May 25th, 1810 — Moscow, Great Empire of Russia
The days passed, and with them the scenery within the grand estate of the royal Ivanovich family seemed to change little, yet feel heavier all the same. Deep within the massive Tsarigrad Citadel—inside the Emperor's own office—Graviil sat behind his desk, shoulders slightly hunched as he prowled through towering stacks of documents.
Perched upon the window frame was Alcmena, currently in his feline form, his tail resting still as he watched the old ruler work.
Despite the quiet scratch of quill against paper, the two were engaged in a calm yet serious conversation, their voices low, careful, as they spoke of only one thing—Xavier.
Graviil did not bother hiding the fear etched into his features. Even as his hands moved from page to page, his thoughts were nowhere near the ink before him. His grandson had not awakened for far too long. With every passing hour, it felt as though the boy's mortality was thinning, slipping away second by second.
Alcmena shared that same concern, though his expression carried something heavier—guilt.
He told Graviil the truth without softening it. He did not know how long Xavier would remain in his coma. Alcmena had attempted to enter the boy's mind on several occasions, but each time he was met with the same unsettling sight: a spiraling dreamscape of ever‑changing worlds. One moment fragments of Xavier's past would surface—warm, familiar memories—only for them to be swallowed by scenes of trauma soon after.
He had tried to guide him. To steady those dreams.
It hadn't worked.
In the end, Alcmena chose to stop. Forcing his way deeper risked damaging Xavier's mind—mental corrosion that even he could not guarantee to undo. Some battles, even for a Dragon King, could not be won through force.
All that remained now was waiting.
Waiting for Xavier himself to choose to wake.
No one knew how long that would take.
At those words, Graviil finally set his quill down. He leaned back, one hand rising to press against his aching temple as a long, weary sigh escaped him. Frustration and unease clung to him like a second skin.
Alcmena noticed immediately. In a calm, measured tone, he advised the old Emperor not to burden himself with matters beyond his control. Worrying over what could not be changed would only wear him down further—and help no one.
"I understand," Graviil replied quietly, accepting the Dragon King's words.
Then he paused.
"But," he continued, his voice lowering, "things are beginning to spiral… even beyond Xavier's condition."
Alcmena's ears twitched. "How so?"
"Cults," Graviil answered.
"…Cults?"
"Yes." Graviil exhaled. "To be precise, an old one. One of many that have existed throughout history—and still linger in our era. I'm certain you've heard of them."
"The Creed of the First Sin."
At that name, Alcmena's eyes widened slightly. "Ah… I remember now. It's been a long time since I last heard it. That shadowed cult still exists?"
"Yes," Graviil replied evenly.
"That is… surprising," Alcmena admitted.
Graviil continued, his tone taking on the weight of experience. "We live in a world overflowing with culture and belief across all four realms. Many worship the Three Trinity of the Supreme Gods. Others devote themselves to the Allfather—Origin. Some revere their ancestors, mighty Herrschers and Monarchs of old, as the elves do… and as we humans often do as well."
"Dragons still honor the first of their kind, Eldoria, even after his death and ascension to godhood. Vampires, to this very day, worship and pray to Count Dracula—the first of their race—who yet lives, despite all vampires tracing their origin back to him."
"There are countless paths of faith," he went on. "Each shaped by history, by loss, by hope. That diversity is what makes this world remarkable."
Graviil's expression darkened.
"But there are always those who take that freedom… and twist it. Those who forge cults not to guide, but to manipulate. To exploit belief and bend others into obedience."
"Cultism," he said, voice firm, "runs deep within mortal veins, regardless of race. It is our nature to desire righteousness—to stand above others—by any means necessary."
He paused, then continued, his tone shifting into something colder.
"However, among them all, there is one name feared and acknowledged across all four realms."
"The Creed of the First Sin."
"Also known as the Church of the Unmade Will."
He let the title hang in the air before delivering the final blow.
"A so‑called religion… whose followers believe in a boundless outer god. An entity they claim rivals—perhaps even surpasses—the Supreme Beings themselves."
