Fractured Vision

Chapter 12: A Fractured Vision

The Divine order court was the paramount religion of the gyn for over ten thousand years. The grand omen of every generation must forfeit material pleasures to attain ultimate sync with the divine and the canon law. The grand omen, backed by twelve nuns, the omens are akin to seers and have authority second to the Divine Judicial speaker of the court. To be an omen or grand omen is not a choice but a calling. --- Study of the divine court by Scholar Vackmael

Earlier, far across the empire—before the sun's rays even kissed the streets of Slught, capital of the Middle Belt—an ancient silence hung heavy over the towering Temple of the Divine Order.

The sacred halls were hushed, marble pillars glowing faintly with residual energy from the prayers of the faithful. The stars had not yet faded, and the world still slumbered.

But within the temple's highest chamber, the Grand Omen jolted upright in her bed, gasping.

Sweat dripped down her wrinkled brow, her silver-blind eyes wide in terror. She clutched at her chest, her breaths short and frantic, as if she'd just escaped drowning in an ocean of shadows.

Because that's what it had felt like.

She stumbled out of bed, her ceremonial robe trailing behind her as she moved toward the scrying pool, the water already reacting to the storm within her spirit.

She had Seen.

A vision.

One not granted by the Divine... but ripped into her mind like a blade.

---

A world shattered—glasslike, broken pieces suspended in a void with no beginning, no end. Cities turned to dust. Skies that bled red.

And amidst it all, a boy stood.

A gyn, dark-haired and barefoot, draped in bloodied robes. The ground cracked beneath him as he stepped forward. Around him floated shards of something sacred—ancient relics, perhaps—twisted and pulsing like hearts torn from gods.

The Grand Omen had tried to look away, but she couldn't. Her eyes had locked with his.

And in the silence, he spoke—not with power, but with certainty.

"Who is worthy to rule this world?"

His voice was calm. Cruel. Final.

Then he smiled at her.

And in that smile, she saw the end.

---

The Grand Omen fell to her knees, gripping the rim of the pool.

This is no ordinary force... This isn't a prophecy—it's a warning.

She pressed trembling fingers to her lips, whispering prayers that even the gods seemed hesitant to answer.

"Summon the High Circle," she ordered the moment a priest entered the room. "And fetch me the Celestial Scripts... all of them."

"But… Grand Omen, those are sealed by—"

"Now!"

Something was coming.

Something old.

It bore the face of a boy.

The Celestial Scripts were ancient—older than the Divine Order itself. No one touched them unless the world was truly at risk.

As the scrolls were unsealed with trembling hands and laid before the Grand Omen, she read with breath caught in her throat. And there it was. Tucked between faded glyphs and broken divine tongues—words that chilled her soul more than the vision itself:

"When the Creator meets the gods, the world shall be judged."

The ink shimmered, reacting to her touch. The prophecy pulsed like it was alive, aware. She leaned closer, heart racing.

The next lines had long been considered metaphor—misinterpreted, maybe even corrupted over centuries.

But now?

Now it read differently.

"The boy with the blood of shards shall smile upon the fractured sky. He shall not beg the heavens, nor fear their judgment."

"He will ask only once—'Who is worthy to rule this world?' And the silence that follows will be truth."

The Grand Omen froze.

The creator meets the gods...

That wasn't just a figure of speech. The boy—no, the gyn—in her vision wasn't some doomed villain or misguided rebel.

He felt... above the gods.

Not because of power alone—but because something within him was older. Deeper.

"Perhaps the prophecy was misread," she whispered.

One of her advisors dared to ask, "What do you mean?"

She stared at the line again.

"The creator…" she said slowly, "…was never supposed to be someone we prayed to."

Her fingers tightened on the script.

"What if the creator… was just waiting to return?"