—Dark Stars Were Watching—

The skies grew dark all across Otherworld. Mythic abyssal creatures—beings of immeasurable magic, devouring the very essence of reality—descended in hordes, by land and by air. At the center of the storm hovered the Mythic Lord of the Abyss: sardonyx horns that gleamed like ancient rust, wings that looked torn from the cosmos itself, purple armor of eldritch energy, and eyes that reflected all the emptiness and savagery of a realm without light. With every movement, he unleashed blasts of primordial magic that made the ground tremble and the mountains crack.

In that crucial moment, ancient enmities vanished. Dragons, vampires, humans, and all semi-human races cast their differences aside, uniting under a single banner: survival. The people marched together against the abyssal hordes.

Eclipsia von Draconia, Sovereign Queen of Eclipsia, spread her draconian wings—imposing, black as the night, veined with starlight—and advanced to the front.

— This world will not be subdued! Not in a thousand years, not in ten thousand years! What do you say?

She declared, pointing her Solar Staff-Lance directly at the titan.

The Mythic Lord let out a laugh that seemed to rise from deep within the earth:

—I will subdue and destroy you! You can do nothing, you insignificant deity!

He fired a deluge of abyssal energy. Eclipsia did not flinch: as she raised her wrist, two luminous rings spun smoothly around it—the two-tier Spell Chant for perfect magic control.

With Draco Art: Dragon Stepper, she moved at absurd speed, leaving footprints of cosmic fire in the air, dodging every blast as if floating between lightning bolts. The battle was of astronomical scale; the battlefield saturated with mana, and the bodies of the abyssal creatures dissolved into red particles, like blood scattering in the wind.

From above, the Lord concentrated power in his wings and launched a sphere of pure darkness. Eclipsia grasped the lance with both hands: the rings shone brighter, enchanting the blade with starlight. Striking forward, she cut the dark magic in half, dispersing it like smoke.

— Then receive the light you hate so much! — she shouted, advancing with Draco Art: Dragon Impulse, wrapped in an aura of golden energy scales.

The Lord blocked with a primordial armor bracer:

— Useless! All the light in the world is insignificant before the void!

Eclipsia smiled. Another ring joined the others—now three tiers of complexity.

— And this light will burn that void of yours down to its last trace.

She unleashed Draco Art: Cosmic Flare, a wave of stellar heat that set the air ablaze. The titan parried the blow with his bare hands, and entire mountains shook at the impact. With immense effort, he managed to deflect the energy into the skies—had it not been for his ancestral armor, he would have been vaporized instantly.

Without giving him a moment to breathe, Eclipsia spun the Solar Staff-Lance with force. The rings stabilized, and a piercing lance of white light formed at the tip:

— Draco Art: Heavenly Piercing Lance!

The clash between starlight and abyssal darkness cleared the skies, pushing away the black clouds as if they had never existed. Eclipsia was already at the limit of her strength, but she knew she could not stop. She pressed forward in a sequence of fast, precise slashes, tearing the Lord's armor and flesh in multiple places. Then she extended her hand: one of the Arcana Cards—The Devil—appeared floating between her fingers.

She sacrificed half of her semi-divine essence to activate the card. Seven chains of light and shadow drove into the titan, dividing him into seven fragments that were sealed in distant points all across Otherworld.

Eclipsia landed on the ground, swaying, but still standing. The silence lasted an instant—then a cry of victory erupted from all the survivors, without distinction of race or nobility.

Twenty years after the Great Star War, the influence of the Church of Jörmungandr grew stronger every day. In the throne room, the head of the royal guard, Rayra, gripped the hilt of her sword so tightly that her knuckles turned white, her eyes blazing with rage. Eclipsia, seated on the throne of white stone and gold, calmly raised a hand, asking for calm.

The priest bowed with a false smile and a honeyed voice:

— Your Majesty… The Church merely fulfills the will of the heavens. The people murmur: they say the Queen, once blessed by divine light, has strayed from the true faith. Some even question whether the sealing of the Abyssal Lord was the work of light… or if something much darker was used that day. — He paused, lifting his chin with arrogance. — The Holy See desires only to guide the kingdom back to the correct path. If Your Majesty continues to ignore divine counsel and meddle in sacred affairs… I fear the gods may withdraw their blessing. A queen without the light is nothing more than a tyrant. Surely you do not wish for Eclipsia to fall into heresy and chaos?

Eclipsia listened in complete silence, her golden eyes as cold as eternal ice. Rayra wore an expression of pure hatred, her hand reaching for the hilt of her sword, on the verge of drawing it from the sheath. Despite the fury she felt, Eclipsia made a subtle gesture telling the guard captain to do nothing. Then she looked the priest straight in his eyes.

— Priest — she said, in a voice calm yet firm as steel —, I permitted the Church to establish itself here. But I never gave anyone the freedom to interfere in the internal affairs of my kingdom. The permission for the temple was signed in the treaty with the Kingdom of Jörmungandr, and I do not forget that. I suggest you withdraw before I lose my composure.

Her eyes flashed slightly reddish, and the priest, frightened, muttered something under his breath and hurried out.

Left alone, Eclipsia brought a hand to her forehead. The Church was only one of the threats: in the shadows, the Iron Fangs organization was growing stronger, and the Shadow Cult was obsessively searching for the seven sealed fragments of the Abyssal Lord to free him once more.

She knew better than anyone the price she had paid to seal that entity. Upon reaching her chambers, she opened a small gold box with black details: inside lay the nine Major Arcana Cards, the legacy of her mother, the True Vampire Lady Haruka—artifacts of pure mana, capable of bridging worlds and performing rituals no other spell could accomplish.

She took the cards and walked out to the top of the royal walls beneath the silent night. She concentrated the last remnant of her divine essence:

— If I lose everything, but save this world… it is worth it.

The enchantment rings spun to their maximum, and she sacrificed the second half of her semi-divinity, becoming an ordinary hybrid—still the most powerful of her time, but lacking the immortal glow of gods. The cards glowed in shades of blue and purple, dissolving into particles that formed a portal in the air.

It was her final gamble. In the distance, she saw the blue clarity of transmigration shining over the land to the north of the kingdom. Eclipsia closed her hand and whispered:

— I need people who will not bow to blackmail, nor to dogma, nor to fear. Heroes who are not of this world.

Because of the ritual, she was deeply exhausted, the fatigue evident on her face. But the glow to the north was her riskiest gamble—she did not want to put the adventurers' guild or the citizens at risk irresponsibly, so she turned to beings external to Otherworld.

She leaned against the wall of the gothic-draconic castle tower, watching the light disperse across the north of the realm. She knew they would not arrive as untouchable saviors. They would arrive as people who had already lost and won everything—like those who know true power does not come from blessings or dogmas, but from choosing to fight even when there is nothing left to give. For on that day, the Shadow Stars witnessed  the changing history of Otherworld.