A decade had passed since the night the cosmos shattered in silence.
Far from celestial chaos, nestled within the lowest dimension, lay Serenthia—the heartland of the Realm of Mortality. Unlike the higher realms, where power dictated destiny and endless wars raged, Serenthia remained untouched, living in peaceful simplicity.
It was a realm the powerful overlooked, dismissing it as weak and insignificant. Yet, in that ignorance, Serenthia found something no magic or might could ever provide—peace.
Children laughed beneath golden sunlight. Farmers tilled their fields with quiet determination. Merchants bartered with friendly smiles, and families thrived without fear of war or conquest. This harmony was not granted by fate but earned—generation after generation—by one family.
At the heart of Serenthia stood the noble estate of the Valenhardt family. Unlike the ruling families of higher dimensions, the Valenhardts never led through power—but through trust. Their bloodline carried the title of Warden of Peace, ensuring that nobility never crushed the spirit of the common folk.
And at the head of this legacy stood Lord Caldris Valenhardt, the Patriarch of House Valenhardt and the current ruler of the First Dimension — the Realm of Mortality.
Caldris, now in his thirties, was not the kind of noble who lived behind walls of wealth. He walked among the people, clad in garments simple enough to make him approachable yet dignified. Children knew him by name. Shopkeepers greeted him with ease. When disputes arose, his mere presence was enough to settle them—not with force, but with reason.
Yet, even in peace, he never stopped watching the skies. He knew that nothing lasted forever, that the whispers of fate could one day stir the winds of change.
For now, though, Serenthia thrived. A world untouched by war. A realm rebuilt from broken time.
A place where the will to begin again… could bloom.
On a cheerful morning, sunlight filtered through the windows of the Valenhardt estate, bathing the halls in a warm, golden glow. Birds chirped sweet melodies, and the breeze danced softly through linen curtains.
Then, a loud cry echoed through the estate.
A single, piercing sound—fragile, yet full of life.
It was the cry of a newborn.
A maid burst into the hall, breathless with excitement. "The Lady has given birth! A healthy baby boy!"
The estate erupted into motion. Maids and workers hurried, some cheering, others rushing to spread the news. The cry of new life carried through the halls, filling every corner with warmth.
In the grand chamber of the east wing, Lady Evelyne Valenhardt, the noble consort of House Valenhardt and Matron of Harmony, rested peacefully. The trial of childbirth had left her exhausted, but in her arms lay a tiny, delicate life—her newborn son.
Lord Caldris Valenhardt entered, his steps urgent yet careful. His gaze softened the moment he saw the infant, swaddled in silk, nestled against Evelyne's warmth. As he drew closer, the baby opened his eyes for the first time.
A hush fell over the room.
Those who witnessed it would later whisper the same thing—those eyes were unlike any normal child's. Clear, deep, and piercing, as if they carried a soul far strongest than his fragile body suggested.
Caldris approached, his hands steady but his heart racing. He lifted his first child carefully, cradling the small form in his arms. The moment their skin touched, the baby—who had cried so loudly just moments ago—fell silent.
Warmth spread through Caldris' chest. It was unlike anything he had felt before.
He gazed into his child's eyes, and for the first time in years, he felt something more than duty, more than responsibility.
Something divine.
Evelyne, resting against her pillows, watched them with a soft, knowing smile. "My love," she murmured, reaching out to brush her fingers against the infant's tiny hand. "What shall we name him?"
Caldris looked down once more. There was something profound in those eyes—not just a color, not just light, but depth. A soul that had seen more than it should.
And then, a name surfaced—not from the stars, not from prophecy, but from the legends of his childhood. A name spoken in myths, carried through time as a symbol of strength, love… and sacrifice.
He smiled.
"A name… from the past," he murmured. "A name that once belonged to the greatest ruler to walk the cosmos. The name that only heard in legends only. "
He looked at Evelyne, then back at his son, whose tiny fingers curled slightly.
"My son shall be named Arinay," he declared, his voice firm yet reverent. "Arinay Valenhardt."
The name echoed through the chamber.
Evelyne whispered it softly, pressing a tender kiss to her child's forehead."My dear son, Arinay"
None of them knew that this child, named after legend, is none other than Arinay himself, who would one day surpass even the myths. That the fate written in stars would soon unravel—not as destiny foretold, but as his own will carved anew.
Yet, behind those calm, divine eyes, something stirred.
Arinay—the true Arinay—was awake.
(So… this is what it feels like… to be born again.)
His body was weak. His limbs, small and fragile. But his mind… his mind remained intact.
Memories surged through him—wars waged under bloodstained skies, the warmth of a lover's touch, the cruel sting of betrayal. The fall of Mytheria. The last cries of his queens. The shadowed figure standing above him as everything crumbled.
And the name that burned like fire in his soul.
Valtheria.
(Even after death… I was given another chance.)
His tiny fingers twitched, his breathing steady.
(A noble family…?) The irony wasn't lost on him. In his past life, he was born as a commoner, he had clawed his way up from nothing, built an empire with blood and sacrifice. Now, fate had thrown him into privilege.
But it didn't matter.
(Honor, nobility… these things won't bring me back to the top. I need power.)
His strength was gone. Scattered across time, locked away beyond his reach.
(But I will find it. I will recover every piece of what was stolen from me.)
