Sect's Point of View
The Hall of Echoes, a vast crystal amphitheater suspended between the floating islands of the Cloud Temple, thrummed with the low hum of celestial runes embedded in its curved walls. Nascent Soul Guards, their hands trembling around spears of sacred energy, formed a tense line before the jade doors, their short wings buzzing as if sensing an invisible storm. Barely two days had passed since Kaelith's humiliation in the Eternal Garden, and the sect still simmered with the reverberations of his defeat: wings torn off, a message from Renn carved in blood and shadows. Now, a fresh rumor spread like wildfire among the disciples—the Golden Wings Empire, the sect's allies, had sent an emissary demanding answers for the exposed weakness.
Kaelith leaned against a pillar, fresh bandages wrapping his ravaged torso, watching from the hall's edge. His gray eyes glinted with a defiance that pain hadn't dimmed. The stumps on his back throbbed beneath the wrappings, a constant reminder of Nyxara, but his stance was rigid, as if humiliation were fuel stoking his fire.
Liora stood atop her white crystal throne, her silver armor flashing with a coldness that chilled the air. The five elders flanked her, their white robes pulsing with restless runes, as the Empire's emissary—a tall angel with golden wings and a voice like a war horn—burst into the hall, escorted by two sect guards.
"Sovereign Liora!" the emissary proclaimed, his tone sharp as a freshly honed blade. "King Solen demands to know how an envoy of your sect was shredded by heretics and crawled back like a wingless dog. The Empire doesn't ally its light with the weak. What does the Radiant Sky Sect say?"
Toren stepped forward, his staff slamming the floor with a boom. "Watch your tongue, emissary! Kaelith lives, and his light still burns. You call us weak when the Eternal Garden hasn't touched this temple?"
Kaelith let out a dry, jagged laugh, sharp as a broken edge. "Weak? That's rich coming from a peacock with golden feathers." He turned his head toward the emissary, his crooked smile dripping contempt. "Solen should thank me. I'm the only one who stepped into that floating sewer and came back to tell the tale. What've your legions done? Polished their glow on the Dawn Isles?"
The emissary's eyes narrowed, his golden wings unfurling with a snap. "You return wingless, tail between your legs, and dare to mock. The Empire won't let your shame stain our alliance."
"Shame?" Kaelith took a step forward, ignoring the pain searing through his chest, his voice rising with reckless fury. "I'm Kaelith, Divine Transformation, not some lackey quaking at shadows. I faced Renn and his freaks alone while your soldiers shined their spears. If Solen wants to cry over my feathers, let him come fetch them himself from the Eternal Garden."
Varis raised a hand, his tone stern but measured. "Enough, Kaelith. Your bravado doesn't wash away the blood Nyxara spilled. The Empire has a right to question."
"Right?" Kaelith spun toward Varis, his laugh turning wild. "The only right here is mine to split that lunatic Renn in half. What do those peacocks know of real power? I saw her eyes, Varis—Nyxara's, Lyria's—and I'm still standing. Give me a legion from the Empire, and I'll bring Renn's head on a spear before their Golden Griffon finishes squawking."
Sereth crossed his arms, his sharp gaze slicing the air. "You're standing, sure, but as a bleeding stump. Your 'power' didn't stop them from humiliating you in front of our allies."
"Humiliated?" Kaelith took another step, his tone dripping arrogance as he pointed at the trembling guards. "Ask these fools who let Nyxara waltz in like it was her house. I fought, I bled, while they played statues. If the Empire wants someone to blame, let them look in their own mirrors—or at these clowns with spears they can't even aim."
The nearest guard, a pale-faced youth, stammered, his spear humming. "Sir, we… the runes didn't fail! She… she just…"
"Just what?" Kaelith barked, whirling on him with a feral glint. "Strolled in because you're blind or because you're useless? If Renn sends his shadows again, I'll use you as bait before they touch my shadow."
The emissary stepped forward, his voice thundering. "Enough! The Radiant Sky Sect promised us strength, not a wingless clown barking excuses. Solen demands a purge, or the Empire will cut this alliance like a tumor."
Liora raised a hand, a subtle gesture heavy with power. The floor beneath Kaelith quaked, and an invisible force drove him to his knees, the crystal cracking in thin lines under his weight. The guards flinched back, their spears buzzing, as she rose from her throne, her wings unfurling with a crack that echoed like icy thunder. Her blue eyes pierced him, cold and lethal, as she advanced with steps that seemed to carve the air.
"You speak with too much arrogance," she said, her voice an icy edge slicing through the hall, "for someone who brought shame to this sect. Nyxara tore your wings off like a novice, and now the Empire spits on us for your failure. Do you think your yapping cleans the humiliation you dragged to my doorstep?" She stopped before him, her shadow falling like a verdict. "This sect doesn't need burdens tarnishing its light."
