The heavens had never been quieter, never more alive.
Above the world where mortals worried about crowns and curses and collapsing legacies, two sisters played—untouchable, unbothered, and blisteringly divine. The air was thinner here, time a little looser, space far more obedient. This wasn't just flight. It was sovereignty disguised as joy.
Nyxavere ran.
She wore something simple—just soft black pants and a sleeveless top—but it didn't matter. She could have worn shadows and the cosmos would've applauded. Each step she took across the sky left a streak of starlight in its place, the sky cracking and reforming beneath her soles like it knew who owned it.
Clouds didn't get out of her way—they split.
Gravity didn't resist her—it worshipped.
Every footfall came with a silent boom that whispered through dimensions like a bedtime story for galaxies.
And ahead of her?
Seraphina.
