Prologue: «A Crack in Eternity»

“When Alpha-souls play with fate, worlds split at the seams. But who upholds the balance—without which only the void remains?”

Yes, I remember everything—the moment of my birth and what came before it. My true name, given to me by the Origo Absoluta… but that is no concern of yours. To others, I am known as Order-Darkness, or OD for short. To the less enlightened, I have borne countless mortal names across the Realms.

Before me, there was only the Origin Absolute, a formless void, and the Primordials, who were brought into existence shortly before the first Petal of the Origin Absolute’s Rose was forged. The Primordials were known as the purest Order, absolute Darkness, immaculate Light, and untamed Chaos. They were beautiful in their simplicity, though their conflicts spelled the ruin of the first Petal.

Seeing the consequences, the Origin Absolute sealed them like dangerous experiments—yet did not isolate them completely. Their energy still nourishes the cosmos and magic, like blood flowing through the veins of the universe. Their realms, known as the Sigmasphere, the Heart of the Void, Clireon, and X’Therium, still exist, motionless, at the edge of creation and the Origin Absolute’s Rose.

Then the Origin Absolute made us—the children of the Primordials, more perfect, more complex, each with a soul of our own, combining two pairs of primal energies:

Chaotic Light (CL)—my counterweight, an insane manipulator for whom the desires of mortals are toys—their emotional whims most of all. Creation is her playground, emotions her only pursuit: base, diseased, an obscenity to existence itself.

Chaotic Darkness (CD)—a slithering creature that corrodes the Petals from within, like rust devouring metal.

Order-Light (OL)—the sole kindred mind in recognizing balance as essential. Yet he clings to rituals and traditions, a prisoner of endless forms.

And myself—Order-Darkness (OD)—architectus aequilibrii, the custodian of balance, where imperium outweighs libertas.

And two others… Strange, absurd creations who evoke in me only mixed feelings—never emotions, for those are of Chaos, transitoria et corrupta; feelings belong to Order:

Chaos-Order (CO)—a wretched paradox, torn between anarchy and dictatorship, a sentient, schismatic nightmare for the Petal and for all Realms scarred by its experiments.

Light-Darkness (LD)—a shimmering absurdity where good and evil dance in a mad tango, switching places from moment to moment, unable to find even a semblance of harmony.

I despise them for their flawed nature, for their inability to find balance even within themselves. Yet, in the depths of my being, I feel a pang of pity for them—for they are, perhaps, the loneliest of us all.

Unfortunately, we, like our parents, could not avoid war. We so recklessly repeated their mistakes, squandered our youth so disgracefully, and realized the simple truths bestowed by the Origin Absolute far too late. Through our own clumsy actions, we destroyed the second Petal granted to us. It was foolish and senseless…

Realizing our sins, like foolish children, we threw ourselves upon the mercy of our the Origin Absolute. To our surprise, he forgave us and did not seal us away as he had our parents. However, that meeting is one none of us will ever forget.

We were no better than our parents; we were still too dangerous for the cosmos. But the Origin Absolute words, seared into our consciousness, changed us forever. We are no longer Primordials; we are Alpha-souls. Unlike our parents, we break Petals with care…

Many trillions of years have passed since those events. Many universes have been created, the Origin Absolute’s Rose has filled with countless Petals, and a certain balance has been found throughout creation. But in truth, only Order-Light and I watch over it. The others busy themselves with… pursuits I shall not dignify before the Origin Absolute.

***

The Wish That Broke Everything

Observing the Realms is, for me, akin to watching small fish circle in an aquarium. Sometimes I intervene personally; other times I guide the fates of mortals or other beings to maintain the balance. This is my responsibility, my duty to the cosmos, and I fulfill my architect’s function with precision, however ambiguous it may seem to simple mortals.

However, even my infinite existence is not without its surprises. What I noticed recently… it was something else entirely. The Echoes of the Past—a karmic mechanism granted to souls for the realization of their own mistakes—had completely malfunctioned in one of the Realms. I could call it nothing less than a failure in the fabric of creation

Instead of ten, or at most twenty, rebirths, an entire world was mired in hundreds! Two mortal souls reincarnated again and again, dragging the entire petal of Al’aran down with them. Each time, they returned to the same bodies, made the same mistakes, and drew no conclusions. At first, I thought it was a rare case of the Echoes, a statistical anomaly that required attention rather than direct intervention. But when I looked deeper, I discovered a terrifying anomaly connected to these souls, and the grim fact that one of them—Reina Morgan—should not have existed in the Realm of Illumora at all.