Kaelith looked up, his gray eyes flashing with a broken but living defiance. "Burden? I'm the only one with guts to face Renn, Liora. Kill me, and you lose the one who can cut that heretic's head off. Sink the Empire if you want someone to blame—they didn't lift a finger while I bled."
Liora tilted her head, her smile thin and sharp as an ice dagger. "Cut his head off? You didn't cut anything but your own pride." She raised a hand, and the air around Kaelith thickened, a swirl of sacred light spinning like an invisible guillotine. "The Radiant Sky Sect doesn't carry dead weight dragging us into the mud."
"Give me a chance!" Kaelith roared, his voice cracking with a mix of fury and plea. "One legion, one day! I'll bring you his throne in pieces! I'm not dead weight—I'm your blade!"
Liora studied him for a moment, her icy eyes weighing him like an insect under her boot. "A dull blade's no use," she whispered, and with a snap of her fingers, the whirlwind closed. Light erupted in a blinding flash, and Kaelith's scream drowned in a wet gurgle as the sacred energy ripped him apart, his body exploding in a shower of golden blood and shimmering fragments. The guards gasped, the emissary recoiled, and Kaelith's remains splattered across the floor, a gleaming pool marking his end.
Silence crashed down like a hammer, broken only by the hum of the runes. Liora turned to the emissary, her voice cold and final. "Tell Solen the Sect purges its own weaknesses. The Eternal Garden won't find cracks in our light. If the Empire doubts, let them check their own wings before questioning mine."
Toren struck his staff against the crystal, his tone grim. "He was a fool, but his death doesn't erase Renn's threat."
"No," Liora said, returning to her throne with steps that rang like an oath, "but his blood cleans our honor. Ready the legions. If Renn wants to challenge the light, we'll greet him with a blaze that consumes him."
Renn's Point of View
In the Eternal Garden of Lysara, the throne room was a sanctuary of stillness, a refuge carved from jade and light that defied the chaos I imagined brewing in the Cloud Temple. The jade beneath my fingers was cool, streaked with turquoise as if the sky had crystallized in my hands, and the air smelled of jasmine and the lotus blooms Elysia tended with devotion. To my left, Seraphine sang, her voice a river of notes flowing over smooth stones, weaving a balm that eased the cracks in my soul. To my right, Elysia held her teacup with delicate fingers, her radiant wings folded like a contained dawn. The echo of Kaelith's punishment still lingered in me—his insolence broken by Nyxara, his wings torn off as an offering to my gospel. Plane by plane, shadow by shadow, my purpose advanced, and I was at peace.
A prickle at the nape of my neck whispered that this calm was fragile, a canvas about to tear. Before I could dwell on the feeling, a clamor of heavy footsteps cut through Seraphine's melody, and the air thickened with a dry heat that smelled of ash and fire. Ashka, my Eternal Flame, burst into the hall, her blazing red hair cascading like embers over her bronzed shoulders. Her fiery wings sparked, tongues of flame dancing in the air, and in her hands, she held something glowing with a faint but insistent light. Her amber eyes, fierce and alive, met mine, a rare spark of awe glinting in my wildest deity.
"Father," she said, her voice a crackle of coals, "this was in the Igneous Desert. Buried under ashes that shouldn't have hidden it. It glowed when I touched it."
She strode forward, her heat filling the hall like an open furnace, and handed me the object. I took it, my fingers brushing hers, her skin's warmth clashing with the cold metal I felt instantly. It was a locket, small, oval, its silver worn by hands from another life, with a crooked engraving—'Lira, eternally'—pulsing with its own light. My locket. The one I'd worn in the real world, the one that held Lira's echoes. My breath caught, a knot tightening in my chest as I recognized it.
"Where exactly?" I asked, my voice trembling with an instability I couldn't hide, my fingers clutching the metal like it might crumble.
"At the desert's heart," Ashka replied, crossing her arms, her wings flaring brighter. "A crater, like something fell from the sky. It was in the ashes, shining like it called me. When I took it, I felt… something. Like it knew me."
Elysia set down her cup, her wings quivering faintly as she leaned toward me. "Father, what if it's not just a memory?" she said, her voice cutting the air like a beam of light, her golden eyes gleaming with foresight. "What if she's calling?"
I opened the locket with a soft click, and an amber glow spilled out, casting dancing shadows on the walls. No image, just a radiance pulsing like a living heart. "Lira died," I murmured, and the word hit me like a gunshot, an echo of her absence tearing through my calm. My mind reeled, the hall spinning as fragments of her—her laugh, her voice—stabbed me, unraveling the gospel I'd built. My hands shook, the locket buzzing against my skin, and a low groan escaped my throat.
