PROLOGUE - VESTIGE OF THE FORGOTTEN

A voice echoed from an empty room—ribbons of black and gold streaked wildly across the walls, shifting like dying star.

Endless pillars stretched across the space; records coated in stars piled onto every single one.

A single chandelier––for decoration, but long since used, swayed with nothing to force it, as if it just felt like doing so.

A woman sat, her long crimson bulky hair lightly brushing against the shifting floor––liquid to solid. As her legs reached the bar of a fractured chair, tilted and splintered, she sighed heavy, the expression in her face left, as if it was like a dire revelation would be spoken.

Black rings sat loosely on her wrists, a white coat—too big for her—snuggly put on. Twelve balls of shifting colors—black, red, gold, and white—dangled slightly on the hinges of the seams.

“This… this message isn't for me.” Her smallish body shook with fear. Death gripped her by the throat.

She exhaled—shaky, hollow. Like the courage to speak was already slipping away.

“It’s for anyone who finds this. Or maybe... maybe no one will. By the time it’s discovered, I’ll be dead.”

Her gaze drifted to the floor—as if the words themselves had sealed her fate.

“But for the sake of introductions... I am Vaeria. A librarian of the Memory Pillars of Keia—
The place where collapsed timelines are stored. Where echoes whisper from realities that never made it.”

She turned to the recording scroll. Its flickering light danced as a feathered pen scratched furiously—like it couldn’t keep up with the weight of her words.

“I once archived the death of a Shunogai whose energy shattered a thousand suns.
But this?”
She spat the words with bitterness, clenching her teeth as tears welled up in the seams of her eyes. “This is worse.”

“I don’t want to die. I still have things I want to see. People I want to speak to again. But this world... it was never built for the ones like me. Everything bends to the strongest.”

Her voice cracked. Tears slid down her face, but she didn’t flinch. Didn’t wipe them. It was as if she didn’t notice them—or maybe she was too tired to care.

“The Creators... they’re fracturing us. They don’t realize—or maybe they do—that their arrogance is tearing this realm apart. The war’s already begun. Right now, as I speak, it’s devouring cities, worlds whole.”

Her eyes dimmed, distant. Then—A slight smile. Hollow. As if pitying herself.

“Last month, I met someone through a friend. Chronos—he’s the one who brought him. He always sits in these broken chairs, reading our records in silence, like he’s trying to calculate how long we have left.”

“But this new one? A Radiant named Aetheron.
His colors clashed with Chronos’s stillness—like sunrise bleeding into dusk. I’ve never seen Radiants leave Vor’nael. Never. Not until him.”

A pause. She dug her palms into her withered skirt, cold bands wrapped around her arms.

“But that’s not why I’m recording this.”

She checked the scroll—still recording.

“The Creators might trigger a God Wave. Soon.”

Her eyes widened. Then—BOOM. The wall cracked. Lights stuttered. Something had found her.

“Shit—listen. Remember what we lost. Remember why it happened.”

She hesitated—then locked her gaze into the lens. Her voice, low. Final.

“And you—whoever you are…Don’t try to save this timeline. Or any timeline. Let them burn.”

She stood. The chair scraped against the floor like it was begging her not to leave.

One final glance at the scroll. She forgot to tell the feathered pen to scurry away—turn it off.

Her vision blurred—eyes flooded with tears. She wiped them with her sleeve. They shoot to the ground as her hand violently flew behind her. Her lips prepared an incantation, still stuck in her throat.

“Kaira. Need you.” She muttered, shockwaves wrapped around her arm as the air pushed upwards violently. Lifting her hair towards the ceiling.

Golden splashes formed from her hand, extending to her shoulder––it transformed.

A humanoid girl materialized on her back, playful, but golden twin crescents with black undertones spiraled around her body. Yellow-white hair flowed in nothing. A black dress, fluttering with abstract colors, danced in the wind.

“We have a job?” Kaira asked. Smirking as she placed her fists to her cheeks. She was lifted off the ground in a playful manner, her heels reached her back as she reclined them.

“No. Its survival.”

Kaira’s face dimmed immediately as she separated herself from Vaeria. One of the crescents orbited around her forearm, already in position for the next move.

“Here.” She muttered, tossing one of the crescents toward Vaeria. It liquified, then—it transformed into a golden spear with crimson undertones, the tip obscured in white flames.

“We have to go.” Vaeria mumbled, digging her shoes into the ground, in a preparation stance as she squatted down. The spear made sparks as it clinked on the floor.

“Do we have to fight him…?” Kaira’s face showed pure fear, her eyes twitching as she hugged her face with sweated palms. She looked up—Vaeria, her stance the complete opposite of hers. Determination. Vaeria’s lips fell as she looked at the ceiling. The crack spread like spider webs. Then—black energy seeped through the lines, pouring down onto the innocent floor.

