There were four moons in the sky.
One to the east—greater than the others.
One to the west—brighter than the others.
One to the north—prettier than the others.
One to the south—darker than the others.
And the sun, still and steady, hung in the center of it all. Watchful.
As though the four moons bowed in reverence before it.
Below, the lands stretched with mountains and fields, rivers weaving their way westward.
To the west—where the capital stood, nestled before the towering Crimson Mountain.
The city of Flaine, the heart of Velrane.
Its roads reached far and wide, extending like veins from distant lands to its colossal gates.
Walls rose to block the path, and soldiers stood to guard them—sharper, sterner, more seasoned than the others.
Beyond the walls lay a hundred thousand homes and shops. Thousands of estates and mansions. Thousands of Colosseums.
Hundreds of towers, and tens of districts.
Some grander than the others. Some larger, sturdier, more lavish, more astonishing—more remarkable—than the others.
A hundred thousand rings, bracelets, and necklaces glimmered in the marketplace.
Gold glowing on fingers, around wrists and necks.
Thousands crafted with diamonds.
Hundreds made from what falls from the heavens.
Some brighter than the others—eye-dazzling, status-marking, and host to wearers more beautiful than the others.
Some more precious than the others. Some bearing fates brighter—some fates burning harder—than the others.
Hundreds of thousands of people.
Men. Women. Commoners. Soldiers.
Even gladiators battling in deep and bloody pits.
Thousands of nobles in gilded carriages.
Hundreds of ministers, high lords, and royalty—each with lineages purer than the others.
And among them: some prettier than the others. With better taste than the others. More coin than the others. More power, more magic, more mana—flowing richer and deeper than the others.
All of it—every stone and spire and soul—came into view.
But there was only one building, one palace, that towered almighty—greater than the others.
And within that palace: only two gems, set in place, burning brighter than the others. Two that looked out from atop the highest tower, whose presence cast a shadow over all the others.
And there lived only one.
One person inside that palace.
Wearing the two gems upon a face prettier than the others.
Draped in garments flowing with more grace than the others.
Holding more coin—more than all the others combined.
Majestic, without question.
And the blood? Far purer than the others.
Hundreds of thousands of hearts beat across the city—once, twice, over and again.
Some faster than the others.
Some fighting for blood, some fleeing from the others.
Some hearts pumping life.
Some stealing it... from the others.
And some, innocent and young, not beating for as long—kneeling before hearts far darker than the others.
But among them all...
There was only one... with a heart much darker than the others.
A queen, with a kingdom far greater than the others.
Her rule reached farther, her voice echoed louder, her will weighed heavier—than the others.
The four moons bowed before her.
A star that burned, she was—but far hotter than the one above.
Radiant. Fierce.
Unyielding in brilliance, in presence, in power.
But some stars fade from the heavens sooner than the others.
Some linger—more patient than the others.
Some blaze into copper.
Some collapse into iron.
Some shine with the glow of silver and gold.
And some—rare and far between—give birth to life.
A creation far more precious than the others.
But among all those burning gods of night,
There was only one star who waited longer—more patient than the others.
One whose light did not shatter or fade.
One who did not forget.
She birthed a life long buried by time.
A life... long forgotten by the others.