The shoreline of Kuro's Domain stretched wide beneath a low-hanging indigo sky, where stars blinked faintly through the haze of sea mist. The ocean was calm, its dark waters rolling in slow, perfect rhythm—silent, endless, and strangely still. The breeze that slid over the sand carried no scent, no chill—just a quiet, unshakable weight, like the air itself was holding its breath.
Klaus sat cross-legged near the surf, his back straight, hands resting on his knees. Sweat beaded along his brow, trailing down his temple, but his face was carved from stone. Around him, faint wisps of translucent energy shimmered like heatwaves—unstable, pulsing, raw. Each breath he drew in pulled more of that pressure into himself, and each exhale sharpened the glow coiling faintly around his skin. Not training to strike, not preparing for battle. He was refining control. Every fiber of his being focused on one thing Mastery.
Further inland, half-buried in warm sand beneath a lazy arch of sun-bleached driftwood, Varnyx lay sprawled out like an overfed cat, one eye closed, the other half-lidded and fixed on Klaus. He looked asleep—until he snorted faintly and mumbled, "Still too slow…"
Klaus's eye twitched.
The silence broke with footsteps crunching over the sand.
Kaen appeared, spinning a golden shard between his fingers. "Yo. Wrap that up."
Klaus didn't move, only opened one eye, still mid-channeling. "What is it now?"
Kaen raised a brow. "Ascendant Rising tournament. Ring any bells? We gotta leave early or every hotel's gonna be booked solid by the time we get there."
Klaus blinked. "...We need a hotel?"
Kaen rolled his eyes. "Unless you wanna meditate next to some snoring warlord who bathes in demon oil—yeah."
From the sand pile, Varnyx gave a soft groan. "Wake me when one of you explodes…"
---
Behind them loomed Varnyx—the vast, incomprehensible being of starlight and shadow. His form was still partially veiled in radiant aurora and armorlike fragments of floating obsidian.
Klaus stood beside Kaen, fully geared up and ready.
Kaen glanced at him, then smirked. "You uh... planning to enter the city looking like Klaus Aetherion, the guy seven Monarchs want in chains? Might wanna slap that disguise on unless you want a welcome parade—with pitchforks."
Klaus sighed, his form shimmering as he shifted into his disguise—hair darker, eyes dulled, markings gone.
"Better now!?" he muttered with exaggerated sarcasm.
Kaen nodded in relief. "Yeah, thanks. Now, uh… time for round two."
He stepped toward Varnyx and dropped to one knee with exaggerated reverence.
"Oh mighty radiant deity of celestial elegance and incomprehensible glory," he intoned dramatically, "I beg thee—descend in form. Take a shape less… godly, lest mortals lose their minds, clothes, or loyalty."
Varnyx tilted his head, his six eyes blinking in sync. "No."
Kaen blinked. "No? B-But—wait, okay, okay—what if I offer you the finest elven cuisine for an entire week? I can even get that spiced fruit liquor from the Serian coast!"
Varnyx said nothing but his eyes glimmered with sudden interest at the mention of the spiced fruit liquor.
The celestial god, amused by the game, let out a faint sound—like the hum of stars being born.
"Very well," Varnyx said.
And then it began.
His form began to collapse inward, not violently, but gracefully—like galaxies drawing into a singularity of divine will. Fragments of light spiraled in around him, reshaping bone and flesh from abstract concepts into perfect mortal geometry. Wings of light folded and vanished. Armor turned to liquid and reformed as embroidered black-and-silver robes. His body now stood tall—nearly seven feet—broad-shouldered and statuesque. Smooth golden skin, jaw sculpted with impossible precision, cheekbones like carved marble, lips soft but cruelly symmetrical. His eyes were twin obsidian pools streaked with stars, rimmed in silver lashes. Hair fell past his shoulders—straight, silken, and blacker than the void.
He was impossibly beautiful. Divine and distant. Every movement was measured and eternal.
Kaen's jaw dropped.
"Okay—no, no. That's cheating. You're not allowed to be both a celestial horror and the most gorgeous man on the continent."
Varnyx now spoke with a deep, silken voice. "Let us move."
Kaen stumbled to his feet, still staring. "Y-Yeah… okay. Handsome deity mode it is."
He reached into his dimensional sash and pulled forth a sleek obsidian blade with silver engravings that pulsed slightly—like it was breathing. He held it reverently.
"This was given to me by Kuro himself," Kaen explained as Klaus eyed it. "It's called the Gatechaser Fang. Cut through enough space with intent, and it'll open a rift."
With a flick of his wrist, Kaen slashed the air. A thin white seam split through the space like glass cracking—then expanded into a swirling, vertical portal of soft blue light and moving stars.
Kaen grinned. "Okay. So I just think of the place, and boom—we're there. Ain't travel magic fun?"