Both of their eyes dilated. Vaeria dashed, gripping Kaira’s arm with immense pressure. “We can’t stay in the same spot forever!”

Her hand skidded across walls as she leaped onto them, Kaira following behind, loosely hanging onto Vaeria’s shoulder.

The ceiling caved in, showing a figure descending with the calm grace of a god who didn’t need permission to exist.

His body wasn’t clad in armor.

It was armor.

A shell of gold and black plating that moved like liquid. A mouth plate that amplifies the concept of sound in a multitude.

Gold veins pulsed beneath black plates, spiraling like celestial circuitry—each segment shifting ever so slightly, like his body existed in multiple frames of time at once.

His limbs were covered in jagged, asymmetric armor plating, some parts organic in look, others rigid, shaped like they were forged from the bones of collapsed stars.

The third horn at the center of his crown spiraled outward—etched with sigils that drifted off his head like they were escaping the page of a forgotten scripture.

Where his heart should be, there was a glowing sigil-wheel, spinning in reverse—fragments of glyphs orbiting it like satellites.

Behind his shoulders, layered cape-like segments floated—not fabric, but folded timelines.

Black light breached through the ceiling, showering the figure in a marvelous display.

Kaira pouted, the crescent around her spun faster as red fractals broke off, zipping through the air. “Why does he get to look all shiny?”

Cracks split the ceiling like black lightning veins. The figure descended—not with force, but with inevitability.

One step down, and the air collapsed inward. Rain didn’t follow. It avoided the moment.

Vaeria landed first, knees bent, spear drawn. Her crimson hair flared from the pressure, her eyes locked forward with unblinking focus.

“Kaira,” she called, voice low. “Behind.”

Kaira touched down lightly, the crescent hovering at her side twitching like it sensed something she didn’t. Her voice cracked.

“Th-this isn’t a scout. This is…”

She didn’t finish. Her lips froze mid-sentence.

The being’s armored feet touched down. The left first, then the right.

Black steam hissed up around his body. His horns glowed dimly—one dipped in flame, the second wrapped in orbiting sigils, and the third, a spiraling monstrosity that reflected distorted versions of Vaeria’s face in each rotation.

“You don’t belong here,” Vaeria said. Her voice didn’t shake. Not outwardly. “This is Keia. Sacred ground. A place for lost timelines.”

The being’s response was a whisper—yet it rang like it came from the bones of the world itself.

“Exactly.”

His voice was old. Not aged—ancient. Like someone who had never died, just changed names.

“You walk the remnants of memory,” he continued, stepping forward. “And yet you archive forgetting.”

Kaira’s eyes sharpened. She raised her voice, aiming to pierce through his quiet.

“You’re not from this cycle. Who are you?”

The figure smiled. It wasn’t warm. It wasn’t cruel. It was just… inevitable.

“I go by many titles,” he said. “Some call me Avel’Zeyhn.”

He lifted a single hand. Reality rippled outward in response. White flames—resembling the ones from Vaeria’s spear, coiled around his gauntlet like a serpent.

“Others…” A pause. “Whisper of the First Conscience. Warden of the Inherited Sin. And to some… the Archivist.”

Vaeria’s grip tightened around her spear. Her veins flared dark crimson

“You’re lying.” Tears waited to fall off her eyes as they stormed inside her sockets.

Avel’Zeyhn tilted his head ever so slightly.

“Have you ever heard of the Ashikaga Lineage?”

Vaeria flinched. Kaira blinked. The name meant nothing—or maybe too much.

“That tree,” he murmured, “grows with strange roots.”

Without warning, Kaira hurled the crescent.

It spun like a meteor—spiraling toward Avel’Zeyhn’s head with deadly force.

It should have made contact.

It didn’t.

Instead, it bent, drifting away as if physics refused to let it near him. He hadn’t flinched. His arm still rested on his plated chest, finger still holding the cloth around his neck, obscured his mouth plate by a large margin.

Kaira gasped. “No way—” Vaeria moved.

She launched herself forward, catching the crescent mid-air. Without missing a beat, she twisted her body and hurled the spear toward him. A golden streak cleaved the space between them—but it was only a distraction.

Because Vaeria was already in front of it.

She blitzed forward, appearing just inches away from Avel’Zeyhn’s chest, her fists glowing with radiant kinetic energy.

The three-piece combo was fast—two body blows, then a twisting backfist to the jaw. She dropkicked him in the gut, sending him skidding backward.

The spear caught up.

Vaeria grabbed it mid-spin, landed, and rushed again—another three-piece unleashed in perfect sync: a thrust, an overhead slice, a sweep to the knees.

Avel’Zeyhn dodged—effortlessly.

He leaned back, twisted through the air like water, his body warping around her precision like he’d read the combo three seconds ago.

Vaeria narrowed her eyes.

She snapped her fingers once—the spear redirected.

It curved through the air behind him, seeking his blind spot.

