered.
The Matron of Ash lifted her hand. "Enough. Whether the Abyss descends soon or sleeps longer, the coming age will be one of upheaval. Contact our agents and assets within the sects and courts."
Her cracked lips twisted. "Preparations begin. When the Abyss invades again, we will be ready."
---
In the frozen north, the Sanctum of Vigil stood unyielding against red-tinged auroras. Beneath it, the Abyssal Gate pulsed once faint, but undeniable.
The Thirteenth Saint rose from his throne, white fire burning beneath his hood. He felt the tremor ripple through the seals like a heartbeat out of rhythm.
Then he turned.
A figure stood beside the obelisk, presence bound by ancient covenant. One of the Seven Ancestors of the Imperial family.
"What are you and your siblings planning this time?" the Saint asked quietly.
The Ancestor smiled, slow and knowing. "You speak as though we are masterminds who are planning the destruction of the Empire."
"If this leads to another breach—"
"Then you will stand," the Ancestor replied gently, "as you always do. Guarding a door you cannot close, wondering whether restraint was ever wisdom."
The presence faded. The Saint clenched his fist. "No matter what, I won't let the world of Enos fall. I will be prepared this time around no matter what happens. "
---
Elsewhere across the Central Continent, the last three sects amongst the Five Great Sects reacted in their own ways.
Within the Heavenly Jade Pavilion, where merchants, healers, alchemists, and refiners shaped the Empire's lifeblood, furnaces burned hotter than ever. The Grand Alchemist stared into a basin of condensed Aether spiraling in reverse.
"This is no normal celestial echo," she said. "The world's resonance has changed direction."
"Reversing?" an apprentice whispered.
"Something foreign has entered the weave," she replied. "And markets, medicine, and weapons will all feel it."
---
In a valley hidden by clouds, the Silver Veil Sect found its illusions faltering. Lanterns flickered. Reflections twisted. The Grand Mistress stared into a still pool, watching her reflection gain crimson eyes that were not her own.
"It sees us," she whispered. "The newborn soul beneath Valenholm's crown."
The Crimson Lotus Sect felt fire respond to fire. Some cultivators laughed in exhilaration. Others felt dread coil in their cores.
"The Abyss remembers us," an elder murmured. "And fire always answers fire."
Beyond the Empire, the rest of Enos trembled.
---
In the Western Continent, the Federation of Valestria jolted as the Iron Citadel's engines stalled for three seconds. In the core chamber, the First Witch pressed her palm to humming metal.
"The aether sings," she murmured. "As if welcoming it's ruler."
The Council exchanged uneasy looks. Innovation had always been their shield. Now the world itself was changing the rules.
---
In the Kingdom of Arvendale, bells rang without touch. The Knight-King stood with the Knights of the Round Table, hand resting on his blade.
"If light returns," he said gravely, then turned his head towards the North saying "then shadow follows."
---
In the Eastern Continent, the Eternal Jade Emperor gazed into the Mirror of Heaven. It reflected not his face but the crimson sky far to the west.
"The Mandate stirs," said his prime minister.
"No," the Emperor replied. "It chooses."
---
On the islands of Hoshinoku, a martial nation ruled by a Shogun whose command bound every samurai, a sealed blade rang once in its sheath. Warriors fell to one knee, hearts pounding.
---
In the peaceful realm of Sukhavati, monks paused mid-chant. Prayer wheels spun of their own accord.
"The world suffers," an elder monk said softly. "Then compassion must awaken."
---
In the southern frozen continent, nomadic tribes gathered beneath crimson auroras, drums echoing across ice and sky. Their shamans sang names older than history.
---
Beneath the oceans, in the coral palaces of Atlantis, the High Queen of the Seas rose.
"The World Tree hums," she said. "The Age of uncertainty is finally upon us."
---
Far beneath everything in another dimension, beyond the gods of Enos, beyond time, a pair of eyes opened.
"So," said a voice smooth as still water. "The cycle bleeds anew."
Reality bent.
---
And in Valenholm, the newborn Ardyn Valen Aetherion stirred. Violet light pulsed once, vanished into the roots of the world, and every living thing felt it.
A reminder.
A promise.
A warning.
Far beyond Enos, the Watcher murmured, "So it begins."
And the Age of Uncertainty truly began.