The Garden of Silent Stars did not move.
It listened.
Ashura hovered at the edge of the foreign universe, hands clasped behind his back, cloak of black light hanging weightlessly as if gravity itself dared not touch him. His presence pressed down on existence—not violently, not deliberately—but with the quiet inevitability of a truth that could not be argued with.
Before him, the Primal bowed again.
Not out of fear.
Out of understanding.
"O Sovereign of Black Light," the being said, its voice layered—one tone too many, like a chord held too long. "My name is Draguel."
Ashura said nothing.
Draguel straightened, his ethereal form rippling with starlight and sigils older than language. He did not resemble a god, nor a mortal, nor anything that had ever needed a body. He was a beginning given thought, an origin that remembered being alone.
"I did not come to your domain lightly," Draguel continued. "Nor did I come without weighing the cost."
Ashura's eyes flicked briefly to the embedded universe—its stars spinning too fast, its laws too eager.
"You know the law," Ashura said calmly. "Primals do not trespass. You create. You withdraw. You observe nothing beyond your own design."
"Yes," Draguel replied. "We are neutral. We always have been."
The Garden dimmed slightly, as if acknowledging the truth of it.
Primals were not benevolent.
They were not cruel.
They did not save.
They did not destroy for purpose.
They created, and then they let go.
Entire multiverses had lived and died without a single Primal ever intervening again. Mortals prayed to gods. Gods schemed. Outer Gods conquered. Ancient Ones slept.
Primals did none of that.
So for one of them to stand here—inside the dominion of the Eternal One—
It meant something had gone terribly wrong.
Ashura's gaze sharpened.
"Speak," he said.
Draguel hesitated.
That alone was alarming.
"There is a being," Draguel said slowly, "from the upper strata of existence. One who stands at Tier Zero, as you do."
Ashura's expression did not change.
But the Garden reacted.
A ripple passed through the silent stars.
"A peer," Ashura said.
"Yes," Draguel replied. "But not an equal."
Ashura finally turned fully toward him.
"Explain."
Draguel raised one luminous hand, and the space between them unfolded—not as an illusion, but as memory.
Ashura saw it.
A realm above conventional reality. Not the dominions. Not the Outer God realms. Something… cleaner. Sharper. A place where concepts were not enforced, but assumed.
And at its center—
A figure.
Not vast.
Not radiant.
Not monstrous.
Humanoid. Cloaked in eclipsed light—neither dark nor bright, but consuming both. A presence that bent causality simply by existing within it.
"The one you see," Draguel said, voice tightening, "calls himself Eclipse."
Ashura's eyes narrowed slightly.
"He is not of your kind," Ashura said.
"No," Draguel agreed. "He is not a Primal. He was not born of creation. He did not awaken into it as you did."
The vision shifted.
Ashura saw Eclipse standing before a circle of Primals—dozens of them, each a universe unto themselves, each capable of birthing infinity.
Eclipse raised a single hand.
And commanded.
Draguel's voice darkened.
"He found a way," Draguel said, "to bind us."
Ashura watched as the memory unfolded.
Not chains.
Not seals.
Something worse.
Eclipse spoke law.
Not the laws of reality.
But laws of origin.
He did not dominate the Primals by force. He did not threaten them with destruction.
He rewrote the relationship between creator and creation.
"He convinced the weaker among us," Draguel said bitterly, "that he was inevitable. That resistance was meaningless. That through him, we could achieve something greater."
Ashura saw Primals bending—not kneeling, but aligning. Their universes shifted. Their creations became… synchronized.
"What did he promise?" Ashura asked.
Draguel's voice was low.
"Ascension."
Ashura exhaled once.
A soundless thing—but the Garden shook.
"So," Ashura said quietly, "he believes he can become The Creator."
"Yes."
"Rule everything."
"Yes."
"And you," Ashura continued, eyes never leaving the vision, "do not intervene. You do not take sides. You do not enter domains that are not yours."
Draguel bowed his head.
"Until now."
Ashura turned.
The Garden of Silent Stars responded to his movement like a loyal court.
"You broke neutrality," Ashura said. "Not for mortals. Not for gods. Not even for your own creations."
Draguel met his gaze.
"We broke it," he said, "for existence itself."
Draguel lifted both hands, palms open.
"I did not come to you for shelter alone," he said. "I came because you are the only being who cannot be rewritten."
Ashura's eyes flickered.
"Explain that," he said.
Draguel nodded.
"You do not merely exist within the structure of creation. You govern its cycle. Death. Rebirth. Balance. Void and light. Even Primals—when our creations end—must pass through what you oversee."
The Garden brightened faintly, as if acknowledging its master.
"You are not bound to origin," Draguel continued. "You are bound to continuation. Eclipse cannot dominate you without unmaking the very process that allows existence to persist."
Ashura was silent for a long moment.
Then—
"You embedded your universe here," Ashura said, "to hide it."
"Yes."
"To keep Eclipse from sensing it."
"Yes."
"And you knew," Ashura added, "that if I discovered it, you might die."
Draguel inclined his head.
"I calculated the risk."
Ashura laughed softly.
Not humor.
Recognition.
The laughter faded.
Ashura's expression became cold—focused.
"You said Eclipse found a way to bind Primals," Ashura said. "Show me how."
Draguel hesitated again.
Then nodded.
The memory shifted once more.
Ashura saw Eclipse standing within a construct—something vast and abstract, like a throne made of equations and inevitability.
At its core was a concept Ashura recognized instantly.
Authority over Origin Alignment.
Eclipse had not seized power.
He had redefined the default state of creation.
"He forces synchronization," Ashura murmured. "Aligns Primals to a singular will."
"Yes," Draguel said. "Those who resist are isolated. Their universes collapse inward. Their identities fragment."
Ashura's eyes darkened.
"How many?" he asked.
Draguel's voice was quiet.
"Too many."
Ashura closed his eyes.
For the briefest moment, the Garden of Silent Stars felt something close to dread.
When he opened them again, the decision had already been made.
"Where is he?" Ashura asked.
Draguel straightened.
"Beyond the upper layers of the Outer God strata," he said. "Above the Ancient Ones' observational threshold. In a convergence realm he calls the Null Eclipse."
Ashura nodded once.
"And who follows him?"
Draguel hesitated.
"Some Primals. A few Zeros. And constructs made from failed creations—things that were never meant to persist."
Ashura's aura shifted.
Not violently.
Decisively.
"You understand," Ashura said, "what you've done by telling me this."
"Yes," Draguel replied. "I have chosen a side."
Ashura turned away, looking out over the Garden—over the silent stars that remembered everything.
"Then listen carefully," Ashura said.
Draguel did.
"If Eclipse seeks to rule Primals," Ashura continued, "then he has declared war on balance itself."
He turned back, eyes blazing softly with black light.
"And balance," Ashura said, "answers to me."
The Garden of Silent Stars pulsed—once.
A verdict.
"Draguel," Ashura said calmly, "your universe remains—for now. But it will be bound to my domain, not hidden within it."
Draguel bowed deeply.
"I accept."
Ashura's gaze lifted—beyond the Garden, beyond the Palace, beyond realms layered atop realms.
"Prepare yourself," Ashura said, voice low and absolute. "If Eclipse moves again—"
He paused.
"—I will not negotiate."
Far above, where even Primals feared to look—
Something stirred.