The plateau trembled beneath the clash of forces, the waters of the Styks roiling and twisting with every strike. Above it, the sky shimmered with iridescent colors, reflections of the metaphysical plane spilling into this realm. The clone of Lucien, with his silver-and-amber hair, paused mid-strike for a heartbeat, observing the currents.
This realm—one of the many that existed under Lucien's observation—was known as Eryndoril, a place where the physical and metaphysical laws intertwined differently from any other dimension. The rivers here weren't merely water; they were veins of essence, flowing with the lifeblood of the cosmos, carrying energies that could empower or destroy, depending on the will of those attuned to them. The Styks, the largest river in Eryndoril, was a remnant of a cataclysm that predated even the first civilizations.
Long before mortals walked any plane, the Styks had been a prison and a crucible, a river forged from the tears of fallen primordial beings. Its currents could sever the connection between soul and body, test the resilience of reincarnated spirits, and purify or corrupt depending on the hand that guided it. And from it, the Sons of Heaven were born—not by chance, but by design.
Kaien Asahiro, standing tall atop the riverbank, embodied the legacy of those who had once sacrificed themselves to the Styks to preserve balance. The Sons of Heaven were reincarnated warriors whose bloodline was tied to the river, their spirits infused with the essence of the Styks itself. Their duty was to uphold cosmic order within their realms, to act as arbiters between life, death, and divine law. Each son and daughter of this lineage was blessed with powers beyond normal comprehension: manipulation of essence, mastery over reincarnation cycles, and the ability to call upon the river as a weapon or shield.
Kaien, the current heir, had been trained since birth in both combat and philosophy, understanding the Styks not just as a river but as a sentient entity that could judge intent. "The Styks tests all who walk its banks," he said aloud, his golden eyes gleaming. "It does not lie. It does not forgive. Only the worthy can command it, and only the strong can endure it."
The clone of Lucien, arms crossed as he hovered slightly above the plateau, chuckled softly. "A river that judges? How quaint. My master would find this amusing… yet fascinating. You fight well, Kaien, but remember—you are not merely fighting me. You are fighting a fragment of infinity."
Kaien's aura flared as he took a deep breath, calling upon the river's energy. "I do not fear fragments or infinity. I fear only failing the Styks!"
And as he spoke, the clone observed the flow of the river in fine detail—the currents bending subtly around Kaien, responding to his will but also pushing back, a dynamic dance of control and resistance. The Styks itself seemed alive, aware of the presence of the clone, its energies whispering of ancient secrets and trials long past.
The history of the Sons of Heaven was as old as the river itself. Millennia ago, the Styks had been a neutral entity, a boundary between the realms of life and the beyond. But the first war of the heavens, before any gods had claimed dominion over their realms, had torn the boundaries apart. The river had absorbed the essence of countless warriors, forming the divine lineage that would become the Sons of Heaven. Each reincarnation carried not just memories, but the lessons, failures, and triumphs of their ancestors, refined and sharpened by centuries.
Kaien's voice rang out again, commanding the water to rise. Spectral blades and shields formed from the river, circling him with predatory precision. "I am the Son of Heaven! I am the guardian of balance! The Styks flows through me as life itself flows through the cosmos!"
The clone tilted his head, smirking. "Impressive. Truly. And yet… the Styks' judgment, bound as it is to its river, cannot compare to the judgment of one who holds fragments of the primordial void. But you will teach me something—about perseverance and arrogance in the same moment."
The battle in Eryndoril escalated, the clone's strikes moving faster and more fluid, each one interacting with the river in new ways, testing Kaien's mastery. Yet as the fight continued, the clone's mind wandered briefly, analyzing the lineage, the history, and the purpose of the Styks. Each Son of Heaven had been trained to perceive life and death differently, to see threads of fate, and to act as judges over those threads.
And so, the clash was more than mere combat. It was a meeting of legacies, a dance between the eternal void and the refined judgment of reincarnated divinity, between a fragment of the god who existed outside narrative and a mortal tied to the eternal currents of the Styks.
Even as the clone struck, dodged, and manipulated energy, he understood something crucial: this realm, this river, this lineage—all of it had survived countless wars, countless eras, and countless deaths because it was meant to test the unworthy and elevate the strong. And here he was, a child of Lucien, arrogantly throwing himself into its flow, learning the limits and strengths of both himself and the boy of heaven before him.
"Kaien Asahiro," the clone said, hovering above the river, water dancing around his form. "Teach me, if only by resisting. Show me why the Styks endures, why your line endures, and why heaven would deign to judge anything at all."
Kaien's golden eyes narrowed, but there was respect in his gaze. "Then let the river decide."
And with that, the battle truly began, the river's currents reacting in tandem with their strikes, forming a symphony of light, water, and metaphysical energy, a duel that was as much about history and lineage as it was about raw power.
Far above, in the merged consciousness of the Primordial Void and Metaphysical Plane, Lucien observed through his abyssal eyes, silently noting every detail. He did not intervene—his clone was meant to learn, and the Son of Heaven, though mortal in the grand scale, was already teaching his fragment humility, strategy, and patience.
The realm of Eryndoril, the Styks River, and the Sons of Heaven had now entered a new chapter in their history, one that would ripple across timelines, realities, and eventually reach the attention of Lucien himself.
And somewhere, faint but present, the universe seemed to hum in response, acknowledging the meeting of fragment and legacy, of void and heaven, of judgment and infinite potential.