The night after the twin suns rose, the sky did not rest.
It burned.
At first, people thought it was an aurora — a shimmering ribbon of light stretching across the heavens. But when the stars began to fall like spears, they understood. It wasn't beauty descending upon them. It was judgment.
The Council of Faith had unleashed the Celestial Host.
Elior stood on the highest terrace of the palace, watching the lights cut through the atmosphere. Each streak carried a sound — the low hum of divine resonance — like hymns warped into weapons.
"They're using the remnants of the Heart," he said quietly. "They've forged an army out of what we destroyed."
Aster joined him, the silver threads of his cloak catching the starlight. His expression was calm, but his eyes were sharp as ice. "Then we finish what they started."
Elior turned to him. "You're talking about a war against heaven."
"I'm talking about survival," Aster said. "They'll burn the empire to reclaim their control. If we do nothing, every soul who follows us will die."
Elior's jaw tightened. He could feel the power humming under his skin — the echo of the Heart still living inside him. It wasn't pure magic anymore. It was something older, rawer, like the pulse of creation itself.
"Then we fight," he said.
Aster nodded once. "Together."
By dawn, the capital was in motion.
Messengers rode through the streets; the banners of Azure were raised beside the new emblem — a silver crown wrapped in starlight.
The people, once silent under centuries of divine rule, now shouted Aster's name. "Long live the Starlight Crown!" echoed through every street and temple.
But in the northern sky, divine fire gathered.
Wings of crystal unfolded, blotting out the stars. The Celestial Host descended — beings of pure light and gold armor, their faces hidden behind masks shaped like constellations.
At their center hovered Archon Seraphiel, the first sword of the heavens.
Her voice was both terrible and beautiful.
"Mortal children," she proclaimed, "return the stolen light. The heavens demand restitution."
Aster stepped forward from the palace steps, his soldiers behind him, his sword drawn. The morning wind carried his words clear and sharp.
"This light was never yours to keep."
Seraphiel's wings flared, and the sky answered with thunder. "Then you choose death."
Before she could strike, Elior raised his hand. A sphere of silver light spiraled outward, forming a barrier around the city. The divine fire hit it — and shattered like glass. The impact sent waves of energy through the air, bending clouds into rings of gold.
The crowd gasped. Some fell to their knees, others wept.
Elior's eyes glowed faintly, his voice steady.
"This power doesn't belong to gods. It belongs to those who remember what it means to live."
Seraphiel's expression didn't change, but her blade of light grew brighter. "Then prove you deserve it."
The battle began.
Bolts of divine fire rained down. Soldiers raised shields of steel and light. The earth trembled beneath the clash of mortal and celestial forces. Aster moved like a storm — every swing of his sword tearing through divine wings, every strike echoing with fury and grace.
Elior's magic wove through the battlefield, shimmering arcs of silver shielding the weak, healing the fallen, unraveling divine sigils midair. The resonance between him and Aster pulsed in rhythm — two lights beating as one.
At the height of the chaos, Seraphiel descended, wings spread wide, her blade pointed at Elior.
"You carry what is forbidden," she said. "A mortal heart bound to a god's spark. You defy the natural order."
Elior met her gaze, unflinching. "Maybe the order was wrong."
They clashed. The explosion of light turned night into day. Energy rippled outward, shaking mountains, splitting clouds. When the brilliance faded, Elior stood wounded but unbroken, his hand gripping the very blade meant to end him.
Seraphiel's armor cracked. Golden light leaked from within — not blood, but starlight.
"You… are not human," she whispered.
"No," Elior said softly. "I'm what your gods forgot they once were."
He pulled the blade free, and with one motion, he turned her own light against her. The Archon screamed — not in pain, but in revelation — before she dissolved into a rain of falling stars.
When silence returned, the battlefield glowed with fragments of divine fire. The soldiers stared in awe.
Aster walked through the smoke, stopping before Elior. He placed a hand over his shoulder.
"Still alive," Aster murmured.
"Barely," Elior replied, smiling faintly.
The prince exhaled, relief and pride mixing in his voice. "Then we've only begun."
Above them, the heavens burned, but for the first time in history, mortals stood beneath that light — unbowed.
That night, from the ashes of battle, Aster declared before the surviving council:
"From this day, no god shall rule the will of man. The age of obedience ends here."
And Elior, standing beside him, whispered the words that would become legend.
"Let the heavens bleed if they must. The world will still shine."