Klaus gave him a glance. "Only if it works."
Kaen winked. "Oh it works. Trust the Fang."
And with that, the three figures—one worn warrior, one overenthusiastic wielder, and one god disguised as a man—stepped through the veil of stars into a world that no longer remembered its storm.
The rift closed behind them with a soft hum, depositing Klaus, Kaen, and Varnyx on the outskirts of Sol'Estra, the capital province preparing for the grand convergence—The Ascendant Rising Tournament, the Emperor's Jubilee, and the Festival of Eternal Flame.
The moment their boots touched the sun-warmed cobblestone, time stopped.
Birds in the sky stuttered mid-flight. Merchants froze in the middle of haggling. Scribes dropped quills. Children who had been playing a skipping game fell silent, their little hands clasped to their chests. Then—one by one—they dropped to their knees.
Not out of reverence. But sheer, crippling awe.
And all of it, every molecule of stillness, was because of one being.
Varnyx.
He wasn't radiating aura. Not unleashing divine might. He simply existed—and that was enough to overwhelm every conscious mind within a hundred-meter radius.
Men wept without knowing why. Women trembled like reeds. Even seasoned soldiers guarding the city gates clutched their spears like they were drowning.
Kaen winced. "Oh stars. No-no-no—Varnyx, you gotta stop leaking… divinity or pressure or whatever the hell that is!"
Varnyx blinked once. Shrugged. "I can't," he said with a quiet, amused laugh. "This is me being polite."
Kaen looked over to Klaus, who was completely unfazed—stoic as ever. Their eyes met briefly.
Both of them knew.
A brawl was inevitable.
And when it came, it would shatter something.
Still, there was no need for war just yet. The city was beautiful this time of year.
They began walking.
---
Sol'Estra in Bloom
The air smelled of jasmine and charred spices. Floating crystal lanterns dotted the sky in preparation for the jubilee. Children with flags ran through sunlit streets. Market vendors peddled everything from flaming cinnamon bread to iced fruit slushies, their stalls draped in woven banners of gold and sapphire. Instruments hummed from corner alleys—flutes, strings, and the rhythmic chant of festival drums.
Kaen kept pace with a grin, letting the atmosphere wash over him. "Man, they really went all out this year."
Klaus kept his hands in his pockets, eyes flicking to every shadowed alley, every flutter of movement. Even in peace, he was prepared for war.
Varnyx, on the other hand, had his gaze locked onto a nearby food stall. His voice softened—almost curious.
"…What is that?"
Kaen followed his eyes.
"Oh. That? That's fire-dipped honeyglass over roasted fruit. Caramelized with Emberroot sap and served in a molten sugar twist. Pretty popular this time of year."
Varnyx stepped toward the stall, his eyes narrowing with inhuman precision as he studied the process.
The vendor—a portly man with a festive hat—nearly fainted when Varnyx stopped at his stall.
Kaen, chuckling, threw down a heavy coin purse. "We'll take everything he pointed at."
The vendor nodded furiously and began preparing plates. Varnyx sampled everything with silent intrigue. Klaus barely reacted. Kaen just kept swiping food off the table before anyone else could.
They continued this ritual at two more stalls—each time, Varnyx stopping for something unusual or vibrant, and Kaen clearing it out like a culinary scavenger with a bottomless bag.
Finally, with food in hand, stomachs filled (well, Kaen's at least), and no further divine incidents (barely), they reached the Silver Ember Inn—one of the grandest yet most discreet inns in the inner district.
---
Inside the Inn
From the moment they entered, the entire staff froze.
A maid holding fresh linens gasped and dropped them.
A janitor stopped mid-sweep, broom quivering in his grip.
Three desk attendants stopped discussing room availability and turned slowly to stare—not at Kaen, but at the two behind him.
Klaus, with his carved-from-marble physique, cold eyes, and commanding silence.
And Varnyx, whose ethereal beauty defied logic. His robe shimmered in hues not native to this world. His eyes held galaxies. His posture was so regal, so impossibly perfect, even the innkeeper bowed before thinking.
Kaen cleared his throat, stepping in front of the group. "Hey. Hello. Yes, sorry, I know my companions look like they just walked out of a forbidden painting. We'd like to book a couple rooms, please."
The attendants stared.
Kaen sighed and placed two black coins down on the counter.
"Two rooms. He," Kaen pointed to Varnyx, "sleeps with me. For safety reasons.
With the booking finished, they split off. Klaus entered his room, tossed his bag beside the bed, and collapsed onto the mattress without a word. No lights, no thoughts—just sleep.
Meanwhile, Kaen opened the door to his room with a theatrical sigh. "Alright, Varnyx—no burning the sheets, no summoning void serpents, and please don't hover over me while I sleep this time."