The Jade Palace still reverberated with the echo of Kaelith's scream, Lyria dragging him through the corridors with a laugh that sliced like a fleeting bolt of lightning. I sank into the throne of jade and gold, my fingers digging into the carved vines, their cold pulsing against my skin as if this place breathed my torment. The white marble, streaked with turquoise, reflected the dance of celestial torches, and the air smelled of fresh jasmine, damp earth, and a metallic edge that promised blood. My daughters, the Deities, surrounded me: Seraphine, a river of forbidden promises; Elysia, a dawn that burned; Ashka, a living flame; Zahara, an obsidian beast; Nyxara, a lethal shadow; and Lyria, an icy lightning strike. But my eyes drifted to the void where Kaelith had fallen, his broken wings an echo of my bloodstained gospel.
"This isn't Edenfall," I whispered, my voice a gunshot in the gloom, sharpened by the weight of a world I'd shattered with these hands. My fingers trembled, pressing against my temples as my mind spun in a whirlwind of blood and shadows. I'd leapt in 2140, the icy wind roaring in my ears, Lira's locket tumbling into the abyss before me. I'd craved nothingness, the silence I was owed for Elias, for Viktor, for her. Yet here I was, in the Eternal Garden, with these deities calling me Father, their voices weaving a fate I hadn't asked for. Punishment? A fresh canvas for my madness? Fragments of Lira—her blood-red dress, her eyes pleading—crashed against this cold throne.
A silver flash cut the air like a silenced shot. I looked up, and there stood Veyra at the edge of the semicircle, her armor gleaming like a newly forged blade, her golden hair braided with an executioner's precision. Her ice-blue eyes pierced me, and her spear, etched with runes that sang of death, quivered with a fury that was both hers and mine. She was a war queen, a challenge the heavens couldn't break.
"Father," she said, her voice a blade slicing through the silence, laced with a devotion that burned like gunpowder. "What breaks you? That useless angel? Tell me, and I'll turn it to ash. No one touches what's ours."
I gazed at her, her fierce loyalty stirring an echo in my chest, a heartbeat that pulsed with blood and fire. The Collector—my shadow, my gospel—whispered from the cracks of my mind, dragging me back to a past that roared like a battlefield.
The sky above the Cloud Mountains was a torn canvas, gray and gold split by storms and the clash of celestial steel. Floating towers rose like fangs among the clouds, their silver banners lashed by a wind that howled death. The Valkyries, a legendary empire in Edenfall, had forged a bastion of adamantine and starfire, its walls defying dragons, shadows, and magical storms for centuries. But that day, thirty years ago in game time, the sky bled under the weight of my masterpiece: Veyra, my golden spear, my daughter of blood and obsession.
I moved among the winged corpses, my Veil of Nothing wrapping me like a living shadow. My gray robe danced in the wind, my unkempt hair falling over a face twisted by scars the world had spat out. I'd come for her, my jewel amid the ruin, my redemption in a world that had hunted me like a rat.
I'd found her months earlier, in a field soaked with blood and thunder. Her gray wings hung torn, her armor dented, a golem of stone and lightning cornering her. Her broken spear trembled in her hands, but her eyes—those ice-blue eyes—blazed with a fury that stole my breath. Where others saw defeat, I saw a queen, a war song the heavens didn't deserve.
My spectral dagger sliced the golem's legs, and it collapsed in a burst of sparks. The Veil faded, and I stepped before her, my voice a theatrical shot in the chaos.
"What a tragedy worthy of an eternal canvas!" I exclaimed, twirling my robe with a flourish. "A star like you, trapped in the muck of the blind. Don't you tire of shining for a world that can't see?"
She spun, her broken weapon raised, golden blood dripping from her wings. "Who are you, scavenger?" she growled, her voice a trembling yet lethal edge. "Here to loot my fall?"
I laughed, a dry sound that danced in the wind like an echo of my madness. "Scavenger? No, my broken jewel!" I took a step, extending a hand as if offering a waltz in the blood. "I'm the Collector, a poet of ugliness in a world that spits on my face. Look at these hands"—I raised them, showing the scars crisscrossing them—"twisted by fate, unworthy to touch you. And yet, here I am, blinded by your light. You're no soldier, Veyra. You're a queen the clouds fear."
Her eyes narrowed, her pride clashing with my fervor. "Why would I listen to a madman playing with words?" she snapped, but her weapon dipped for a moment, betrayed by curiosity.
"Because madmen see what the sane bury," I shot back, my crooked smile gleaming like a bloodied blade. "Your spear's broken, but your soul cuts the sky. Come with me, and I'll give you a throne that'll make the stars bleed. Not as a servant, but as a daughter. My daughter. My gospel."
"Empty words," she said, her voice an icy challenge. "What do you know of thrones? Of queens?"
"I know shadows," I replied, my tone dropping to a whisper that cut deeper than a shout. "I know being hunted, spat on, broken. I know finding beauty where others see ashes. And you, Veyra, are my living canvas. Let me paint you—not with chains, but with fire. What do you choose? To fall here, or rise with me?"
