Seven hundred thousand years ago, the sky shattered.
Astral light—vast, cold, and infinite—poured into the mortal
world. Mountains bent beneath
its weight, seas boiled into clouds, and the heavens thems-
elves bled with strangeconstellations never seen before.
The Great Era of Astral Revival had begun.
Civilizations rose and fell within centuries. Mortal emperors
became gods, gods fell intodust, and demons carved empires from mortal flesh. What began as wonder became apocalypse. Humanity remembers it not as a myth but as history—the golden age that doomed them all.
And when the astral tides receded, only ruins remained.
Forgotten palaces buried indeserts. Cities swallowed by
oceans. Tombs of immortals that still whisper in the night.
Yetthe memory of that age still scars the human soul.
They called it the Astral Cataclysm.
Now, in the present age of neon towers and digital screens,
mankind still glances skywardwith unease. For the stars
above are not silent; their fractures still glow, and the world
hasnot healed. Every child is taught the same warning in
schoolbooks:
The Astral Qi shall return.And with it, calamity.
Among them, in the crowded sprawl of Novus City, a boy
walks.
His hair is black as unlit obsidian, his features too sharp, too
perfect to belong to somethingso young. Eyes the color of
starlight linger on the skyscrapers as though they were
ruins,not marvels. His lips curve in something between poe-
try and scorn.
orion Von Null.
A name whispered in fragments of prophecy, though no one
dares speak it aloud. A nameburied with a clan erased from history.
The boy does not laugh, does not smile. He recites softly to himself, as if to the stars:
The heavens drowned my ancestors
. The gods burned their names . But history is onlywritten by the living … and I
have no intention of dying."
A storm gathers beyond the horizon. Not of rain, but of qi.
The Astral Tides are stirring again.And in the eyes of this dark, handsome boy, the world glimpses the return of calamity.