Tracing the soul’s path through indirect signs, I found that Reina had been born in a Realm called Fermecanima, advanced and technological. Surprisingly, her name there was also Reina, but she was known by the surname Carter. From the fragments of information available to me, I could only conclude that her life had been an unhappy one. Perhaps her fate was twisted by Chaos, birthing in her a desire without function—love for her own sex, sterile and wasteful. Or perhaps it was later, when she read the words of some fool who, by unearned access, had plucked fragments from the informational field of the Petal. The reasons for this were unimportant; their consequence, however—a wish that was simple, destructive, and monstrously sincere—had brought an entire world to the brink of catastrophe. I can still see the imprint of that wish in the traces of her soul:

“I want to be with Nova Cross, for I love her more than life itself.”

Chaotic Light—the eternal provocateur, master of chaos and madness—heard her plea. She erased Reina from her native world and cast her into Illumora, leaving her with a full memory of her past life. It was in Illumora, in one of its mortal kingdoms where Reina was reborn, that Nova Cross also lived—the only daughter of an ancient line, whose blood was not to be squandered on barren affections, but preserved through the obligations of her station and karmic debt.

Their perverse connection fractured the Petal’s clockwork, threatening first Illumora, then the entire Petal of Al’aran. Left unchecked, this anomaly—spawned by Chaotic Light—would erode creation’s fabric like acid through paper.

A plan was formed immediately. I knew exactly what I had to do, but even I, Order-Darkness, could not simply interfere in the affairs of Chaotic Light. She was too unstable, too dangerous. If she somehow sensed my intervention, the consequences would be catastrophic.

The problem of the Echoes of the Past required delicate work, subtlety, patience, and perhaps, a senseless sacrifice on my part.

***

A New War or a Subtle Game?

I understood perfectly: if I intervened directly in Chaotic Light’s affairs, it would lead only to war and the further demise of the world. If we went further, the Al’aran Petal would be destroyed and… we could be sealed away. Brute force would fail here. I needed cunning and wisdom, for each of my steps had to be as calculated as the move of a chess piece on a board.

After a thorough study of the anomaly in Illumora, necessity dictated a single course: incarnation within an organic vessel, with all the consequences it entailed. To reach my targets—Reina and Nova, then studying at the so-called Academy of Duality in Valtheim—I would be forced to assume a female form. The thought filled me with revulsion. In this world, women were shackled: rights curtailed, power denied, their station reduced to weakness. To remain unnoticed, I would have to wear the mask of such a girl—submissive when required, convenient when expected. There was no choice. The mission demanded immediacy, and my intervention had to appear seamless, lest it draw the suspicion of CL or the other Alpha-souls.

My next objective defined itself when I found the ideal candidates for my parents. They were Alice and Fed Nox—a couple whose destiny seemed to plead for this moment.

Alice Samuel Nox was the secret high priestess of the Cult of the Silent Star. This cult revered the magic of Order, rare in Illumora, and operated hidden from the eyes of society, fearing it would attract the forces of Chaos. She dreamed of a child who would inherit her gift for Order magic, continue her work, and become a guardian of balance in the world. Her desire was sincere, but limited by her human mind.

Fed Andrian Nox was a general of the “Ice Guard” of the Tarvarian Empire. He was a master of Darkness magic, a cold and calculating warrior whose decisions were never dictated by emotion. His power was great, but he, like other mortals possessing magic, did not understand its true nature.

The moment of my incarnation was chosen with mathematical precision—ad punctum. Waiting for the right date, I simply pushed them into each other’s arms after another difficult day. It was then, when all three moons shone in the sky and the ancient event known as the “Night of Desecrated Blades” enveloped Illumora in its grim energy, on the anniversary of the Veytra of Order’s fall, many centuries past. At that exact moment, on the 2nd day of the Veytra of Haor, when the magic of Order was almost completely absent from the world, my mortal body was conceived.

Thus, after a short time, a sixth child was born into the Nox line—a daughter named Artalis Feda Nox, or Arta, as my mortal parents called me. To them, I appeared a fusion of Fed’s cold calculation and Alice’s devotion to structure. In truth, it was only the mask they were permitted to see. For Arta is myself, and yet not myself: her powers stemmed from my soul, but within this organic vessel resided only 0.01% of my true might. To mortals, such a fraction is unparalleled—the strength of an archmage. Yet before higher beings it is negligible, a deliberate restraint: sufficient for the mission, but subtle enough to pass beneath their gaze, unseen in a world where not only mortals act.

And so my life in Illumora began. My first move was made—alea iacta est. The choice was binding. Every organic avatar is chained to the Realm that bears it, and so my birth wove into me a karmic debt that will haunt me until it is paid in full.

***

The Cold North of Tarvar: Secrets Hidden Even Chaotic Light Cannot See

The arrival of Arta in this world was mundane. Alice’s twelve-hour labor in the Nox estate in Troysk ended with the birth of an unremarkable baby girl. I was just another child, born to a family both noble in blood and powerful in influence. No one could have suspected that behind the body of their “sweet little baby,” as they called me on the first day, stood I—Order-Darkness. It was I who was the mind of this girl, her essence, her true form. This was my new body, and through it, I came to know the Realm of Illumora.

