🌒 World Notes: The Moons of Hipos
Before fleeing to the mortal realm, Azaroth and Lumiel lived beneath a divine sky.Their lost home, Hipos, followed the rhythm of Twelve Moons, not seasons.Though that world has long fallen, they still whisper its calendar each year—a quiet act of remembrance for the eternity they once ruled.
🕯️ The Twelve Moons
🌱 Spring — The Season of Awakening
1. Verdance — Renewal and the first bloom of life.
2. Bloomveil — Blossoms, vows, and the birth of hope.
3. Highsun — The rise of warmth and radiant growth.
☀️ Summer — The Season of Power
4. Emberfall — The height of light and fire's breath.
5. Harvest — Balance, bounty, and gratitude.
6. Ashveil — The waning sun, when glory fades to dust.
🍂 Autumn — The Season of Reflection
7. Frostveil — The first chill, when leaves begin to fall.
8. Whiteshroud — The stillness before the snow.
9. Gloamreach — The longest night; dreams and memory entwined.
❄️ Winter — The Season of Silence
10. Dawnswell — The first light after the endless night.
11. Thornmarch — Struggle and endurance; life pushing through frost.
12. Verdantwake — The quiet end of the cycle; seeds sleeping beneath snow.
Between Ashveil and Frostveil lies the Day of Two Shadows,when both suns and both moons rise together,and for a moment, the breath of gods returns to the living.
📜 Current Time: Year 5 — The Fifth Year of Eryndor
For them, time began the moment their son first opened his eyes.
Year 1 marked the birth of Eryndor—their light, their new beginning.Year 5 marks the life they built since,five springs under a mortal sun.
To others, these are ordinary days.But to Azaroth and Lumiel, every dawn is sacred—another heartbeat in the only world they now believe in:the world their child brings to life.
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They watched over their child together—he was a perfect blend of them both.Tears welled in their eyes as they held one another. All their struggles, their sacrifices… it had all been for this child.And after all those years, they had finally succeeded.Words were useless—unnecessary. Neither of them wished to break the moment, so they simply held each other tighter.
Outside, dawn crept slowly over the horizon. Golden light spilled through the window, caressing their faces as if the heavens themselves were blessing this fragile miracle.For the first time since the birth of creation, both angel and demon found peace in the same breath.
They knew the child's birth had not been natural. They knew what they were. So a question lingered like a shadow:
Could their child truly grow up normally? Or was he fated to become something neither god nor mortal could ever understand?
Lumiel gently held the baby's tiny fingers between her own. They were warm—so warm, and impossibly small."Eryndor…" she whispered. "Our light..."
Azaroth looked upon them, his heart trembling. Light... He had spent centuries drowning in blood and ruin, yet this word now carried a meaning no war could erase.
"Speaking of light," Lumiel continued softly, "I've learned something about the families of this world. They carry surnames—passed down to their descendants."
Azaroth nodded. "Yes. Mainly noble lineages."
Lumiel smiled faintly. "Considering our past… I believe we are far more noble than they are."
Azaroth huffed a short laugh. "And what surname have you decided on?"
"Our child is our light," Lumiel replied. "A light I want to be seen everywhere. So… what do you think of Araelth? Eryndor Araelth. Doesn't it sound beautiful?"
Azaroth paused for a moment, the name echoing softly within his mind."It does. But surnames apply to the whole family. Meaning… all of us would take it."
"Of course," Lumiel answered, her eyes glimmering.
"So the name… should represent all of us, too," Azaroth remarked.
Lumiel narrowed her eyes. "…You don't like it?"
Azaroth straightened instantly—fear flickering in his eyes for a brief second."No—No! I love it!" He had seen his wife angry in war before. He did not wish to see it again.
Lumiel laughed, the tension lifting."Haha… I did include something of us in the name, didn't I? I could have just ignored that entirely, you know?"
Azaroth smiled faintly, watching her cradle their child.This warmth… is something even gods could never create.
A god had been born—but the seal of his parents had also passed onto him.
Lumiel looked upon her child with an expression that wavered between love and sorrow. It felt as though she had ruined his future before it had even begun.
What if he suffers because of me? What if I have cursed him by giving him life? The thoughts clawed at her heart, but she forced a smile for the infant resting peacefully in her arms.
"Even without our powers… the people of this world suffer the same," she said quietly. "Can we truly just… live happily as a family? Like them?"
Azaroth answered with a tired but steady voice."I don't know. But by escaping our old universe, we've reached a future where we might finally learn the answer."
Lumiel sighed softly. "That sounded far too poetic for a man who once ruled a realm of despair."
Azaroth arched a brow. "Would you prefer I grunt like a beast instead?"
"You already do," she teased.
He exhaled through his nose—a failed attempt to hide the smile tugging at his mouth.For a moment, it felt like they were ordinary parents teasing each other over nothing.
Year 5, Month of Verdance
Time passed gently. The seasons changed, and Eryndor grew—faster than any mortal child should.With every moon that passed, he began to resemble them more and more.Black hair as dark as his father's shadow, crimson eyes burning like Azaroth's own flame,and a face so bright and graceful it could have only come from Lumiel herself.
By four months, he could already walk.By one year, he spoke in full sentences.By three, he read the markings of the old world—symbols even Lumiel had to look twice to recall.
