High above the curve of the world where the atmosphere gave way to eternity, the stars gathered—close, curious, pulsing like the heartbeat of the cosmos itself. The void between constellations shimmered with golden light, thick and ancient, the kind that only appeared when something sacred stirred in the silence. And in the center of it all, poised upon a celestial platform spun from threads of pure starlight, stood Safrin.
She was radiant in a way she had not been in some time, her sorrow tucked behind the swell of something new. Her arms were bare, ink-dark and spangled with constellations, and the gown she wore pooled like nebulae around her feet, casting glimmers into the endless dark. There was no mourning in her tonight—only expectation. Only pride.
"Come," she called, her voice carrying across galaxies, echoing into silence and filling it with song. “"The world awaits."
From the shadows behind her, where the starlight had gathered into a radiant cocoon, the figure stepped forward. He was no infant, not here where time bent and bloomed at her command. He emerged fully-formed, broad-shouldered and strong, each movement echoing with the confidence of the heavens that had raised him.
Zenith.
His skin was sun-kissed bronze, his hair a wild tumble of dark strands that glinted faintly with silver as though dusted by the cosmos itself. And his presence? Massive. Centering. As though the stars bent a little closer just to bask in the gravity of him.
Safrin turned, and her smile—sharp and indulgent—softened at the sight of him.
"You are the balance," she murmured, stepping closer to place a hand on his chest. "Born of the sea, raised by the stars. You are who will raise the eyes of those who forget to look up at the stars."
With a flick of her hand, the cosmos parted to reveal the curve of Caido far, far below. Cities like pinpricks of flame. Storms curling over distant seas. The dark blot of Starfall.
"Go," she said softly. "They do not yet know what you are. But they will."
And the stars behind him flared in approval.
She was radiant in a way she had not been in some time, her sorrow tucked behind the swell of something new. Her arms were bare, ink-dark and spangled with constellations, and the gown she wore pooled like nebulae around her feet, casting glimmers into the endless dark. There was no mourning in her tonight—only expectation. Only pride.
"Come," she called, her voice carrying across galaxies, echoing into silence and filling it with song. “"The world awaits."
From the shadows behind her, where the starlight had gathered into a radiant cocoon, the figure stepped forward. He was no infant, not here where time bent and bloomed at her command. He emerged fully-formed, broad-shouldered and strong, each movement echoing with the confidence of the heavens that had raised him.
Zenith.
His skin was sun-kissed bronze, his hair a wild tumble of dark strands that glinted faintly with silver as though dusted by the cosmos itself. And his presence? Massive. Centering. As though the stars bent a little closer just to bask in the gravity of him.
Safrin turned, and her smile—sharp and indulgent—softened at the sight of him.
"You are the balance," she murmured, stepping closer to place a hand on his chest. "Born of the sea, raised by the stars. You are who will raise the eyes of those who forget to look up at the stars."
With a flick of her hand, the cosmos parted to reveal the curve of Caido far, far below. Cities like pinpricks of flame. Storms curling over distant seas. The dark blot of Starfall.
"Go," she said softly. "They do not yet know what you are. But they will."
And the stars behind him flared in approval.
