Beneath the Beast Vein Continent, buried deep in the obsidian womb of the world, the air pulsed with molten pressure and distant groaning from tectonic shifts. Here, within a cathedral of red-veined rock and ember-lit spires, a vast chamber of carved bone and basalt opened to silence. The floor was littered with sigils etched in ancient moon script—glyphs of old conquest and buried rage. At its center knelt a hulking figure.
Red Cap.
Nine feet of compact, brutal flesh wrapped in a crimson tunic with a coat of chain mail. Horned pauldrons curved like a demon's jaw. A pair of massive gauntlets flexed as he bowed, wheeled Sabatons clicking gently on stone. And of course, his signature red Phrygian cap. Before him shimmered a perfect vertical Moon Mirror—a standing oval of living silver, suspended in a frame of spine-metal and memory stone. Lunar light leaked from the edges, pooling like spilled milk into the carved channels below.
Red Cap extended his rippling arms skyward, " I come as servant and supplicant." He said in a deep guttural voice.
Then—she appeared.
A figure of such impossible purity and celestial weight that the lava around Red Cap seemed to freeze. The Holy Moon Seraph. She stepped—or rather glided—into view within the mirror, her expression unreadable and cold. She wore Short, blonde flaxen hair, almost metallic in its sheen, framed a smooth, angelic face. Her blue eyes burned with layered galactic intellect, piercing through realities as though nothing mortal could matter. Her six wings descended like waterfalls of still light—no movement, no flapping, just smooth, holy flow.
The wings trailed phosphorescent droplets, dissipating into glimmering vapor as they touched the mirrored frame. Her armor was unlike anything Terran—white bio-plasmic steel, grown in lace-like patterns across her skin, hugging her like the sacred weave of a divine skin graft. As if every strand of her being was coded for celestial warfare.
A Moon Emperess.
"You kneel like a beggar Red Cap? Stand up like a man." she spoke hard words with a soft voice.
Red Cap did not rise.
"Report."
Red Cap bowed deeper. "The holy purge advances. Three more tribes wiped from the eastern ridge. We've flushed the Ember Pelt Pride clan from their stronghold. I have harvested 78 spine-cores for offering. The young scream true." He looked up slightly, one glowing eye visible beneath the drooping Phrygian cap. "But… the Terrans approach. One rides a star-vessel through the sky."
The Seraph's eyes narrowed. Static rippled in the Moon Mirror. "Terrans… always creeping where they don't belong." Her fingers twitched. Data sigils flickered through the mirror-space. Her wings pulsed once. "The one with the Blood Seed—track her. Observe, but do not engage unless provoked. The Beast Vein must not fall to foreign bloodlines. If the Terran stirs the Primal Arteries—our cycle could be disrupted."
Red Cap's claws tapped twice against his thigh—an old warrior's tic. "And the boy? The one who walks with dream fire?" The Seraph tilted her head, gaze distant for a moment—as if tasting a prophecy still forming. "He has found several threads of destiny and he weaves them together. He cannot be allowed to reach the seraphic gates."
She leaned forward slightly. Her voice lowered to a velvet whisper, sharp enough to draw blood. "Burn him. Burn the sky he fly's on." Red Cap bowed his head, heart pounding like a drum of war. "As you command, Seraph." The mirror began to fade, her figure dissolving into moonlight that bled into steam. The Seraph's final words came like the ghost of thunder: "Let no beast rise. Let no bloodline root. The Holy War continues." Red Cap rose; shoulders tense with war-flesh and holy fire.
The subterranean air thickened.
And far above him, the sky prepared to greet new intruders.