Soft hands touched my temples, cool and fluid like water over hot stone. Seraphine drew near, her turquoise hair falling like a liquid veil, and a watery energy flowed from her fingers, soothing the storm in my mind. She pulled me to her chest, soft and warm, her arms wrapping me in a tenderness that was both mother and refuge. "Shh, Father," she whispered, her voice a river quenching my chaos, her hands stroking my hair with reverence. "You're here. With us. She hasn't left you."
The locket flared brighter, its light deepening to a rich gold that resonated with the plane's power, and my breathing steadied against Seraphine's heartbeat. "It's mine," I said, my voice a gunshot wrapped in velvet, calm returning like a tide. "From my past life. But why here? Why now?"
Ashka stepped closer, her heat enveloping me like a blazing blanket. "Maybe it woke for me," she said, her tone thick with fierce pride. "I'm fire, Father. If anything was going to spark it, it'd be me."
Elysia tilted her head, her wings unfurling slightly. "The glow grows with you, Father," she observed, her tone steady but tinged with wonder. "It's more than an echo. There's power in it, a purpose we don't yet see."
Seraphine's melody faltered, her notes bending as if drawn by the locket's light, and she met my gaze with turquoise eyes promising oceans of calm. "Feel its pulse," she whispered, her hands still in my hair. "It's part of you, and now us."
The locket thrummed in my hands, its light beating against my palm like a second heart. I felt an echo of my past weaving into this present, a thread from the NeuraVerse Project tightening beyond my death in that world. It wasn't just a memory—it was power, a gateway, something the cosmos had dropped in my lap. I closed the locket, its glow muted but alive, and looked at Ashka, my resolve hardening like jade under pressure.
"Take me to the crater," I ordered, my voice ringing like an oath that sliced the air. "If this fell from the sky, I'll rip this plane apart to decipher its purpose. The Eternal Garden doesn't bow to mysteries—it masters them."
Ashka grinned, her wings blazing with anticipation. "Let the path burn, Father," she said, and the hall trembled with the echo of my reborn gospel.
Sect's Point of View
In the Cloud Temple, the council chamber's debate shattered with a scream echoing from the outer portico. A young disciple, his short wings buzzing with panic, burst into the room, his face pale and dark eyes wide with terror. "Sect Mistress! Elders! Something's happening on the horizon!"
The room froze, and Liora rose from her throne, her wings unfurling with a crack that sliced the silence like an icy blade. "Speak clearly," she commanded, her voice a frigid thunder.
"It's a light," the disciple stammered, pointing toward the doors. "A glow… from the Eternal Garden. It's blinding, like the sky's broken open."
Toren growled, his staff striking the floor as he advanced. "What are you waiting for? Let's see it!" Liora led the elders in a cutting silence, the guards parting with buzzing wings as they crossed the crystal halls to the elevated terrace. A young guard lagged behind, his spear trembling, his gaze lost in the echo of Kaelith's blood still fresh in his mind. The Golden Wings Empire's emissaries, lingering after their ultimatum, followed with hesitant steps, their golden wings glinting in the dim light.
On the terrace, the Lower Celestial Plane stretched out like an ocean of clouds and floating isles, cloaked in twilight's gloom. But a new radiance tore the horizon—a golden light pulsing from the Eternal Garden like a defiant beacon, its amber glow tingeing the clouds above the temple with a living, unearthly shimmer.
"By the light…" Miral murmured, her hands trembling under her sleeves. "I feel an ancient energy. It's not just power—it's alive."
Toren stepped forward, squinting against the glare. "It's an insult to our light!" he roared, his voice thick with rage. "First they mutilate Kaelith, now this! They're challenging us, Sect Mistress. Let them come—I'll split them myself!"
Varis raised a hand, his expression grim. "That light doesn't obey our laws," he said, his tone steady and tactical. "If it's a weapon, we're at a disadvantage."
Sereth crossed his arms, his sharp eyes scanning the horizon. "First shadows, now this," he muttered, his voice cutting like a blade. "Renn's playing a game we haven't cracked yet."
The Empire's emissaries recoiled, their golden wings twitching nervously. "This isn't our concern," their leader said, his voice wavering as he turned toward the doors. "We'll report to King Solen and—"
Liora raised a hand, a subtle gesture brimming with power. The air thickened, and a white light flared from her fingers, enveloping the emissaries in a glow that froze them mid-step, their bodies locked like crystal statues. Their wings hung half-flapped, faces etched in a mix of awe and terror. "No cowardice," Liora said, her voice an icy edge slicing the wind. "Witness this sect's greatness or perish in its shadow. No one abandons my light before a threat."
The young disciple gasped, stumbling back, as the elders exchanged tense glances. Liora stood motionless, her gaze locked on the glow. The air hummed around her, her armor's runes flaring in response to the distant energy. She clenched her fists, a surge of icy fury roaring in her chest—that light was a stain on her purity, a challenge she wouldn't tolerate. "It's no coincidence," she said at last, her voice cold but resolute. "It's a threat. And we won't ignore it."
