The bridge of light faded beneath Cled's feet.
And then — silence.
But not the peaceful stillness of the temple.
This was the silence of creation itself — vast, echoing, alive with invisible sound.
When his eyes opened, he stood beneath a sky unlike any mortal world's.
The heavens were endless rivers of color, flowing like molten glass. Islands of stone and mountains of crystal drifted through the air, bound by threads of golden light. Waterfalls poured upward instead of down, and lightning danced in slow motion across the horizon.
Cled had entered the First Sky Realm — the Realm of Origins, where the breath of the heavens was born.
He drew a slow breath. The air was sweet and sharp, filled with energy that brushed against his soul. The relic within his chest — Heaven's Heart — pulsed in resonance with the realm, glowing faintly through his robe.
> "Welcome, Cled," the relic whispered. "This is the beginning of all beginnings — where creation first learned to sing."
He walked forward, each step light yet grounded. The clouds beneath his feet rippled like living silk.
Everywhere he looked, he saw traces of ancient existence — crumbled pillars, vast rings of floating stone, carvings that shone faintly with divine memory.
And yet, despite the beauty, something felt wrong.
The air carried sorrow.
The kind that seeps through eternity and refuses to fade.
As he walked, Cled noticed flickers of movement at the edges of his vision — shadows that took form and then vanished again. Whispered voices echoed through the mist, fragments of thoughts from beings long gone.
> "The Sky remembers," the relic murmured. "But it does not forgive."
He came upon a massive plaza suspended between the clouds — a circular platform made of translucent stone, etched with runes that pulsed faintly like a heartbeat.
In its center stood a single object: a monolith of crystal, cracked and bleeding faint streams of golden light.
Cled approached slowly.
The moment his shadow touched the monolith, the world changed.
Wind howled. The skies darkened. Lightning bled through the clouds in lines of gold and blue.
And then — from the light — they emerged.
Seven figures, draped in robes of starlight, faces hidden behind masks shaped like constellations. Their presence was immense — the air bent around them; reality itself seemed to bow.
Cled stood still, unflinching.
> "A mortal," one of the figures spoke, voice deep as thunder.
"Bearing the Heart of Heaven," said another, voice like whispering glass.
"It cannot be. The Council sealed it before the Fracture," said a third.
Cled's gaze was calm. "Then your seals failed."
The air froze.
One of the masked beings stepped forward. The power radiating from him was suffocating — divine energy that could crush mountains and burn skies. Yet Cled did not flinch.
> "You carry what was never meant for flesh," the being said. "The Heart will consume you."
Cled met his unseen eyes.
> "Then I will let it — until it learns silence."
The figure hesitated. A ripple passed through the others. For the first time in countless ages, a mortal's words had made gods pause.
> "Name yourself," demanded the central figure — the tallest among them, his mask shaped like a rising sun.
> "Cled," he answered simply. "Of no clan. Of no temple. Of no sky."
Silence. Then the sun-masked figure lifted his hand.
> "Then, Cled of no sky — let your worth be judged."
The world erupted.
Lightning crashed down, forming a storm around him — but it was no ordinary storm. Every bolt carried memory, every gust of wind whispered with emotion: rage, despair, longing.
He was surrounded by the Storm of Memory, the divine tempest born from the pain of the heavens.
The relic within his chest flared, and he felt himself sinking into visions — not his own, but the memories of gods.
He saw a time when the sky was whole — brilliant, endless, perfect. He saw the Heavenly Council, radiant and united, shaping worlds and weaving light. Then he saw betrayal — the sky splitting, one of their own falling into darkness, taking a piece of Heaven's Heart with him.
Pain. Fire. Silence.
Cled gasped and fell to one knee. The storm clawed at his mind, whispering of failure, loss, and endless guilt.
> "You see now?" the relic whispered faintly. "Even gods bleed regret."
Cled clenched his fist, drawing slow, measured breaths. The monk's words echoed in his memory:
> "Power that only heals soon learns that not all wounds wish to close."
He looked up at the raging storm — not with anger, but with understanding.
> "You are not my enemy," he said softly. "You are grief that forgot how to rest."
He spread his arms.
Instead of resisting, he opened himself to the storm.
The lightning struck — not to destroy, but to test.
Every bolt that touched him turned to light.
Every gust that sought to tear him apart dissolved into calm wind.
He did not fight. He listened.
The storm raged harder — confused, defiant, desperate — but the more it struck, the more it unraveled. Finally, as his body glowed with faint silver light, Cled whispered one word:
> "Peace."
The storm fell silent.
When the winds cleared, Cled stood alone — unharmed, surrounded by faint motes of golden mist. The monolith in the plaza now shone brighter, the cracks sealing slowly as if soothed by his presence.
The seven figures watched from afar, unmoving.
> "He calmed the storm," one murmured in disbelief.
"No mortal has ever withstood the Sky's memory."
The central figure stepped forward again.
> "You do not wield Heaven's Heart — you understand it," he said. "And that is more dangerous."
Cled's expression remained calm. "Understanding is the first step to healing."
The god's mask tilted slightly. "You presume the heavens want to be healed."
Cled met his gaze. "Then I will heal them even if they resist. For silence deserves harmony."
The figures said nothing. Then, without warning, they vanished — their forms dissolving into beams of light that scattered across the sky. Only the voice of the central one lingered.
> "Seek the Storm's Core, mortal. Within it lies the second fragment of Heaven's Heart. But beware — the sky tests those who listen too deeply."
The relic within Cled pulsed in acknowledgment.
> "The first judgment is passed. The path opens."
Cled turned to the monolith once more. At its base, a faint glyph of gold appeared — a symbol of two wings broken in half, yet still rising.
He traced the glyph with his fingers, and it shimmered, turning into a small sphere of light.
The light sank into his palm and vanished.
He could feel it — a fragment of Heaven's memory, resting now within him.
As he stood beneath the strange heavens, a calm wind stirred his robe. The storm clouds far ahead shifted, revealing a glimpse of something colossal — a floating citadel wrapped in thunder and divine flame.
The relic whispered, its voice stronger now.
> "That is where the fragment sleeps. But beware, Cled — the sky remembers what it fears."
Cled's eyes lifted to the stormed citadel. He bowed slightly toward the monolith.
> "If the sky fears understanding," he said softly, "then I will become its silence."
He turned, stepping back onto the path of light that extended into the storm's horizon.
Behind him, the plaza glowed faintly, and the heavens themselves seemed to exhale.
For the first time since the Fracture, the First Sky Realm felt peace.