He didn't learn the way children did; he understood. Lumiel would show him a letter once, and he would draw the entire alphabet by memory. Azaroth would demonstrate a simple defensive stance—and the boy would ask,"But what if the enemy's left hand moves first?"
Azaroth had paused that day, wooden sword in hand, realizing his son had asked a question only battle-hardened soldiers ever considered."Then," he said slowly, "you move before he does."
Eryndor smiled. "I already did."
Their home stood where the forest met the open fields, surrounded by whispering pines and the hush of running water from a nearby stream.The house was simple—stone at the base, timber above, built by Azaroth's own hands. Smoke curled from the chimney, the scent of pine and herbs drifting with the morning mist.It was no palace. It was fragile, human, and real. And to them— it was paradise.
Inside, laughter had become part of the walls. Lumiel loved teaching her son words from the old celestial tongue, and sometimes she would "accidentally" mispronounce one just to see if he noticed.
He always did.
"Mother, you said altherion instead of atherion again," Eryndor corrected gently.
"Oh? Then perhaps my tongue is tired," Lumiel said, pretending to pout.
Azaroth, sitting by the hearth, didn't look up from sharpening his blade. "Or perhaps your son has become a better teacher than you."
Lumiel gave him a look that could've silenced storms. "Careful, Lord of Patience. I can still curse your tea to taste like salt."
Azaroth smirked. "Wouldn't be the worst thing I've tasted. Remember, I once drank the blood of a dragon."
Eryndor blinked innocently. "Was it good?"
Both parents froze. Lumiel cleared her throat delicately. "No, dear. That's... not something to imitate."
Azaroth nodded gravely. "Definitely not. Tasted awful."
Eryndor hummed. "Then I'll just drink honey."
Lumiel smiled. "Now that's wisdom greater than your father's ever had."
But even in their peace, reminders of what they had once been surfaced in small, quiet ways.When Lumiel lit the hearth, the fire burned longer than normal.When Azaroth lifted timber, it bent for him. And when Eryndor laughed——the air itself shimmered, as if light and shadow were drawn to listen.
It was during a late summer morning when Azaroth found his son in the woods, standing beside a fallen deer.The creature's side was torn, its breath shallow. Blood stained Eryndor's small hands.
"I was trying to help it," the boy said, voice trembling. "But it wouldn't stop shaking."
Azaroth froze—his heart twisting. There was no wound on the boy himself, yet something in the air pulsed.The leaves trembled, the ground quivered, and faint black light coiled around Eryndor's arms.
"Enough!" Azaroth's voice cracked like thunder. He rushed forward, pulling the child back.The darkness scattered like ash in the wind.
The deer lay still. Dead.
Eryndor's eyes filled with tears. "I didn't mean to hurt it... I wanted to heal it, like Mother does."
Azaroth knelt, his hands trembling as he held the boy's shoulders. "I know," he said quietly. "But power is not mercy. You must learn both."
That day, fear found its way into Azaroth's heart—not because his son possessed power, but because he didn't understand its limits.
Later that night, Lumiel sat beside Eryndor by the fire.He stared into the flames, small brows furrowed. "If healing can hurt, is it still good?"
Lumiel's hand froze mid-air, then she smiled faintly. "Goodness depends on the heart that wields it. Power is only a mirror."
Eryndor looked up. "Then you and Father must be the brightest mirrors."
Azaroth, standing behind them, almost dropped the cup in his hand. Lumiel laughed softly, brushing Eryndor's hair."Perhaps once," she said. "Now we're just reflections learning how to love what we see."
A week later, the first storm of autumn came. Lightning tore through the pines, wind howled against their home, and Azaroth rushed out to secure the roof.
Eryndor followed him despite Lumiel's pleas to stay inside. A splintered timber broke loose and fell, crushing the boy beneath its weight.
The sound—the sickening crunch—froze both parents where they stood. By the time Azaroth lifted the timber, Eryndor's body lay limp, his chest unmoving.
"No…" Lumiel's voice broke, raw and hollow. "No, no, no—please—"
Then, before their eyes, the child's chest shuddered. The breath of life returned on its own.
Crimson light pulsed faintly beneath his skin, veins glowing like threads of fire. Bone reformed. Flesh mended. The air shimmered with warmth that neither heaven nor hell had ever known.
Within seconds, the boy was breathing again—his eyes slowly opening, calm, as if waking from a dream.
"I… I was sleeping," he whispered. "Did I do something wrong?"
Lumiel fell to her knees, tears streaming down her face.Azaroth stood frozen, rain washing the blood from his hands.
Angels could heal. Demons could survive wounds that would kill men.But this—this was something beyond even them.
Lumiel's voice trembled. "Even we… could not return from death itself."
Azaroth clenched his fists. "He shouldn't be able to. Not even gods could simply… will themselves back."
Their gazes met through the storm. No words could soften the truth forming between them—Whatever Eryndor was becoming, he was something beyond either of them.
And yet, they still didn't understand what that meant.They didn't see divinity.They only saw their child—fragile, innocent, smiling through the storm.
Azaroth wrapped his cloak around the boy, lifting him gently. "Come," he whispered. "Let's go home."