From birth, I was a quiet and calm child, crying only when my growing organism required food or a change of diapers. Alice, seeing my behavior, immediately suspected that I was not just a child, but a conduit for Order magic, and that was why I behaved so. She did not wait for me to walk or speak. Instead, she carried me to a hidden gathering of the Cult of the Silent Star, where a ritual confirmed what she already knew—that I was a conduit of Order magic. It was there that I was initiated as the future “high priestess of the cult.”

From that moment, everything in my life changed abruptly. Even my older sisters were no longer left alone with me; everything happened exclusively under Alice’s strict supervision.

The first year of life, which in Illumora lasted exactly 640 days, passed quietly and peacefully, despite the hyper-vigilance of my mortal mother. Although the year was long, aging and growth in this world were slow due to the deep influence of the Veytra or magical leylines of this Realm. Shortly after my first birthday, which was celebrated in a close family circle, I decided that simply lying in a cradle was too inefficient for me, and I began to walk and speak in full sentences. And though at first I deliberately spoke only in simple words, for Alice, watching me was a real joy; she literally glowed with happiness.

After these events, my life changed completely: I was dressed in unremarkable gray or blue dresses, and I was regularly taught Order magic by either my mother or the cult priests, whom my mother simply called “family friends.” Unlike my older sisters, who studied etiquette, socialized with others, and learned when and how to smile, I studied—or rather, pretended to study—the theory of Order magic.

My life was one of asceticism, a discipline etched into me from the beginning. I had no friends and no attachments, only my mother, who loved me and was strict with me at the same time. This was convenient for me, as such an upbringing was closest to my natural state. Alice, without realizing it, was carefully creating the perfect disguise for me, for which I was sincerely grateful.

At the age of six, my father Fed abruptly intervened in my life. He convinced my mother that it was foolish to let my magical talents go to waste. Together, they decided to send me to “Chrysolite,” the best school for magically gifted children. For Alice, this was a difficult step, and for me, my first social adaptation. It was from then on, in parallel with school, that she personally began to teach me the social etiquette of a high priestess—cold, calculating, but polite and upholding all the social standards of this world.

School was too boring a place for me. I patiently waited as time went its own way. I already knew all the magical theory, all the techniques they tried to teach me, and I easily imitated the learning process. Perhaps I would have become the best student at Chrysolite if not for my “innate problem”—a complete inability to use the magic of Light and Chaos, which every other student possessed. Among the other students, I became an outcast; they laughed at me, which, for their age, was just a simple way to assert themselves.

The magic of Light and Chaos contradicted my nature, but I was an excellent wielder of elemental magic: Fire, Water, Air, Earth, and Aether, and a perfect wielder of the primordial types of magic, such as Order and Darkness.

In addition to theory and practice, it was customary at Chrysolite to practice in magical duels. I tried not to participate in this meaningless activity, but some students, seeing my weakness in Light and Chaos magic, so wanted to assert themselves that I simply had to break such upstarts. Watching their tears amused me; they lost without a chance, every time. But this stage, like my entire time at Chrysolite, was coming to its logical conclusion.

The years went by, and on the day of my sixteenth birthday, I went to my mortal mother to convince her that I could move on.

My words to her were measured and calm, just as she had taught me. And, looking her straight in the eye, I said:

“Mother, I would like to study at the Academy of Duality in Valtheim.”

Alice hesitated for a long time; she did not like the idea of parting with me, as it was a tormenting choice for her. Although she loved me, she wanted me to always be under her unseen control. But I saw those notes of doubt, and in the end, she agreed to my persuasions, for she had always wanted the best for me.

Leaving Troysk was an event, of course, not for me, but for my parents, brothers, and sisters. For me, everything that was happening was just another step in my mission. Alice and Fed volunteered to accompany me personally to the empire’s border city, Stavin.

On that summer Veytra of Aetheros, we stood early in the morning at the border post of the Tarvarian Empire. My mother, despite her inner turmoil, tried to look calm. She had gathered her silver hair into a neat bun, and her golden eyes seemed about to shed tears. She knew she was letting her daughter go not just to another country, but to a place where her destiny could unfold in the most unexpected way.

“Remember who you are,” she said softly, fingers threading through my hair, her voice quiet but firm. “You are the successor of our line. A bearer of order. Do not forget this, even if the world tries to make you act otherwise.” she finished, steady as a vow.

Unlike my mother, my father stood silently beside me. He was tall and stately, as always, in the military uniform of the Ice Guard. His jet-black hair shone in the morning sun, and his violet eyes were as silent as the abyss. When it was his turn to say goodbye, he simply placed a hand on my shoulder and, with a slight smile, said:

“Be strong, only then can you prove to yourself and others your place in this world. And remember: darkness is not a weakness. It is a power that must be controlled. But I don’t need to explain that to you, daughter.” he said, his hand heavy on my shoulder, the hint of a smile never reaching his eyes.