She stepped forward, her wings spreading wide, the wind she stirred rattling the elders' robes. "Mobilize the legions," she ordered, her tone a thunderclap echoing across the terrace. "Activate every light formation." She raised a hand, and the temple's runes flashed, a white radiance clashing with the distant amber. "If the Eternal Garden wants to shine, let it do so under our fire. The legions march at dawn."
Igneous Desert. 4th Floor.
The Igneous Desert stretched before me like a sea of blazing dunes, the dry heat crackling in the air and the horizon shimmering beneath a fractured sky. The sands glowed a dull red, ash flecks dancing in the wind, and the crater where Ashka had unearthed the locket lay at my feet—a black scar in the earth pulsing with an echo of ancient power. I held it between my hands, its worn silver buzzing against my skin, the engraving 'Lira, eternally' throbbing with a golden light that grew with each step I took toward the edge.
Ashka stood beside me, her fiery red hair rippling like a living flame, her wings of fire sparking and casting dancing shadows over the dunes. "This is where it was, Father," she said, her voice a crackle of embers thick with pride. "Buried under ashes that shouldn't have hidden it. It glowed when I touched it, like it knew me."
Nyxara emerged from the crater's shadows, her ebony skin drinking in the light, her red eyes gleaming with silent intensity. "The Garden feels it," she whispered, an edge in her tone. "This light… it's waking something beyond this plane."
A feral roar tore the air, and Zahara landed to my left, her black scales glinting under the glow, her claws gouging ruts in the burning sand. "The forest shines, the rivers roar!" she snarled, her emerald-green hair spilling like a wild cascade. "It's ours, Father, but something's coming!"
Elysia descended with a soft rustle of radiant wings, her white hair floating like a halo, her golden eyes fixed on the locket. "Father," she said, her voice warm but sharpened by foresight, "this isn't just drawing the sect. It's calling us somewhere else."
I smiled, a spark of anticipation igniting my chest. "Let it call," I said, my voice a gunshot wrapped in velvet. "Let the sect see our shine and tremble." I opened the locket, and the light erupted in a golden tide, bathing the dunes in a radiance that resonated with the entire Garden's power. The air thrummed, a low hum swelling into a roar that shook the ground beneath my boots.
Lyria and Veyra joined the circle, their presences cutting through the chaos. Lyria, her electric-blue hair crackling with lightning, laughed wildly. "The sky's breaking, Father!" she cried, her fingers dancing with sparks. Veyra thrust her spear skyward, her silver armor reflecting the light like a mirror, and shouted, "Let them come! We'll make the clouds bleed for you!"
Seraphine appeared behind me, her translucent dress rippling like water, her voice weaving a melody that calmed the whirlwind. "It's a bridge," she whispered, her hands brushing my shoulders with watery energy. "The locket ties us to something new."
The locket in my hands was a miniature sun, its light surging in waves that engulfed the crater and stretched beyond the dunes. The Eternal Garden answered from afar, its flowers blazing like stars, its rivers flashing with blinding reflections, until the glow hit a blinding peak that lit the Lower Celestial Plane like a defiant beacon. The Deities formed a ring around me, their powers resonating with the shine: Ashka's flames licked the air, Lyria's lightning crackled, Nyxara's shadows writhed, Zahara's claws roared, Veyra's spear sliced the wind, Elysia's light purified, and Seraphine's voice wove it all into a living shield.
The sky quaked, and a low hum echoed from the horizon. Winged shadows emerged from the clouds—the Radiant Sky Sect's legions—their spears of light flashing like stars in formation. But they weren't alone. From the east, the Eternal Wind Clan's roar sliced the air, their gray wings glinting under the glow. To the west, the Golden Wings Empire's floating towers advanced, their golden banners rippling with fury. The locket had roused every dominant sect, its light a scream that defied the cosmos itself.
Liora appeared at her legions' forefront, her silver armor gleaming under the shine, her white wings spread like a banner of purity. Her blue eyes, cold as northern ice, met mine across the gulf between us, her gaze loaded with a fury promising annihilation. I faced her from the crater's edge, the Garden blazing at my back like a reborn sun, my Deities rising as a wall of power. I returned her stare with indifference, my face a mask of calm, but the Collector's Eye flared unbidden. Threads of gold and white danced before me, weaving a tapestry around her—sublime beauty, immense potential, a queen of light the cosmos didn't deserve. My smile twisted, a flicker of possession crossing my mind.
"Let them all come," I said, my voice a thunderclap wrapped in velvet, ringing over the locket's roar. "Let the sky quake, my daughters. This is our gospel, and the cosmos will sing it."
The Eternal Garden shone with an intensity that blinded the planes, its light a challenge uniting the forces, the legions' roar clashing with my Deities' song in an echo that fractured the sky.