The shattered stars returned to their places in the heavens, but the damage was done. The parley at the Shattered Gate had ended not with a treaty—but with a prophecy.
In the hours following the celestial eclipse, panic bloomed like wildfire across the lands. From the great sea-faring cities of the fae to the buried vaults of the dwarrow, arcane energies surged violently, disrupting spells woven centuries ago. Entire villages were lost to magic storms. Ley lines shifted beneath the ground like serpents writhing in their sleep.
And through it all, two names echoed across every realm: Liang Yezhao and Xue Wuyao.
Within the high tower of the Mirror Keep—an ancient structure predating both celestial and demonic rule—Yezhao stood before the Echo Fountain. The waters shimmered like mercury, reflecting not one face, but many: his own as a child, his father's younger visage, his first kill as a boy-soldier.
Beside him, Wuyao watched with arms folded. "You think this fountain will give us answers?"
Yezhao nodded. "The Echo Fountain reflects memory through bloodlines. If the prophecy speaks of an oath, it must be one forged by our ancestors."
"I don't need a mirror to know mine were monsters," Wuyao muttered.
Still, he stepped forward. As his reflection joined Yezhao's in the pool, the waters rippled, and an image formed.
A battlefield of crystal and fire. Two warriors, cloaked in banners of gold and crimson, stood at the head of their armies—one wielding a sunblade, the other a whip of living shadow.
Wuyao frowned. "That's not us."
Yezhao whispered, "But it could be."
The image shifted.
The two warriors stood before a shattered altar, surrounded by broken gods and dying stars. They joined hands. Between them hovered a sphere—half light, half void.
A voice spoke—not aloud, but in their minds.
"We were one flame, split by oath and pride. Now the worlds bleed for our division. Reunite, or perish."
The waters exploded into light.
Far away, in the subterranean vaults beneath the Temple of the Forgotten, a cult stirred. They called themselves the Veiled Chorus, remnants of void-worshipers who had survived the last purge. Cloaked in tattered veils and silence spells, they gathered around a pulsing shard—the twin of the Seed now in Yezhao's possession.
Their leader, a faceless oracle known only as Mother Pale, spoke with a voice layered in a thousand tones.
"They have awakened the oath. The Seed remembers. The next phase begins."
Behind her, a chained creature writhed—a malformed being, half divine, half abyssal. It screamed without voice.
Mother Pale turned her gaze toward the northeast, where the stars trembled.
"The Child of Flame and the Heir of Silence shall become either salvation... or ruin."
In the Divine City, Lady Zhu Moyan summoned Yezhao and Wuyao to the Starbound Archives. The palace halls were unusually empty—many scholars had fled in fear of the prophecy.
She led them past forbidden shelves and memory-stamped scrolls, finally stopping at a sealed vault.
"This has not been opened in a thousand years," she said, pressing her blood against the seal.
The vault opened with a scream.
Inside were relics: a broken halo, a whip of shadows, a pendant containing half a soul, and a scroll bound in iron.
Lady Zhu handed the scroll to Yezhao. "It is called the Oath of Sundering. Written by your forebears, in a time when gods and demons ruled as kin."
Yezhao opened the scroll. The words burned.
"Let light and shadow sunder, that the realms may remain whole. We sever ourselves so the void may sleep. We bind the Seed with our blood and name. Should we ever reunite, may the world choose to burn, or rise anew."
Wuyao stared at the whip. "This… was mine?"
Lady Zhu nodded. "You and Yezhao are reincarnations. The oath was yours. You broke it. And you must now decide whether to complete it… or forge a new one."
That night, as the twin moons crossed, the sky opened once more.
From the void between stars, creatures descended—not voidspawn, but heralds—shapes of pure paradox. They whispered truths that broke minds. Entire forests aged a thousand years in moments. Rivers flowed backward. The air grew sharp enough to slice skin.
In response, the Celestials and Demons—sworn enemies—declared a temporary armistice.
Yezhao and Wuyao were named Co-Wardens of the Oathbound Expedition: a company of mixed soldiers, scholars, and mages, sworn to seek the First Cradle—the place where gods were born and the Seed first planted.
Their journey would take them across cursed oceans, through witch-marked deserts, into cities lost in time, and perhaps, into the realms between life and death.
As they stood at the gates of departure, Yezhao turned to Wuyao.
"We may not return."
Wuyao met his gaze. "I've never planned to."
"Then why come?"
Wuyao smirked. "Because if the world ends, I want to be there when you realize I'm the only one who can save you."
Yezhao didn't laugh. But he didn't look away either.
And together, they stepped beyond the known.