---
It began with a scream.
Not of pain, but of *joy*. A mad kind, the kind only visionaries or lunatics ever truly understood.
The scream came from the eastern observatory, where the seers of Noctis Sanctum mapped stars that hadn't been born yet. One of them—Nerith, a quiet woman with a silver-threaded veil—had glimpsed a constellation shift out of cycle.
"It turned," she whispered, clutching her charts. "It *saw us*."
The stars were watching.
And watching back had consequences.
---
Aether stood atop the Crownless Spire, his cloak billowing in wind that carried no scent.
Below, the Sanctum pulsed. Its towers breathed slowly, its forges hummed with potential. The city was *alive*. But it was not yet *defined*.
"You were born to walk between the truths," the Sanctum murmured in his ear. "But now you must *choose one* to write."
Aether closed his eyes.
> "Then bring me the ink."
---
They gathered in the Midnight Hall.
Tollin. Mirelle. The Archivist. Sixteen others from the outer circles. Even the Dreambinder arrived, trailing smoke and silence.
Upon a table carved from the heart of a dead realm, Aether placed a single scroll.
Black parchment. No seams. No script.
"What is this?" Mirelle asked.
"My first Law," Aether replied.
Tollin's gaze was wary. "We have no council. No votes. No charter. You would rule with decree?"
"I would *build* with it," Aether said. "This is not a kingdom of mortals. It's a sanctum of purpose. And every purpose begins in silence."
He raised a hand.
Dark light spilled from his palm.
---
The Law wrote itself.
Lines formed not in words, but *in meaning*. Each sigil carved into the page made the air grow heavier, the ground steadier, the minds of those watching sharpen in focus.
The Law did not tell.
It *declared*.
> "This is Noctis Sanctum.
> It will not kneel.
> It will not conquer.
> It will *become*."
And below that, a single commandment:
> **"Truth must bend, but never break."**
When Aether finished, the scroll sealed itself in shadow.
None could open it but him.
Yet all of them felt its weight settle into the stones beneath their feet.
The Sanctum had a Law now.
Not to restrain.
But to **anchor**.
---
That night, a storm came.
Not of water or wind.
But of *thought*.
A wave of dreams surged through the Sanctum's minds. Images of towers burning. Of Aether crowned in flame. Of a woman without eyes singing a song that turned cities to ash.
Mirelle dreamed of drowning in ink.
Tollin dreamed of his reflection pointing a dagger at his back.
And Aether… dreamt of himself.
But older. Broken. Alone. Speaking to a mirror that did not speak back.
> "You still think you're different," the older version said. "But every sanctum becomes a throne. And every throne… craves blood."
---
At dawn, Tollin stood at the edge of the inner Sanctum wall.
He held the black crystal Veyran had given him in his hand again.
It whispered still.
> *"You are his second. But you are not his equal."*
> *"He made a law. But not for you."*
He gritted his teeth… and dropped the crystal over the edge.
It fell into the abyss.
And yet, the whisper did not stop.
It had never come from the crystal alone.
---
Across the sea, in the Rose-Glass Cathedral of the Dominion of Thorns, Veyran stood before the Queen of Pale Veins.
He bowed, mockingly deep.
"He has written his first Law," he said.
The Queen, face half-covered in silken bandages, tilted her head.
"And did he name us enemy?"
"No," Veyran said with a grin. "But he named himself *truth*."
The Queen's fingers twitched.
"Then let us become the *lie* that teaches him."
---
Later that day, Aether visited the Garden of Sleeping Flames, where flowers never wilted and fire was taught to rest.
He walked alone.
But not unseen.
From a shadow that did not belong, a voice drifted to him.
"You're moving faster than even I did."
Aether turned slowly.
There stood a man in a cloak of spiderwebs, his eyes hollow and bright. His skin shimmered like shattered mirrors.
He bowed once.
"Do you remember me yet?"
Aether said nothing.
But his hand drifted to the seal on his wrist.
The one the Sanctum had never explained.
The man grinned.
> "You will."
Then he vanished, leaving behind only the faint smell of ink… and regret.
---
**To be countinue....