The sky did not merely fall; it was systematically dismantled. For seven long years, the firmament above the mortal world bled a terrifying, radiant gold. The Gods—transcendental entities of pure light and indifferent cruelty—had finally descended from their celestial thrones. They did not come to rule, nor did they come to judge. They came to prune the garden of existence, and the Scarlet Eternal Tribe was the weed that had grown too tall, too strong, and far too close to the sun.
The Scarlet Eternal were no mere collection of ordinary humans; they were a civilization of warrior-sages who dared to decode the language of the universe. Their power was etched into their eyes—the deeper the shade of scarlet in their irises, the more profound their connection to primordial forces. But for the Primordial Gods, such progress was an insult—a stain upon the divine hierarchy.
The war was an age of endless nightmares. Mountains were pulverized into fine grey dust in a single strike, and oceans were boiled into steam. The Scarlet Eternal Tribe fought back with desperate ferocity, but for every god they managed to scar, ten thousand of their kin were erased from history.
By the dawn of the eighth year, the pride of the Scarlet Eternal lay in ruins. Fleeing the divine purge, the survivors—a mere fraction of the millions who once thrived—retreated to a place forbidden by ancient laws: The Veil of the Forbidden Basin.
Forty years had passed since the Great Retreat.
Within the emerald depths of the Basin, the tribe lived in a hidden sanctuary where jade-white pavilions were woven into the roots of the forest. The warriors of the Scarlet Eternal were giants, standing at a staggering 200 centimeters with bodies sculpted like walls of living iron.
Tonight, the basin was alive with the sound of a thousand drums at the foot of The Great Tree of Life. At the center of the ritual stood Aryanette.
Standing at 180 centimeters, she was shorter than the titans of her tribe, yet her presence commanded absolute silence. Her hair, as black as the void, flowed to her waist, and her eyes—a shade of Scarlet so deep it bordered on the abyssal—searched the shadows. In a tribe where a man must be stronger than the woman he claims, Aryanette remained a Maiden at forty. She was a mountain that no man could climb. Her power was an anomaly; no man in the tribe was her equal.
Suddenly, a shimmering sapphire light streaked across the sky. It was a crystalline blue, burning and slicing through the clouds before diving straight into the trunk of The Great Tree of Life with a soundless impact. Aryanette, who had looked on with a bored expression, felt curiosity explode within her. Breaking formation, she ran and leaped, stepping on the shoulders of the male warriors like a squirrel as she headed toward the base of the ancient tree.
"Oi, Aryanette, that hurts!" one warrior barked, but Aryanette continued to rush toward the tree, ignoring the priest whose face looked as if it were about to explode in anger.
Upon reaching the glowing roots, a sound like a shattering bell rang through the clearing. Aryanette grew more curious; she felt certain of what she saw yet was muddled by a dilemma, scratching the back of her head. Suddenly, a hairline fracture appeared on the massive Crystal embedded deep within the wood of the tree. From the crack, light began to pour out—a swirling hue of sapphire blue mixed with Absolute Darkness. In an instant, a terrifying energy surged out and shook the entire world. For a moment, nature turned stiff; the air compressed as if to burst lungs from within—a silence that was absolute, yet ear-shattering.
This was no ordinary birth. Within that crystal resided the Wrath of the Almighty, a formless entity of pure celestial fury separated from the Greatest Divine. It was a storm of raw power that had no shape, no name, and no mercy.
SHATTER!
The Crystal erupted. As the formless silver-dark flared, it felt the presence of the giants surrounding the tree. In a surge of divine coincidence, the entity mimicked the biology of the strongest lifeforms it detected. It condensed its infinite, terrifying essence into the fragile shell of a human infant. As the baby fell slowly, Aryanette dived forward, her arms outstretched. As the blinding Absolute Dark flared—a power so vast it threatened to consume the light—it suddenly submerged back into the infant's core, hiding deep within his soul.
Aryanette looked down, and her breath hitched. Cradled in her arms was a baby. He was perfectly formed, his skin shimmering with a faint, pearlescent light. When the child opened his eyes to meet hers, they were not sapphire, but a striking Scarlet Red, mirroring her own abyssal hue—a final mimicry of the woman who held him.
"A... a baby?" Aryanette breathed.
She gazed at the infant, and in that moment, the forty years of solitude ceased to exist. This child, born from the stars and the ancient tree, was the only thing in existence that felt right in her arms. But little did she know, she had not found a son; she had found the Calamity that would one day pull the Gods from their thrones.
"I have been waiting for you," she whispered, her scarlet eyes softening into a hue of protective fire. "My son."
The Bloodmoon above began to fade, replaced by a sapphire dawn. Aryanette stood amidst the ruins of their sacred monument, cradling the Wrath that slept within the frame of a human infant. The Wrath had descended to correct the order of nature that had been trampled by its arrogant servants.