The galaxy was silent.
Planets rotated without sound, nebulae bloomed in colors no mortal eyes could see, and the light of a trillion suns bathed the void in cold gold. At the center of it all, suspended above the event horizon of a sleeping black hole, a boy floated with his eyes closed.
He wore no armor, no crown, no divine markings.
Just a white shirt. Bare feet. A face too young for the weight of infinity.
His name was Asterion Vale.
And somewhere in the endless corridors of his mind, he was trying to remember something that refused to be remembered.
A throne.
A kingdom.
A universe that once knelt when he breathed.
But the memories were fog.
Like they belonged to someone else.
A soft tremor rippled through the void as the black hole beneath him stirred. Its gravity bent space like melted glass—but it didn't touch him. Nothing ever did.
Asterion finally opened his eyes.
Two calm, star-filled irises stared into darkness that feared him.
"…Again," he whispered.
He had woken up in this same empty region of space thousands of times. Maybe millions. Time meant nothing to him anymore. He didn't age. He didn't sleep. He didn't die. He just drifted.
All-powerful.
All-forgotten.
He lifted his hand, and galaxies trembled as if greeting their rightful monarch. His fingers glowed faintly—not with mana, not with qi, but with something older.
Origin Force.
Something only an Original could wield.
Asterion didn't remember becoming an Original. Didn't remember ruling. Didn't remember the fear in the eyes of the ancient gods who bowed before him. He only knew one thing:
He had been alive too long.
Far too long.
A small comet drifted by. He flicked his finger.
The comet stopped. Time froze around it. Light bent backward. Space folded neatly like paper. The comet reversed direction and shot away.
The display of power was casual, effortless… and unbelievably lonely.
Asterion sighed.
"Why can I do things I don't remember learning?"
His voice echoed across light-years.
No answer came. There never was.
He scanned the heavens again, expecting the same empty nothing he always saw—
But this time, something was different.
A ripple.
A pulse.
A wave of distortion that passed through thirteen galaxies and made them flicker like dying candles.
Asterion's eyes narrowed.
"That wasn't natural."
He stretched out his hand again.
Space cracked.
A thin tear opened in reality, like a scratch on glass. From the tear spilled a faint light—chaotic, violent, wrong.
A foreign realm. A different universe. A different multiverse.
Asterion felt the first emotion he'd felt in centuries:
Interest.
"Someone… or something… opened a portal into my territory."
His voice grew colder.
"My territory…"
He didn't remember ruling these galaxies.
But they remembered him.
Planets trembled. Stars brightened. Space warped in reverence or fear—he wasn't sure which. The tear grew wider, and a shadowy figure stepped out. Humanoid. Tall. Wearing robes woven from black lightning.
When it spoke, its voice sounded like a dying star.
"…Your Majesty. You have finally awakened."
Asterion blinked.
"Do I know you?"
The figure went silent for a long moment. Then it did something Asterion didn't expect.
It dropped to its knees.
The pressure of its kneeling was so immense that three nearby stars collapsed into mini-supernovas.
"Forgive me," it rasped. "You… you truly have forgotten."
Asterion drifted downward until he was eye-level with the kneeling being.
"Who are you?"
"I am Rhaekos, General of the First Constellation. You created me when you forged the Celestial Legions."
Asterion frowned.
"Celestial… Legions?"
Rhaekos' expression flickered.
"You commanded billions. You ruled nine universes. You shaped three of them with your bare hands."
Asterion said nothing.
Rhaekos' voice cracked with disbelief.
"You were the Sovereign of the Endless. The Eternal Monarch. The Starborn King."
Asterion felt nothing.
No memories.
No emotions.
Just the quiet, aching emptiness of a life too long lived.
"What happened to me?" he whispered.
Rhaekos slowly rose.
"That is why I am here. The multiverse is shifting. Something ancient has begun to awaken—something older than even you."
Asterion raised a brow.
"Older than me?"
Rhaekos hesitated.
"It is the one thing you feared, my King."
Asterion floated backward slightly, creating space between them.
"…I fear nothing."
"You did," Rhaekos said quietly. "Before you lost your memories."
The air grew sharp. Tension rippled through the void.
Asterion clenched his fists.
"Then tell me. What did I fear?"
Rhaekos' eyes—two swirling vortexes—locked onto him.
"The being who erased your past."
Asterion froze.
Rhaekos continued:
"The being who made you forget what it means to rule."
The void fell silent.
Asterion's heartbeat echoed faintly—slow, ancient, powerful.
"…Someone took my memories?"
Rhaekos nodded once.
"Yes, my King. And now they have returned."
Asterion felt a coldness spread through him.
For the first time in ages, anger surfaced—quiet, controlled, devastating.
"Where are they?" he asked.
Rhaekos lifted his hand, pointing toward the tear in reality.
"Beyond this rift lies the first universe they tainted. Entire realms kneel to them now."
Asterion stepped closer, his aura shifting.
Space bent.
Stars dimmed.
The black hole beneath him bowed.
He didn't remember being a ruler.
But the universe still remembered being ruled.
Asterion touched the tear.
It rippled under his fingertips like water.
"…Then I'll make them remember me."
Rhaekos knelt again.
"Your orders, Sovereign?"
Asterion stepped through the tear without looking back.
"Prepare the Legions."
The universe trembled.
"For the first time in a billion years," Asterion said softly,
"their king is returning."
And the tear snapped shut behind him.