She hesitated, her breath ragged, then nodded—a gesture that hit my chest like a gunshot. I took her to the Eternal Garden, a sanctuary of floating islands and crystal I'd shaped with these scarred hands. I polished her with words, not whips, my voice a wildfire igniting her soul.
"Look, Veyra!" I'd shout, spinning around her as her spear sliced the air. "You're a living lightning bolt, my war symphony! Let the world tremble at your song!"
She'd laugh, her laughter sharp yet warm, her eyes gazing at me with a love that was ours, a devotion that burned like gunpowder. "You're a madman, Father," she said once, her spear gleaming under a false sky. "But you make me want to break the heavens for you."
"And you will," I replied, my smile a shot in the dark. "Because you're my queen, and I'm the poet who writes your fury."
One night, beneath a floating cliff, I told her my truth, my voice low but brimming with a drama I couldn't contain. "I was an outcast," I said, the wind whispering through the crystals. "A half-elf the elves called an abomination, hunted with torches screaming 'Heretic!' I survived in shadows, weaving my gospel with blood and scorn. But in my ugliness, I found a gift: seeing beauty the world tramples. And you, my golden spear, are my masterpiece."
Her eyes darkened, her spear striking the ground with a thunderclap. "They hunted you for being different?" she roared, her fury a gale that raised the hairs on my skin. "Give me an enemy, Father, and I'll cut them until the sky weeps their blood!"
I smiled, rising with a theatrical spin. "Oh, my queen of the clouds, what a sublime tragedy you'll be!" I exclaimed. "Not one enemy, but an empire. Your Cloud Mountains will be my canvas. Paint my gospel with their ruin."
"Let them kneel," she said, her voice an oath sealing our pact. "For you, Father, I'll make the world pay."
Thirty years later, the siege erupted like a cataclysm splitting the sky. From a floating island, I watched Veyra descend like a golden comet, her armor ringing with the wind's roar, her spear raised like incarnate lightning. The Cloud Mountains, a bastion of adamantine towers and celestial shields, stood as a challenge to the heavens, home to ten thousand Valkyries and winged generals. Skolva, the queen, commanded from the Dawn Tower, her black-and-gold armor gleaming like a living eclipse, her spear "Skybreaker" trembling with mountain-shattering power. Tyran, her father, led the eastern flank, his wings unfurled like a war banner, his sharp mind weaving death.
Veyra raised her spear, and the sky shattered. Her aura exploded like a thunderpulse, a roar shaking the towers and summoning her warrior spirits: silver-lit winged figures, their spears and swords slicing the air like living guillotines. The clouds swirled into a vortex, the sky darkening under her will.
"Mother! Father!" she screamed, her voice a cataclysm tearing echoes from the floating peaks. "They hunted my king like a rat! Today, the Mountains burn for their blindness!"
"Veyra!" Skolva roared from the Dawn Tower, her voice a rival thunder. "Return to your blood, or I'll cut you down like a traitor!"
"No blood binds me," Veyra shot back, her tone icy yet blazing, a gunshot wrapped in frost. "My king gave me a throne when you gave me only chains. Look at me now, and tremble!"
Her spear flashed, and a whirlwind of golden light fell like divine judgment. Towers exploded in cascades of adamantine, metal shrieking like a broken scream, as Valkyries were pierced by spectral spears, their golden blood arcing through the clouds under a crimson sky. The ground quaked, floating peaks cracking, the air thick with broken feathers and shrieks that cut like glass. The heat of battle seared the skin, the smell of ozone and metallic blood filling the lungs, each impact resonating in the bones like a war drum.
Skolva raised "Skybreaker," and a black-and-gold beam tore the sky, so fast the sound lagged—a roar that bled the ears and shook the jade beneath my feet miles away. The light sliced clouds like an obsidian blade, heat scorching feathers and flesh, the air crackling with a death-scented roar.
Veyra didn't dodge. She spun her spear, her spirits rising as a living wall, their silver forms absorbing the strike in a blinding burst. The clash unleashed a shockwave that split the sky, clouds torn like flesh, the wind howling with a wail that prickled the skin. Mother and daughter locked eyes—ice against night—in a silence heavier than thunder.
"Traitor!" Skolva roared, her black wings unfurling like a shadow mantle. "You abandoned your lineage for a monster!"
"I'm no traitor," Veyra replied, her voice a blade cutting the wind. "I'm my Father's spear, and you're the monsters who spat on him." With a twist, she unleashed a whirlwind of spirits crashing into enemy Valkyries, their weapons slicing flesh and bone with a precision that was poetry and slaughter. The air filled with golden blood, a living canvas painting the clouds red and gold, the metallic scent saturating every breath.
The battle erupted into tangible hell. Spears clashed with crashes like shattered bells, celestial steel screeching as it split, the wind howling with the whistle of severed wings. Veyra danced through the ruin, her spear spinning in brutal arcs that reaped lives with lethal grace. A Valkyrie flanked her, weapon flashing with light, but Veyra turned, her spear piercing the chest with a wet crunch, blood splashing her face like a liquid trophy. The heat of the blood burned against her skin, the weight of her spear vibrating in her hands with each strike, the ground trembling under her boots.
