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Chapter 11 — The Fall of Silver Skies
(Arc II: The Shattered Oath — Volume I: The Cry of Heavens)
The skies were no longer blue.
They had turned to mirrors of silver, bending light into impossible shapes as if reality itself refused to hold form. The mortals who gazed upward saw only their own reflections dissolve, their prayers swallowed by a sound that was not thunder — but the echo of something divine breaking.
The gods were coming.
High above the clouds, in a space between time and breath, the middle deities tore through the veil of realms. They descended wrapped in light that burned the eyes of men, yet behind their brilliance was fear — a subtle tremor that none but they could sense.
Something had awakened beneath them.
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In the valley below, Vaen stood alone.
The wind did not move his hair. The storm's remnants lingered like whispers clinging to him, unwilling to depart. His gaze lifted toward the heavens, calm and indifferent, as if the descent of gods was a passing inconvenience.
The ground beneath his feet shimmered.
Where his shadow touched, the grass turned to ash.
> "They come," a voice murmured within him — soft, ancient, without language.
"Not for judgment… but for fear."
Vaen's eyes flickered, black swallowing the whites like a tide. For a heartbeat, something vast shifted behind them — an echo of the serpent's dream still unformed.
He exhaled slowly.
A divine spear of light fell from the sky, its impact carving a crater into the earth. When the radiance cleared, three figures emerged — gods draped in silver flame. Their feet did not touch the ground.
One spoke, his voice trembling beneath false pride.
> "Mortal child… what have you awakened?"
Vaen said nothing.
The silence pressed upon them, heavier than their divine aura. The god's flame dimmed as if smothered by invisible chains.
> "We are sent by the Celestial Accord to cleanse this land," another declared. "You bear a mark forbidden to exist. Kneel, and your soul may yet—"
Vaen raised his hand.
Not in defiance. Not in aggression. Simply raised — as if to pause the world.
And the world obeyed.
The wind froze.
The silver clouds above halted mid-motion, threads of divine energy suspended in the air like trapped light. Even the gods felt it — the sudden absence of time.
Vaen's voice was calm, measured, yet it struck deeper than any divine decree.
> "You speak of cleansing… yet your hands tremble when faced with what you do not understand."
The first god lunged forward, divine spear aimed for Vaen's heart.
In the instant before impact, Vaen turned his gaze upon him — a single glance.
The god fell apart.
Not burned, not shattered — simply unmade. His essence scattered into pale dust, carried by wind that had not yet begun to move again.
The second god screamed.
The third stumbled backward, horror etched into immortal eyes.
> "What… are you?"
Vaen tilted his head slightly.
> "A question I was never permitted to ask myself."
The serpent's whisper pulsed again — deeper now, almost sentient.
> "They fear your name, Vaen. As they once feared mine."
The ground trembled.
Silver turned to black, and the sky's reflection burned away.
Above, in the hidden sanctum of the gods, higher beings watched through fractured light.
Their voices quaked.
> "The boy… he carries it… The Dream of the Serpent."
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When the wind finally resumed, the valley was silent again. Only Vaen remained, surrounded by nothing but dust and silence. He looked up once more — to the heavens now cracked like glass — and whispered,
> "If this is fear, then perhaps I should return it to its maker."
And somewhere beyond the stars, an ancient serpent opened one unseen eye.
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