To me, their words were sentimental and meaningless. They did not understand my true essence, for I am Order-Darkness, and I know exactly what I need to do without anyone’s advice. Nevertheless, I allowed these words to remain in my consciousness, for, in the end, it was thanks to them that I was able to incarnate in this world.

The further journey from the border town of Stavin to Eldenbridge, a city in the kingdom of Valtheim, took a little over a week. The entire road was under the strict supervision of my father’s people, and even in the carriage, their eyes never left me. This journey, unlike the first, which had taken almost a whole Veytra, was completely different. I was used to the harsh landscapes of my native Troysk with its snow-capped passes and the steppes near the military outpost of Trizubiy, on the border with Arzanir, where the wind rustled the withered grass. Even the fertile southern territories of Tarvar, which we crossed on our way to the border, with their dense coniferous forests and countless farms that supplied the entire empire with food, could not compare to what awaited me. As soon as we were in Valtheim, the contrast became too striking. The road led us through lands full of riotous life. There were many rivers, deciduous forests were ablaze with bright colors, and fruit trees grew on their own. It seemed that in Valtheim, everything was different: brighter, warmer, as if the sun itself had decided to show special favor to this kingdom.

Despite this, my body, accustomed to the cold climate of Troysk, felt uncomfortable here. I was hot, and I tried to stay in the shade to avoid getting sunburned.

The Academy of Duality, which we were approaching, rose above the surroundings like an ancient temple. From the first glance at its ornate and monumental architecture, it was obvious that it was built not just as an educational institution, but as a monument to the sacrifice that has permeated the history of Valtheim for almost its entire existence. Two queens—two twins who ruled many centuries ago—offered themselves to the local gods to save the kingdom from imminent catastrophe. Since then, only girls were taught here, believing that it is women who are capable of true sacrifice. To me, this idea was absurd and senseless. Sacrifice belongs not to gender, but to weakness—the lack of power and control. However, arguing with local traditions would have been unnatural for such a “modest girl” as myself.

The entrance exams went flawlessly. The theory of magic, practical tasks, tests of character—everything was predictable. I knew the answers to all the questions before they were even asked. My results were perfect. The highest score in all disciplines, except for the magic of Light and Chaos, which I failed spectacularly.

Of course, this could not help but cause whispers among the examining teachers and prospective students. However, I needed to show my strengths to be admitted to the academy, and I tried not to pay attention to the foolish whispers: “Who is this newcomer from Tarvar?”, “Why is she so strong?”, “Why does she lack skills in Light and Chaos magic?”

Having passed the exams, I paid the fee for the first year of study, said goodbye to my father’s people who had accompanied me, and, receiving the keys to a room in the dormitory, went to the academy’s ceremonial hall, where the ceremony for first-year students was to begin in a few hours.

There was plenty of time, and as I walked through the academy’s park grounds, in a secluded corner before an artificial labyrinth grown from shrubs, I saw them again—Reina and Nova, sitting sweetly on a bench and talking about Light magic.

Reina was a shorter girl with a slender figure and fiery red hair, like a flame dancing under the influence of Chaotic Light. Her silver eyes, fixed on Nova, shone with a feverish gleam, betraying a mixture of adoration and internal tension. A nervous grace was felt in her movements, and sometimes faint reddish sparks—a trace of Chaos magic—could be seen in the air around her. Every gesture, every look brimmed with power too vast for such a fragile body.

Nova, however, was nearly her complete opposite. Tall and stately, with long platinum hair among which only occasionally silvery strands could be glimpsed—the only sign of Chaotic Light’s influence, though ordinary people would never notice. Her gray eyes remained as cold as a winter morning, although in their depths lurked a constant struggle between her duty to the ancient Cross lineage and her forbidden feelings. In every movement, one could read the aristocratic haughtiness inherent to her lineage.

It was clear that their relationship was already in full swing. Reina did not hide her adoration; her gaze was always full of unconditional devotion. But Nova… her gaze was more complex. In it were intertwined affection for Reina, a sense of duty to her family, and an understanding of the forbidden nature of their bond. Every gesture spoke of an internal struggle between heart and mind, between desire and duty.

Somewhere in the void, I felt a barely perceptible flash of Chaotic Light’s energy. She was watching their connection, which grew stronger with each passing day, and was sincerely pleased with what was happening: for her, such chaos was like a flower to a bee.

I watched them for a while longer, keeping apart. Every movement, every gesture and word—it was all part of the problem I had to solve. But I was in no hurry, for haste is sometimes worse than inaction. Only when they noticed me did I feign the confusion of any first-year student and went to the ceremony, where my new life at the Academy of Duality was beginning.