"Oh, what sublime waste!" I shouted from my island, my eccentric voice cutting the wind like a gunshot. "Cut, Veyra, cut until the sky kneels!"
"This is for you, Father!" she replied, her voice a roar splitting the air, her eyes blazing with a devotion that was fire and ice. "Watch them fall, the ones who denied you!"
Tyran cast a net of golden energy, chains hissing like living snakes, but Veyra raised her spear and roared, "For my Father, the king the shadows crowned!" Her voice was thunder shattering the trap into glittering shards, her spirits descending on his troops like a silver tide. Throats opened, wings tore, and adamantine towers crumbled in cascades of dust and fire painting the sky an apocalyptic red. Each impact thumped in the chest, the heat of flames licking the skin, the smell of burning flesh mingling with molten metal.
The climax came as Skolva and Tyran descended together, a titan front darkening the field. Skolva wielded "Skybreaker" like an enraged god, each thrust slicing the air in black waves that scorched skin and split floating rocks into burning rubble. Tyran flanked with golden chains dancing like living whips, his roar echoing a betrayed father's pain.
"Surrender, Veyra!" Tyran shouted, his spear trembling. "Don't die for a heretic crawling in the dark!"
"You're the heretic!" Veyra shot back, her spear glowing with a light that was mine, an echo of my dark gospel. "They hunted him like a rat, condemned him for his genius!" She charged, her weapon clashing with "Skybreaker" in an explosion that split a peak in two. The impact was cataclysmic: golden and black sparks lit the sky like a bloodied dawn, thunder rolling to the horizon, the ground shaking as if the world broke. The heat of the clash seared the lungs, the sound piercing the ears like a gunshot.
The duel was a visceral whirlwind. Skolva struck with thrusts that cut the air in black flames, each blow a roar vibrating the bones, the heat of her spear scorching feathers and flesh. Tyran spun his chains, trapping the wind in golden nets that hissed with fury, but Veyra danced between them, her spear blocking with a clang that bled the ears, countering with thrusts piercing armor like wet paper. Golden blood sprayed the air, a torn canvas smelling of metal and death, their screams blending with the wind's howl.
"Why, Veyra!" Skolva roared, her armor gashed, blood streaming down her chest like rivers of liquid gold. "We're your blood! What did that madman give you that we couldn't?"
Veyra halted her spear, her icy gaze cutting like a silenced shot. "My blood is the Collector," she said, her voice a whisper louder than thunder. "He saw me when you used me. He called me daughter when the world called me weapon." Her spear flared, spirits rising in a crescendo, merging into a colossal silver lance tearing the sky like an unleashed cataclysm. "This is for him!" she screamed, her voice a roar splitting the wind. "For the king you spat on!"
The lance pierced Skolva and Tyran in one strike, their bodies falling like broken comets, their shattered wings caught in the wind like feathers of a fallen god. The impact unleashed a wave shattering the remaining towers, adamantine melting into burning rivers, the sky roaring with thunder that echoed in the chest like a broken heart. The heat scorched the skin, the smell of blood and metal saturating the air, the ground quaking under debris.
Silence hit like a hammer, the battle's roar swallowed by a void weighing on the chest. The Cloud Mountains burned, towers collapsing in cascades of fire and dust, adamantine melting into rivers glowing under a bloodied sky. Veyra rose amid the ruin, her spear planted in the earth, golden blood dripping from her armor, her figure a beacon of victory and pain. "For you, Father," she whispered, her voice trembling with a love that cut deeper than any blade, her eyes seeking the horizon where I watched.
From my island, my laughter broke the silence, an eccentric echo dancing in the wind like a gunshot in the night. "Oh, Veyra, my golden queen!" I shouted, arms raised like a conductor at his final symphony. "What tragedy, what gospel! You're my mirror, my spear, my song in a world that only knows how to scream. Look how they fall, look how you shine. The sky is yours, and I'm your crowned shadow."
"And you're my light in the gloom!" she replied, her voice an echo cutting the air, her eyes blazing with a devotion that was fire and ice. "For you, Father, the world will know our name!"
In the Jade Palace, the memory faded like a gunshot losing its echo. I looked at Veyra, her spear ready, her ice-blue eyes locked on me with a devotion heavier than the jade beneath my fingers.
"This isn't Edenfall," I whispered, my voice trembling with the edge of a man who'd written his gospel in blood and shadows. "But you're real, more than any code that bled from my hands."
"Father," she said, stepping forward, her tone sharp yet warm, like a gunshot wrapped in velvet. "Tell me what to cut. The sect, the sky, anything. Speak, and I'll turn it to ash for you."
I smiled, a crooked curve that smelled of obsession and love. "Oh, my golden spear," I said, my voice low but brimming with a fervor I couldn't contain. "Cut what you will, but make the world tremble at the sight of you. You're my masterpiece, and I… I'm the collector who gave you a canvas."
"And I'm the queen who'll paint it with blood," she replied, her smile a blade gleaming like her spear. "Together, Father, we'll make the sky bend."
"Let it bend," I echoed, my laughter resounding through the hall like a final shot. "For this is our gospel, Veyra. And the world will sing it, even in its ruin."