Beyond the Worlds
Graxunar moved through the layers of reality like a blade through silk.
Stars faded behind him. Time bent and unbent. He passed burning realms, collapsing timelines, and places so ancient even the Monarchs dared not speak of them. He did not stop.
He was looking for a place outside of memory.
A place the Rulers had buried.
A name erased from scripture and sealed by decree.
He found it where even the laws of motion had failed — a vast, hollowed realm of silver light and shattered echoes.
There stood Eryndor — the one they called The Guardian of the Silent Hollow.
Once, he had been a judge of balance, a voice of peace among the eternal war of Monarchs and Rulers.
But long ago, they had cast him out.
Now he sat at the heart of a forgotten valley, wrapped in a cloak of starlight and silence, watching time stream past him like ash in water.
When Graxunar arrived, Eryndor did not flinch.
"You come where none return," the Guardian said, his voice deep and quiet, like waves under stone.
"I have no place left to return to," Graxunar replied.
In his arms, the infant Carsious slept — untouched by the destruction he had witnessed.
Graxunar knelt and gently laid the child before Eryndor.
"His name is Carsious. He must be hidden."
"You defied them," Eryndor said, studying the boy.
"I obeyed the purpose. Not their fear."
"You bring me a flame and ask I bury it in snow," the Guardian muttered. "Why?"
Graxunar's answer was quiet, burdened with weight:
"Because he is still innocent. And I am tired of unmaking what I never understood."
Eryndor nodded.
He lifted the child, studied the violet shimmer in his eyes — faint, flickering, like power waiting to dream.
"He will remain here. Until the stars cry his name again."
Graxunar stood.
"When he begins to ask questions… don't give him answers."
"I never do," said the Guardian with a faint smile.
And with that, the Divine General disappeared — back into the realms of power and lies.
The Cost of Graxunar's Attack
But the destruction Graxunar had unleashed — the obliteration of Xandria — was no quiet thing.
It had shattered more than marble and cities.
It had rippled through the fabric of the sealed universe, carried on divine energy so massive, it could not be contained.
And in the far corners of reality — in places sealed by fear, not faith — something cracked.
A second fracture opened in the Ancient Seal.
And with it, things began to wake.
The Deep Stirring
Beneath the folds of spacetime, monsters forgotten by creation opened their eyes.
These were not demons or beasts — they were failures.
Leftovers from before the balance, rejected by both Monarch and Ruler.
One coiled around a dead star and whispered in thirteen tongues at once.
One was locked in a sea of screaming frost, its breath forming new memories each second.
One, made entirely of echo and hunger, stirred beneath a ruined continent of bone.
They did not speak names.
But they felt something.
"The Seal bleeds…"
"The Fracture has a form…"
"The boy… is real."
They did not move.
Not yet.
But they pushed against their chains.
And the chains cracked.
The Divine Council
The Hall of Stars shimmered with impatient silence.
Seven golden thrones for the Rulers.
Thirteen crimson seats for the Monarchs.
They awaited the return of the blade they had sent.
At last, Graxunar appeared — tall, calm, his divine armor dimmed with soot and ash.
Obraen narrowed his eyes.
"Report," demanded Ion.
"Xandria is no more," said Graxunar.
"The child?" asked Cyrthien.
A pause.
Then a steady voice:
"Erased. As commanded."
The thrones glowed softly in acknowledgment. Cosmic records updated. The Seal reacted. Reality shifted to match the truth.
They believed him.
Even Razor, who studied the General's face longer than the others, said nothing.
"Good," said Obraen. "Then the Fracture dies unborn."
"Let memory move forward," added another Monarch.
"Let silence return," said Ion.
And the Council adjourned.
Far from Reach
In the silent valley where light did not age, Eryndor sat with the child.
He hummed an ancient tune as Carsious stirred, his tiny fingers grasping at the edge of stars.
Around them, the hollow winds whispered songs no god had sung in a million years.
The boy did not know who he was.
But one day, he would.
And the chains below would not hold forever.