At first, there was only silence.
Then the silence broke.
Across the Heavenly Continuum, beyond stars and sacred light, bells began to toll — soft, sonorous, resonating through every layer of reality. Mortals below might have mistaken it for thunder. But every Elder Celestial knew that sound.
It was the Bell of Dharma, a warning that something forbidden had shifted.
In the Lotus Hall, upon a throne carved from pure enlightenment, Buddha opened his eyes.
They were not gentle eyes. Not this time.
They blazed like the sun before creation.
The universe seemed to tremble as he exhaled. A ripple of golden breath spread outward, each wave rewriting the concept of serenity into fury restrained by wisdom.
The celestial attendants knelt.
"Master of Stillness," one whispered, trembling. "The seals upon Mount Ru'vei… they are gone."
Buddha's eyes flickered once — and the galaxy above his throne flickered with him.
"Gone?" His voice was deep, measured, but within it pulsed the gravity of a dying cosmos. "Or unmade?"
The attendant swallowed. "Unmade, O Radiant One."
The words hung like iron chains in the air.
Buddha rose slowly. The Lotus beneath him bloomed a thousand times and then wilted in reverence. His golden aura expanded, filling the hall with the calm terror of a sea about to drown the world.
"Who did this?"
His tone did not rise. It did not need to. Even the stars strained to answer.
One of the Elder scribes stepped forward, holding a crystalline scroll that hummed with divine code. "We have found traces of paradoxical energy near Mount Ru'vei, Lord. A void signature intertwined with divine resonance—neither fully light nor shadow."
The Buddha's brows drew together.
"Void and Heaven in the same breath…"
He closed his eyes, recalling that blasphemous balance — that long-forbidden fusion.
"The Monkey King is free again," he murmured. "And this time, his seal was not broken by hubris… but by curiosity."
A golden tear slid down the cosmos itself.
The Elder Celestials Gather
Within the Sanctum of the Elder Celestials, beings whose very thoughts birthed nebulae gathered in silent debate.
Each one radiated enough divinity to sculpt worlds.
Each one stood only a step beneath the True Ones — the primordial architects of all that ever was.
And yet even among them, there was unease.
"He meddles in the mortal layers," said Aosyn, the Celestial of Law, her six halos spinning like planets. "The balance trembles. If the Monkey King walks free, the cycle will crack."
"The True Ones will not intervene," said Varuna, his voice like the sea colliding with mountains. "They cannot. The lower realms are fragile, tied by narrative threads. A single touch from Them, and causality would unravel."
Buddha's eyes opened, the light within them serene yet absolute.
"Then I will act."
The other Celestials looked toward him.
Aosyn frowned. "You would descend, Lord Buddha? You risk collapsing the mortal lattice yourself."
"I will not descend," Buddha said calmly. "But I will reach."
He raised his palm. In his hand, galaxies folded like paper, coalescing into a sphere of blinding white. Within that light, an image formed — a mortal shape, walking beside a mountain under two suns.
Lucien.
Or rather, the clone that carried his name.
Buddha's expression did not change. But the silence deepened.
"Void energy… threaded with divine creation," he whispered. "Impossible. No one has ever walked both paths."
"He is no god, yet the heavens answer to him," Varuna said grimly. "He erased a seal wrought by your own hand, Master. That cannot be overlooked."
The Buddha closed his fingers, extinguishing the sphere.
"No," he said quietly. "It cannot."
Meanwhile — Far Below
Lucien's clone and Guru sat upon the broken mountain, now free of divine chains.
The Monkey King was chewing on a celestial peach like it was a plum, his tail swaying lazily.
"So," Guru said, mouth full, "you know they're losing their halos over this, right? You just pissed off the Elder Celestials. Especially that bald one who talks about inner peace all day."
Lucien's clone smirked. "Let them be angry. I wanted to see what they'd do."
Guru chuckled. "You're really not scared of anything, are you?"
Lucien's gaze lifted to the stars — or beyond them. His voice softened.
"Fear is for those who still think they have something to lose."
Guru stopped chewing, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You talk like someone who already lost everything."
Lucien smiled faintly. "Maybe I did. Maybe I didn't. Either way, I have no reason to kneel."
The Monkey King grinned again, but there was a flicker of respect in his eyes now. "You're not like the rest. Most mortals tremble when Heaven stares. You just stare back."
Lucien's clone turned his head toward the heavens.
"Tell your Buddha… if he wishes to look closer, he should open both eyes."
And for a single heartbeat — just one — the light of countless stars went out.
Back in the Lotus Hall
The Buddha's eyes widened. His meditation beads cracked, scattering into dust.
"He looked back," he whispered.
"What?" Aosyn asked.
Buddha's voice carried a rare tremor. "He looked back at me. Through time, through void, through all the veils of separation."
The Celestials fell silent. None dared to speak.
Then, for the first time in countless epochs, Buddha frowned.
"This being… this 'Lucien'… he exists beyond the story."
Varuna stepped closer. "What are you saying, Lord?"
Buddha closed his eyes. The golden light around him dimmed slightly, as though Heaven itself bowed in caution.
"I am saying," he whispered,
"That even we — the Elder Celestials — are characters in his reflection."
In the void between realms, the True Ones stirred.
But they did not speak. They could not.
For even They felt the echo of that name vibrating in the roots of creation.
And somewhere on Azure Blue, under a night sky streaked with meteors, a little girl named Aelira Dreamveil looked up and whispered to Umbra,
"Papa's fighting the sky again, isn't he?"
Umbra purred softly. "Always."