The boy with the ball tossed it casually down a narrow chute embedded in the alley wall. Moments later, the illusion of brick and stone shimmered—then dissolved—revealing a hidden chamber beneath. Azriel stared in disbelief. He had expected secrecy, but this level of deception? It rattled him.
What truly unnerved him, though, was the question that followed: if this resistance had technology and concealment this advanced, why had they never struck back against Velmira? Were they too weak? Or was she simply too powerful? If warriors like Coren—trained, skilled, and armed—couldn't touch her, what hope did Azriel have? Could he even stand in the same arena?
As the hidden passage opened fully, Coren stepped in and spoke with casual clarity.
"I can tell what you're thinking. Long story short—this chamber was built by our Artificer. He's a mage who binds machinery and magic together. Everything you see here is thanks to him."
They descended deeper into the chamber. Dust danced through the stale air, and arcane hieroglyphs covered the cracked walls. In the center of the room stood a pedestal, and upon it—hovering with an unnatural stillness—glowed a bright yellow orb, pulsing faintly like a heart at rest.
Coren turned to Azriel, eyes serious now.
"Touch it."
Azriel hesitated. "What is it?"
Coren's voice dropped into something heavier, more reverent. "It's the seed that started all this. The truth that the so-called 'Graces' buried. The resistance was born because of what it revealed."
Azriel stepped forward. He wanted to question more, but… the orb. It pulled at something inside him. A thread tied not to logic, but to instinct. It felt like it belonged to him—or that he belonged to it.
He reached out. The moment his fingers grazed the surface, the room vanished.
Darkness swallowed everything. His vision blurred, degraded, and then—
Nothing.
Just the echo of his own heartbeat—and something ancient waiting beyond it.
Azriel gasped as consciousness returned—but not to the world he knew.
He lay still, breath shallow, on a translucent platform suspended in an endless cosmos. Above him, stars shimmered like diamonds scattered across obsidian. The silence was total—vast, reverent. The void stretched infinitely in every direction, yet it didn't feel cold or empty. It felt… sacred.
Then came the voice.
Soft. Ancient. A woman's voice. It didn't echo—no, it resonated. As if it were spoken from inside his soul.
"You've come far, Azriel. Far enough to see the truth they tried to erase."
He sat up, slowly, unsure if his body was real here. Across from him, glowing figures appeared—three celestial forms suspended above the stars. One radiated golden warmth, its presence strong and bold like the rising sun. Another shimmered in gentle silver, quiet and observant, like the moon. And between them, one form flickered like a burning heart—fragile yet powerful—wrapped in swirling blue and copper mist.
"The sun. The moon. And Signo," the voice continued. "Triplets born of the same breath. Three celestial spirits made to dance through time and space. But Signo… was captured."
The mist swirled violently around the central figure, as if choking it. Chains made of pure magic wrapped tightly around her essence.
"The Graces found her. She was young—naïve. And they saw what she could become. So they bound her with magic stolen from other worlds. Magic that doesn't belong. Magic that silences her cries."
Azriel clenched his fists, his chest heavy. Everything he had been told—the tales of the Seven Graces being saviors, protectors from the invading Vanderes—were lies?
"The Vanderes," the voice whispered, "are not conquerors. They are kin. Worlds like Signo, like the sun and moon, who saw their sister's light dim. They came not to conquer… but to bring her back."
The image changed. Flames consumed libraries. Statues of the Graces stood tall while resistance banners burned below them. The truth had been erased, rewritten, reshaped.
Azriel turned, and suddenly Coren stood beside him in the starlit void—his form translucent, like a memory echoing through time.
Azriel looked up at the bound spirit of Signo—flickering, struggling—his jaw set.
The enemy wasn't the Vanderes.
It never was.
It was the false gods. The puppeteers. The self-proclaimed Graces who dared to enslave a world.
And Azriel… was now her voice.
Her will.
Her vengeance.
Azriel jolted awake, the image of the stars still lingering in his eyes. Corren stood nearby, watching intently.
"Did you see it? Did you see the Sealed Beast?"
Azriel blinked. Sealed Beast? That wasn't what he saw.
"Ugh— I'm not even reading your mind, but something cut off our connection again…" Corren rubbed his temple, frustrated.
He was definitely trying to read his thoughts. Azriel's heart raced. I didn't see any beast... I saw the Vanderes. The Sun. The Moon... What was that?
"I have a pretty bad memory. Mind explaining it again?" Azriel said, feigning ignorance.
Corren sighed, arms crossed. "Bad memory, huh? Fine. Long story short, the 'Sealed Beasts' were the original authorities—ten of them. But the Graces stole everything from them. Took their power, their thrones—yada yada yada."
Azriel half-nodded, his mind drifting. None of that matched what I saw. There were no beasts—only truth. Only the triplets and the Vanderes... So what is Corren really seeing?
"Were you even listening?!"
"Y-Yeah! I remember now. Thanks," Azriel said quickly, forcing a grateful smile.
Corren smirked, seemingly satisfied. "Bring your friends here tomorrow. You know the way now, right? Just knock on the chute or toss something down, and we'll open it. There's more to this chamber—and tomorrow, I want you to meet the last of the resistance."
Azriel nodded and bid Corren farewell. In an instant, he was teleported back to the surface, proof of the resistance's bizarre yet advanced capabilities. But one thought gnawed at him:
If the Vanderes are planets... does that mean they could destroy the Graces? Or worse—what are the Graces if they use magic from beyond Signo?
That night, he regrouped with Lysara and Gio. They ate together at a quiet spot, and once back at the inn, Lysara summoned a wind barrier to muffle their voices from outside listeners.
Azriel took a deep breath, then leaned forward.
"You're not going to believe what I found."
They both nodded, leaning in as Azriel began to speak.
"I found remnants of the resistance," he said quietly. "They've built a hidden chamber—and they're guarding an orb. Corren called it the key to understanding the truth about the 'Sealed Beast.'"
Azriel paused, his eyes narrowing as he recalled the vivid imagery. "But… I didn't see any beast."
Gio frowned. "What do you mean?"
"When I touched the orb, I saw something else entirely—the Sun, the Moon… and Signo. Triplets. Living beings. And I saw the Vanderes… not as monsters, but as something ancient. Something connected. Like they were here to save her."
Lysara's expression grew serious. "And Corren? He didn't see the same thing?"
Azriel shook his head. "He kept calling them beasts. Claimed the Graces stole their power, imprisoned them—but I think he's missing the bigger picture. Either he's wrong, or someone altered what he sees."
Gio leaned back, arms crossed. "So what you're saying is... the Graces didn't just steal from these so-called beasts. They're holding Signo herself hostage?"
Azriel nodded slowly. "It felt that way. The orb didn't lie. It showed me her—chained by magic not from here. The Graces are using her to expand their reach to other worlds. The Vanderes, those planetary forms, they're coming not to invade—"
"But to take her back," Lysara finished, the pieces falling into place.
A long silence settled between them. The wind barrier whirred softly, a bubble of peace in a continent that had none.
"Tomorrow," Azriel said, standing up, "you'll see it too. I'm bringing you both to the chamber. You need to see what I saw... or at least what they think is real."
Lysara and Gio stood up with him, nodding.
"Then let's see how deep this rabbit hole goes," Gio muttered.
"And if the triplets chose you, Azriel…" Lysara added, "Then maybe it's time we start acting like it."
Outside, the moon cast a pale glow through the stained glass of the inn's cracked window. The truth was surfacing—and Signo's heartbeat, long buried beneath gears and magic, was beginning to stir.