Ashura stayed one more day.
Only one.
Not because he didn't want more—
but because more would be dangerous.
Earth could not bear him for long now. Even sealed, even restrained, even folded inward like a caged infinity, his existence pressed on reality. The air bent when he breathed too deeply. Space itself listened too closely when he stood still.
So he stayed one final day, careful, present, human.
Morning —
The morning was warm.
Sunlight spilled through the windows of the Bellet home, soft and ordinary, painting the walls gold. Lysera sat by the window with Serenity in her arms, humming something low and wordless. The girl slept peacefully, one tiny hand curled into Lysera's finger, her mismatched eyes closed for once—no crimson glow, no celestial shimmer. Just a child.
Ashura stood nearby with Luciferus resting against his shoulder.
The boy was awake, staring at the world with unnervingly calm focus for a newborn. His crimson eyes tracked movement. His tiny fingers flexed, as if testing the idea of strength.
Ashura smiled faintly.
"Easy," he murmured. "You'll have time."
Luciferus yawned, unimpressed.
Gina watched from the doorway, arms crossed, eyes glossy.
"You're really leaving again," she said quietly.
Ashura nodded once.
"Yes."
She swallowed. "Figures. The universe doesn't let us keep you for long."
He looked at her then—really looked. His little sister, grown, strong, still stubborn.
"I will return," he said. "More often than before."
"That's what you said last time."
"And this time," he replied calmly, "it will be true."
She scoffed, blinking hard. "You better not be lying. I don't care how eternal you are."
A corner of his mouth lifted.
When the time came, it came quietly.
No alarms. No omens. No thunder.
Ashura knelt before Lysera first.
She already knew.
She always did.
"You don't have to explain," she said softly. "I can feel it. The pull."
He brushed his thumb gently along her cheek.
"I will not be gone long."
She smiled—sad, proud, strong.
"I know. But even eternities have moments."
He leaned forward and kissed her—slow, deep, grounding. A promise rather than a farewell.
When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers.
"You did more than survive," he said quietly. "You created life. Our life."
Her eyes shimmered.
"Come back to us," she whispered.
"I will."
Then he turned to his children.
Serenity stirred when he kissed her forehead. For a split second, her crimson eye opened—and something ancient and calm looked back at him.
Luciferus gripped his finger when Ashura kissed him, holding on stubbornly.
Ashura felt something tighten in his chest.
Not pain.
Resolve.
"I will shape worlds worthy of you," he murmured. "And then I will teach you how to walk them."
He straightened.
Arlena hugged him fiercely, arms locked around him like she could anchor him to the house itself.
"Don't forget where you come from," she said into his chest.
He rested his chin lightly atop her head.
"Never."
Gina hugged him next—fast, tight, angry.
"Don't die again," she muttered.
He chuckled softly. "I'll try."
Everos
The air crackled.
Blue-white lightning coiled behind Ashura as Everos materialized fully—armor gleaming, cloak humming with restrained storm, eyes sharp and knightly.
He dropped to one knee instantly.
"My lord."
Ashura turned to him.
"You guard this planet," Ashura said. "And those within this home."
Everos placed a fist to his chest.
"By my blade, by my storm, by the name you gave me—I will not fail."
Ashura's gaze sharpened slightly.
"If even a shadow reaches them—"
"It will not," Everos said, voice iron. "I stand watch."
Ashura nodded once.
Satisfied.
Then he vanished—
not in light, not in sound, but in absence, as if reality simply accepted that he was no longer there.
Ashura reappeared at the heart of the Palace of Twelve Shadows, the reshaped Throne Hall of Black Light.
The palace breathed.
Vast pillars formed from voidstone and luminous ether rose into a dome that reflected entire starfields. The floor was an endless mosaic of moving constellations—each step rippling through space and time. Twelve great gateways stood evenly spaced around the hall, each a living threshold to one of the dominions he ruled.
Balance.
Memory.
Dream.
Echo.
Time.
Ruin.
Dawn.
The Umbral Veil.
The Luminous Hollow.
The Abyssal Forge.
The Ecliptic Archive.
And—
The Garden of Silent Stars.
Ashura paused.
His expression changed.
Something was wrong.
Not danger.
Presumption.
He turned slowly toward the gateway of starlight and stillness.
The Garden trembled.
Ashura stepped through.
Silence greeted him—not empty silence, but reverent stillness. The Garden of Silent Stars was not a place of life, nor death, but remembrance.
A vast cosmic meadow stretched endlessly, its ground formed from translucent crystal dust that reflected starlight like fallen snow. Ancient trees made of condensed nebulae stood unmoving, their branches heavy with dim, unborn stars. Above, the sky was a canvas of slow-drifting galaxies, muted and hushed, as if sound itself feared to disturb them.
Here, stars came to rest.
Not to die—
but to be remembered.
Ashura felt it instantly.
A foreign structure.
A new universe.
Embedded like a scar in the Garden's fabric.
He narrowed his eyes.
"…A Primal."
Ashura didn't rush.
He walked.
Each step crossed light-years.
As he moved, his mind unraveled the truth.
Primals did not possess bodies. They were origins without flesh, concepts given will. They existed as spiritual absolutes—beings capable of birthing universes as easily as breathing.
But they were bound by one rule:
They did not trespass.
This one had.
A universe—young, vibrant, arrogant in its existence—had been created inside Ashura's domain, nested within the Garden of Silent Stars like a parasite wrapped in silk.
Ashura stopped at the edge of it.
Before him floated countless planets—blue, gold, violet, green—spinning around newborn suns. Life already bloomed.
Too fast.
Too bold.
Too daring.
"I rule this domain," Ashura said quietly.
His voice alone caused the stars to dim.
"And you did not ask."
The universe trembled.
Light folded inward, and from it emerged a figure—tall, humanoid in outline but entirely ethereal. His form was made of layered starlight and shifting symbols, his features suggested rather than defined.
He bowed.
Not deeply.
But sincerely.
"O Sovereign of Black Light," the Primal said, voice echoing like a chorus heard through water.
"Forgive my actions. I placed my creation within your domain without permission."
Ashura floated forward, hands behind his back, aura restrained but absolute.
His eyes were cold.
"Tell me your reason," Ashura said evenly.
The Garden listened.
"If it is not valid," Ashura continued,
"I will erase you, and ban your kind from my domain entirely."
The Primal straightened slowly.
And for the first time—
The stars held their breath.