The sun rose over Aurion, but its light was no longer gold. It was pale, washed out as if heaven itself was losing color.
Arka rode through the silent streets, the faint tremor of his horse's steps echoing between marble walls. No merchants opened their stalls. No bells chimed. The city breathed uneasily, as though every soul within it sensed that something sacred had cracked.
When he dismounted before the Hall of Celestial Flame, Lysander was already waiting. His face was drawn, his armor unpolished for the first time in years.
"They've sealed the upper sanctum," he said quietly. "The priests claim the Archon hasn't descended since the awakening light. Some whisper he's… afraid."
Arka frowned. "Afraid of what?"
Lysander hesitated. "Of you."
The words hung between them like smoke.
Before Arka could reply, the great doors of the Hall opened with a low groan. A figure stepped out Seraphiel, though her form flickered faintly, her wings dim and translucent. She looked exhausted, yet her eyes burned with clarity.
"They've summoned you," she said. "The Celestial Court demands an audience."
Lysander clenched his jaw. "After all they've done, they still"
Arka raised a hand. "I'll go."
Seraphiel nodded once, and with a wave of her hand, the air rippled around them. Light swallowed their surroundings, and in an instant, they were no longer in Aurion.
They stood before the Celestial Spire, a tower that seemed to pierce eternity itself. Rings of golden scripture rotated around it like planets orbiting a sun. Countless voices whispered in the wind prayers, oaths, and condemnations overlapping in one endless murmur.
Arka's boots touched the marble of heaven again.
It felt wrong this time too still, too cold.
The great gates opened before him, revealing the Council of Seven Archons seated upon thrones of light. Their forms were half-veiled, too radiant to look at directly.
"Child of mortal and star," the central Archon spoke, voice layered with thousands. "You bring with you a disturbance. The balance trembles because of your defiance."
Arka met their gaze without flinching. "Balance? You mean the chains that bound Aeltharion beneath your sanctum? The silence you call peace?"
A ripple of shock moved through the chamber. Even Seraphiel tensed beside him.
Another Archon's tone sharpened. "You dare speak his name in this hall? That heretic sought to defile the heavens!"
Arka's voice was low, steady. "Then what do you call a heaven that fears its own truth?"
Light flared, nearly blinding. "Enough!" the central Archon thundered. "The mortal tongue has grown arrogant. You were chosen to carry our blessing, not question our will."
The mark on Arka's arm glowed faintly in answer not in obedience, but defiance.
"I was chosen," he said, "but not by you."
The chamber trembled. The Archons' lights wavered. A pulse of energy rippled from Arka's body, distorting the marble beneath his feet. For an instant, the walls of heaven flickered revealing the void beyond.
The Archons recoiled. "What are you becoming?"
Arka didn't answer. His voice was distant, almost otherworldly. "Something that remembers what you've forgotten."
Suddenly, the floor split with a sound like breaking glass.
A fissure tore through the spire, light pouring out like liquid fire. The very fabric of heaven rippled and through that wound, a shadow stirred.
Seraphiel gasped. "No… it's too soon."
The shadow extended upward, taking form wings vast as night, eyes of molten gold. A whisper crossed the chamber, low and immense.
"I told you," the voice said. "Heaven chained me once. It will not chain my heir."
The Archons rose, shouting ancient words of command. Blades of light formed around them, but the air refused to obey.
Arka clutched his chest his heartbeat echoing with another's rhythm. His veins burned gold and black as the mark twisted, reshaping into a full sigil that spread across his shoulder and chest.
Seraphiel reached for him, desperate. "Arka! Fight it! Don't let him in!"
He looked at her and for a fleeting moment, she saw both him and Aeltharion staring back.
"I'm trying," he said hoarsely. "But he's not fighting me. He's guiding me."
A burst of power erupted from his body, flinging everyone backward. The chamber's roof shattered, and the sky split apart.
From the heavens above, rivers of light fell like rain each drop a fragment of a breaking realm.
The Archons screamed their divine commands, but their voices were drowned by a single, rising howl the cry of a beast that no longer belonged to earth or heaven.
Arka's form was lost in the blinding storm.
When it cleared, only Seraphiel still stood, trembling.
The Archons had vanished. The spire was fractured. And far above, amid the cracks in the sky, a wolf-shaped constellation burned brighter than the sun.
Seraphiel whispered into the silence,
"Not the end of heaven… the birth of something else."