The Darkness of Unending Creation

Solaria shimmered under twin moons.

Even at night, the city never darkened. Lanterns of frozen starlight hovered above every walkway. Towers projected cascading patterns across polished marble, forming constellations as if heaven itself bowed to Lucian geometry.

Tavin hated it.

"It's too clean," he muttered, watching a line of servants march in perfect silence.

"They think shadow is disease," Niah whispered. "They see us as infected."

Kaelara scoffed. "They're not wrong."

They were crouched along a domed rooftop, peering through an open arch below. Inside, light poured into a private atrium.

She stood at the center — the girl of gold.

Her Name Was Lysaria:

They'd learned it from Maika.

A courier had passed through the servant's quarter whispering the name "Lysaria of House Thorne." A minor noble, elevated after the war. Her daughter, adopted, raised by priests and handlers.

"She's not blood," Maika had said. "They found her in a war camp. Starlight eyes. Light bent around her. They took her in… or caged her. Depends on how you look at it."

Now, as Lysaria moved through her atrium, she seemed less radiant and more restrained — her steps careful, measured. Her silver eyes gazed into a floating shard of crystal. It projected flickering images of herself in various robes, masks, poses.

"They're preparing her," Kaelara whispered.

"For what?" Tavin asked.

Niah's voice was hard. "The Offering."

The Sacrifice Ritual:

Every ten years, when Luxarion's energy wanes, a sacred ritual is performed. A "child of light" is given over in an act of divine purification. Most never return.

Kaelara growled. "She's not a daughter of light. She's ours."

"Lucian law doesn't care," Niah said. "They see power. They use it."

Tavin felt his fingers curl. The Gate pulsed once — a hot throb under his brand.

He could feel her, now.

Lysaria stood still in the atrium below, staring up at the moonlight, and then turned her head, slightly, toward the rooftop where they hid.

As if she heard him.

In the Moon Garden:

Later that night, he found her again.

Or maybe… she found him.

He stood by a fountain in the lower court, away from the crowd. She appeared without sound, dressed in soft robes of moon-grey and soft gold. No mask this time. Her eyes gleamed.

"You again," she said.

Tavin bowed slightly. "I had to see you."

Lysaria tilted her head. "Why?"

"Because there's something inside you. Something they're afraid of."

She looked away. "You talk like the Gate priests. They always speak in riddles."

"I'm not a priest."

"What are you, then?"

He hesitated.

She stepped closer.

The air bent.

Tavin's vision swam. He saw…

— Chains of crystal light —— Her as a child, screaming in silence —— A locked room full of broken mirrors —— The Gate… weeping? —

Their fingers brushed.

The Gate pulsed. Her hair fluttered. Light crackled across the marble floor.

She gasped and stepped back.

"You… you're not supposed to be real."

Neither of them noticed the reflection ripple in the fountain behind them.

Nor did they hear the footfall of boots in perfect rhythm.

The Echo Closes:

High above, in a Lucian sanctum, a silver scroll unraveled. Light splintered across its surface.

"Third pulse confirmed," said a Luxant.

"The fracture is seducing the vessel."

"Permission to extract?"

The high priest's voice rang like crystal.

"No. Let them dance.Let the Gate open…

Then sever it."