The mansion on Isola Krein breathed softly, as if it knew what was about to happen and chose reverence over noise.
Christine moved with calm authority the moment Nexus's body tightened again. There was no panic in her eyes—only focus. She guided Nexus gently, laying her down upon the wide bed Azelar had shaped earlier with a snap of his fingers. Silk sheets, warm and clean, cradled the Dragon God as her breath came in measured waves.
"Okay," Christine said softly, hands steady, voice firm in the way only someone who decided to be unafraid could manage. "You're safe. I'm right here. Breathe with me—slow in, slow out."
Nexus nodded, jaw clenched, golden eyes damp but steady. She inhaled, exhaled, her claws retracting as she forced her body into control. Even as a Dragon God, even with power enough to tear mountains apart, birth demanded humility.
Outside the room, the doors were closed.
Nyk paced.
Azelar stood still.
Both men felt it at the same time.
Something shifted.
Not in the mansion.
Not even in Isola Krein.
In Averis.
Nyk stopped mid-step. His cigarette fell from his fingers, forgotten.
"…You feel that?" he muttered.
Azelar's tea cup paused inches from his lips.
"Yes," the old master said quietly.
They looked up.
It was still day.
But the sun… was sinking.
Not gradually. Not naturally.
It was as if the world had been asked to make room.
The sky darkened, twilight rushing in like a held breath finally released. The moon rose opposite the dying sun, impossibly large, silver and patient. Stars ignited one by one—constellations aligning into patterns that had not been seen since the lost eras.
An aurora spilled across the heavens, colors bending into golds and violets and deep blues, painting the sky like a divine mural.
And then—
The world froze.
A massive golden eye opened in the heavens.
A vertical slit pupil, ancient and intelligent, gazed down upon Averis.
For five minutes, nothing moved.
Wind ceased.
Waves stilled.
Even the beasts of the wild lowered their heads.
The eye did not judge.
It recorded.
Azelar's breath caught.
Memory surged.
He was a child again, sitting cross-legged in a library that no longer existed, dust motes drifting in sunlight as his father spoke in a low, reverent voice.
"There are beings born not of one god… but two. Demi-gods. When they are born, the world itself announces them. The phenomenon becomes their title."
The golden eye closed.
It vanished.
And in its place—
A black-crimson slit eye opened.
Colder.
Deeper.
Endless.
Darkness gathered beneath it—not hostile, not consuming—but acknowledging.
When it faded, the sky erupted into a meteor shower, streaks of fire and shadow crossing the heavens of Averis from horizon to horizon.
Azelar swallowed.
Letters burned briefly across the firmament, written in a language older than gods.
THE CHILD OF FATE AND THE END
The night remained.
The constellations held their positions.
Inside the mansion—
A cry rang out.
Sharp. Alive. Defiant.
Christine's eyes widened as she lifted the child, slick with birth and radiant with presence. A boy. Black hair already thick against his small head. When his eyes opened, they were dark—not empty, but impossibly deep, as if reflecting futures that hadn't happened yet.
The shadows in the room bent toward him instinctively.
The door behind Christine darkened.
A presence stepped out of shadow itself.
Rayon Veynar stood there, silent, still, eyes locked onto the child.
For the first time in a very long time—
He forgot the universe.
Christine turned, relief flooding her expression. She placed the child into Rayon's arms without a word.
Rayon looked down.
The Endless Abyss stilled.
He smiled.
It was not the smile of a monarch.
It was the smile of a father.
"Welcome home," he said softly, voice carrying something fragile and sincere. "Little one… child of fate and the end."
The baby quieted instantly.
Rayon continued, just as softly.
"Your name will be Lucifer Veynar."
A breath behind him.
A weak laugh.
Rayon turned.
Nexus, pale and exhausted, met his eyes and nodded once.
"Babe," Rayon said, the word slipping out before he realized he'd chosen it.
She smiled faintly.
"…We're not done," she whispered. "We're having twins."
Christine's eyes snapped back to Nexus.
"…You're kidding."
Nexus shook her head slowly.
"No."
There was no time to hesitate.
Christine moved again, faster this time, guiding Nexus through another wave. Essence flickered faintly around her—dangerously low.
Outside—
The sky darkened completely.
Not night.
Darkness.
A pressure rolled across Averis, pressing down upon everything that could feel it.
Awakeners staggered.
Forsakens knelt.
Primordials froze mid-thought.
Only normal humans felt nothing—spared by ignorance.
Above the world, a woman's face appeared in spiritual form.
No body.
Just a face.
Black stars burned where her eyes should have been.
She smiled.
And vanished.
Words burned across the sky, darker than the void itself.
THE CHILD OF CONCEPTUAL DISPLACEMENT
Inside the mansion, a second cry echoed.
Christine caught the baby just in time.
A girl.
Her presence felt… wrong.
Not evil.
Elsewhere.
As if she did not entirely belong to this timeline.
Rayon stepped forward, cradling both children now—one in each arm.
Nyk and Azelar burst through the doors.
They stopped cold.
Rayon stood there, shadows coiled gently around him, holding his twins.
Christine leaned against the bedside, utterly exhausted. Nexus lay back, breathing shallowly but alive, eyes half-lidded with relief.
Rayon looked down at his daughter.
His voice was calm.
Certain.
"Welcome home to you too, little one," he said. "Your name will be Esdeath Nexus Veynar."
He glanced between both children.
"The titles can burn for all I care," he added quietly. "You're our children. That's enough."
He set them gently beside their mother.
The night outside slowly began to ease.
But nothing on Averis would ever forget the day the sky watched—
And darkness smiled.