(Arc 1: The Heaven's Cry)
— The Gods Who Watched
The halls of the High Heavens had never known silence.
For eons, choirs of divine flame sang across its endless spires, filling eternity with light and order.
But tonight — that light flickered.
And the gods, who once believed themselves eternal, felt something they had long forgotten.
Fear.
The golden domes of the Celestial Citadel trembled as twelve thrones burned with living fire.
Each throne belonged to a god whose name alone could erase empires. Yet none of them spoke.
They only stared at the single orb suspended in the air — the Eye of Heaven, clouded and pulsing with a shadow it could not contain.
That shadow pulsed like a heartbeat.
Slow. Calm. Endless.
At last, the First Voice broke the silence.
He was draped in constellations and crowned with dying suns, his expression carved from authority itself.
> "The disturbance began in the mortal valley below the sealed vault," he said. "Our decree was absolute — no child born under that storm was to live."
A younger god, wrapped in feathers of light, shivered.
> "And yet something lives. Its resonance tore through every divine layer. Even the Thrones of Order shook."
"Impossible," said another. "That resonance is forbidden. It was erased when the Origin fell."
A pause.
Then the First Voice whispered words no god wished to hear.
> "What if the Origin never fell?"
The chamber dimmed.
The light itself recoiled from his words, retreating into the corners as if afraid to be seen.
From the farthest end of the hall, a different voice — brittle and old — spoke from behind a veil.
> "You speak of heresy."
The First Voice turned his gaze toward the veil. "You know as well as I do what that resonance was. We all felt it."
A trembling godling muttered, "The Cry of Heaven… has echoed again."
And at once, the heavens themselves rumbled.
Outside the citadel, entire constellations flickered out of existence, devoured by invisible tremors rippling through the divine web. The stars were dying — not from battle, but from remembrance.
One of the elder gods clenched his fists. "If that child still exists, then the world itself defies us."
The First Voice looked down at the orb again — the Eye of Heaven, trembling like a living heart.
Through its vision, he saw a boy walking across a dead valley, leaving no footprints, his gaze calm and unshaken.
> "Send the Middle Court," he commanded quietly.
"Let the gods of judgment descend. If the child lives, his soul will be unmade."
The younger gods exchanged fearful glances. None dared question.
Only the veiled one — the god who had not moved since the beginning of the meeting — whispered softly:
> "You will regret it."
The First Voice frowned. "Why?"
The veil stirred. Behind it, eyes like collapsing stars opened — ancient, grieving, and knowing.
> "Because he does not remember who he is yet."
"And when he does… we will cease to exist."
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Far below, in the mortal realm —
Vaen paused mid-step, looking toward the sky.
He said nothing.
But his shadow smiled.