He spun midair—still dodged it.

The spear embedded itself in the wall behind them, flaring with white-gold flame.

Vaeria grit her teeth. “How are you dodging this?”

Avel’Zeyhn stepped forward as if the last few seconds hadn’t happened.

“I’m not dodging,” he said simply. “I’m remembering.”

He raised his hand. Scrolls on the wall behind them caught fire—no spark, no heat, just erasure. Memory combusted on impact.

Kaira screamed, “Vaeria!”

The spear flew again.

Avel’Zeyhn lifted a finger.

It stopped mid-air. Froze. Then unraveled—pixel by pixel, flaking into nothingness.

“You archive the end,” he whispered. “But I am it.”

A thunderclap detonated from nowhere. Vaeria disappeared in a streak of light and kinetic propulsion, her fist arcing with enough force to crumble walls.

She struck Avel’Zeyhn square in the chest. He didn’t move.

But the entire room behind him exploded. The Creator turned, slowly, like someone turning a page.

“Not bad,” he said calmly.

Then he jabbed one finger into Vaeria’s gut. Sound vanished. Light pulsed.

Vaeria was ripped from the ground, her body flung backward as if reality itself rejected her presence.

Kaira dove after her—caught her midair. Twisted. Spun. Her twin crescents carved through the air like orbiting stars.

She screamed, rage and fear mixed into one. Avel’Zeyhn watched her.

“This was not your chapter.”

His hand lifted.

Kaira’s gaze wandered toward him, a single tear fell off her plush cheeks. She flinched, hands zipped towards her head, eyes clenched shut.

He hesitated. Not enough for them to counter attack, but for a nanosecond. His palm—which was fully extended—closed slightly, as if he had what humans call remorse.

Shook off. He thought it was just a façade. He swiped his gauntlet.

Gravity went sideways, Kaira hung onto a shelf beside her, other hand clinging desperately to Vaeria—who was half conscious.

“Dravai’s…so persistent to live.” His eyes shuttered. A look of remorse coursed through his golden pupils. Gone in an instant. Another swipe, this time, harder, faster. Hateful.

And the two of them—Vaeria and Kaira—were flung sideways. Launched with intent.

Out of Keia. Out of now. Out of record.

Silence.

Only Avel’Zeyhn remained. Standing where fate should have ended.

Ash floated in the air, curling like spectral feathers.

The scrolls had stopped burning. Nothing remained—no light, no parchment, not even smoke. Just fragments of memory folding in on themselves like forgotten dreams.

Avel’Zeyhn stood in the center of the silence. Alone. As always.

His cloak draped down his shoulders like gravity refused to let go. One of his horns flickered—gold fire coiling from its tip, retracting like it had tasted something too real.

He looked up. The cracked ceiling gaped above him, exposing the swirling ether above Keia.

And then—

A faint tone. Not from the air.

From within him.

The third horn pulsed, once. Resonance trembled through the ground. The floor beneath his feet rippled like ink struck by a bell.

He turned his head slightly.

A whisper brushed across his spine. “So. You broke the seal.”

The voice was not his.

It was above his.

Avel’Zeyhn smiled faintly.

“I told you it was never meant to hold.”

“You moved before the convergence. You know what that means.”

A pause. Slight. Thought surged.

Avel’Zeyhn chuckled softly, stepping through the ash.

“I know exactly what it means. And I know you’re watching him.”

“The Ashikaga?”

“No,” Avel’Zeyhn said, his tone sharpened. “The Shardborn.”

The resonance pulsed again. Another echo bloomed—this time revealing an outline of something immense—a figure barely visible, made of orbiting concepts and radiating colors that had no name.

The God Creator. Watching. Not intervening. Not yet.

“He’s not ready.”

“No one ever is,” Avel’Zeyhn replied. “Read your own codexes. The bloodlines don’t wait. They choose.”

“He’s only a fracture.”

“Every fracture leaves an edge.”

A beat of silence. Not absence—intentional pause.

“If you do this,” the Creator said, “you’ll set the motion of inheritance. Across all races. Across all realms.”

Avel’Zeyhn’s third horn sparked violently. For just a moment, six Ashikaga sigils rippled across his arm—then vanished.

“I didn’t start this lineage,” he whispered. “But I’ll finish it.”

The resonance began to fade. A single thread of golden energy left, burning like fire in a container.

Before it did, the Creator said one more thing.

“If Shukan finds out who you really are…”

“I hope he does,” Avel’Zeyhn murmured. His hand raised, thigh level. Sharpened tips, the plates under slid with no sound.

He turned his back to the ruins. The cape flew, like a violent wind shook it backwards.

“Because that’s when the timelines will finally break.”

A single foot forward, and with that, he vanished. Not teleported.

Just… unexisted.

The Memory Pillars of Keia stood in silent ruin.

And far, far away… a golden eye opened for the first time.