Graviil's eyes narrowed.
"That being's name is… Raegott."
Alcmena finally straightened, his lazy sprawl giving way to alert composure. In one smooth motion, he leapt onto Graviil's desk, claws clicking softly against polished wood.
"Raegott, huh?" he said. "Yes… I know that name as well. But I do not believe in such an existence."
His tail flicked once, irritation seeping into his voice.
"A being born from the emptiness and void of the universe? The First Sin? The origin of all evil?" Alcmena scoffed. "What utter foolishness. Who would truly believe such a thing? And even if it were possible—how could such a being come into existence without the Allfather's knowledge or consent? Do they truly believe Origin would create something that stands in direct blasphemy against His very nature?"
He let the words settle before adding flatly,
"Utter nonsense."
Graviil chuckled at Alcmena's reaction, a rare hint of amusement breaking through the weight he carried. "I'm relieved to hear we share the same perspective."
He leaned back slightly as he continued. "My knights uncovered a secret gathering far to the east of my kingdom. The cultists had already caused several public disturbances… and a handful of abductions. They were swiftly apprehended."
Graviil's gaze hardened. "I admit, the report surprised me. I never expected to hear of that cult so openly. They've always preferred the shadows—whispers, secrecy, silence."
"With the state the world is currently in," he went on, "especially after Percival's inhuman experiments on newborns, I will not allow another atrocity to fester within my land."
"They were all sentenced to the most severe prison in that region. Indefinitely."
There was no hesitation in his voice.
"I have no issue with whom people choose to worship," Graviil added after a moment. "I've always advocated for free expression. But there is a line—one that must never be crossed."
"The involvement of innocents."
He exhaled slowly. "That said… I won't deny my curiosity regarding this so-called 'god' the Church of the Unmade Will worships. Their devotion borders on fanaticism. They are extreme—unyielding."
Alcmena began grooming his fur absently as he replied. "I have no answers there either."
"I attempted to uncover the truth long ago—back when I still possessed my original body. Before I was… half-dead, following my battle with my brother."
His voice dulled for a brief instant.
"I used what remained of my near-omniscient abilities to search for this 'entity.' I found nothing. Not a trace. No echo."
"So I concluded that it simply did not exist."
He paused.
"However," Alcmena continued, "I did discover something else. Many among their ranks once worshipped—perhaps still worship—Grand Emperor Julius."
"The War Titan," he said quietly. "Evil by nature. Slaughter and wickedness were second nature to him."
"It wasn't surprising they would view him as a 'Messiah'… or their so-called 'Chosen One.'"
Graviil raised an eyebrow. "That is deeply concerning. Who in their right mind would worship the King in Black of all beings?"
He shook his head. "He would have slaughtered them without a second thought."
"You're not wrong," Alcmena replied. "Yet many of them openly sided with Emperor Julius during the Great War against evil, ten thousand years ago."
"They were never deterred by the odds," he added. "Not even when facing the combined strength of all four races and their greatest warriors."
Alcmena shrugged, his tone turning almost casual. "I suppose that's mortals for you."
"With great free will comes great stupidity… and a talent for delusion."
Graviil burst into laughter at that, genuine and unrestrained. Tears welled at the corners of his eyes as the tension finally eased, if only for a moment.
In that laughter, Graviil realized something important.
The more he spoke with Alcmena, the more he came to understand him—his perspective, his way of seeing the world. And in doing so, Graviil himself felt his own worldview broaden.
It was still surreal to him that Xavier's pet Ark—the quiet, watchful creature he had barely questioned—was in truth the Dragon King himself, hidden in plain sight all this time.
Yet rather than fear, Graviil felt reassured.
Knowing that someone like Alcmena stood as Xavier's contractor and mentor brought him a rare sense of peace. A being ancient beyond comprehension—wise, measured, and undeniably competent.
Someone who had lived through epochs.
With everything said, Graviil returned to his work and finished it swiftly. He had plans for later that day—plans he refused to delay.
He intended to spend time with his newest grandchild, Teslaine.
And there was a gift he had been eagerly waiting to show her.