And his queens—Elystraea's gentle warmth, Chronastra's teasing smirk, and cheerful memories with each wives, the vow of eternity they once swore—they were still out there.
(I will find them.)
But before anything else… before he could take back what was his…
He had to climb.
From this realm. From the lowest dimension. Step by step, higher and higher. Until he reached the Seventh once more.
Until he stood above them all again.
And when that day came…
(I will look you in the eyes, Valtheria.)
His newborn body was still, but his soul burned.
(And I will ask you… why?)
(Why did you do that to me?)
(And was it… truly your choice?)
Far beyond Serenthia, in a realm where the skies no longer shimmered with light, silence loomed.
Within the Eternal Castle, the throne room lay cloaked in silence. The once radiant halls had grown dim over the years, their golden sheen faded by time and sorrow.
At the heart of this silence stood Valtheria, dressed in her dark violet battle robes, a silver chain glinting faintly around her neck—upon it, a single crystal vial, holding shimmering drops of blood.
His blood. Arinay's blood.
"My lady," a hooded informant knelt before her, his voice low. "No signs yet… but we continue watching every dimension under your command. If their location appears, even in disguise, we will know. All the seven elites are going through every possible solution to track their location."
Valtheria didn't turn to face him. Her gaze remained fixed on the grand window to her right, where beyond the crystal glass, a once-vibrant garden swayed in the dusk winds.
"Keep watching," she murmured. "They're out there. I know it. The damned twin spirits—Elystraea and Chronastra. They are the only map to find and claim my love."
She dismissed the informant with a wave of her hand, and the man vanished into shadow. Silence returned.
Her fingers lightly brushed against the windowpane, and her thoughts drifted—to a different time, ten years ago, when everything shattered.
She remembered walking in that very garden—his garden—under the pink glow of Mytheria's twin moons. Arinay would stroll beside her, sometimes in silence, sometimes chuckling at her flirtatious remarks, his hand brushing hers when no one was watching.
And then… the night it all ended.
Ten Years Ago
Mytheria had trembled.
A sound—no, a cataclysm—had ripped through the skies, shaking the entire realm. Light had exploded in the heavens. A force no one could explain shattered the tranquility of the immortal city.
Word spread like wildfire.
The King was dead.
Mytheria, the shining Seventh Dimension, descended into chaos. People wept in the streets. Some wailed in disbelief. Others demanded answers. Before the sun rose the next day, a sea of people had gathered outside the Royal Palace.
Desperation surged through the crowd. Questions rose like thunder.
"Is it true?!"
"Where is His Majesty?!"
"What was that explosion?!"
"Is the King alive?!"
Then, from high above, a lone figure stepped onto the balcony—their beacon in grief.
Valtheria.
Clad in her formal commander attire, her sword sheathed at her side, her expression unreadable.
The crowd fell silent at her presence.
After a long pause, she spoke, her voice echoing like an oath through the silence.
"…The King is no more."
A stunned hush overtook the crowd. Time itself seemed to pause.
Valtheria's hands trembled slightly as she clutched the balcony rail. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears—but she continued.
"During the celebration… demons invaded our halls. Ancient foes, once thought destroyed, returned in vengeance. They captured our queens… slaughtered the guests… and threatened the survival of all Mytheria."
Her voice cracked, but she forced herself to stand tall.
"Our King… our savior… our god—he made the ultimate sacrifice. He unleashed all his remaining power. His mana heart… he detonated it to ensure the annihilation of every last enemy. And in his final act of love…"
She paused.
"…he teleported me away."
Gasps echoed from the crowd. Children sobbed. Elders fell to their knees in prayer.
"He sent me away… so I could live. So I could protect you."
Tears fell freely from her eyes now, streaking down her cheeks.
"But fear not—Mytheria will never fall. I will guard this realm, his throne, and his memory until someone worthy enough appears and defeats me in a fair duel to take his place. Until that day… I will not allow this kingdom to fade."
Someone cried out, "Then take the throne, Commander! Rule in his name!"
But Valtheria shook her head.
"No," she whispered. "Only the strongest can sit on that throne. And I am not him. I was never him."
Her voice hardened.
"I am the second strongest… and that is all I will ever be."
Another shout emerged from the crowd, this time tinged with hope.
"What of the King's children?!"
Valtheria looked upward, the glow of the moon catching the tears in her eyes.
"They are still in lower dimensions. Ascending even now with their all might. Across the dimensions. Growing stronger… preparing. The news about the King has been sent to them and I ask to speed their ascending of realm and reach Mytheria as fast as possible. One day, they will return to Mytheria. One day, the children of the King will reclaim their place."
Her words steadied the trembling hearts of the realm. Her lie became their truth.
Back to present—
Valtheria stood alone once more, overlooking the garden she no longer walked in.
The flowers still bloomed—but they seemed dull now. Faded memories of his laughter haunted the wind.
She raised the crystal vial in her hand, the blood inside pulsing faintly with forgotten power.
"My love…" she whispered, her voice almost breaking. "Till when… do you plan to make me wait like this?"
Her fingers curled around the vial as she closed her eyes.
"Return to me… even if it's to hate me. Even if it's to question everything. Just… come back."
And the silence of Mytheria answered only with the rustling leaves… as she whispered his name in her love and obsession in her eyes.
"Arinay."
To be continued....