Towers of transparacrete stood like crystalline shards, their gleaming surfaces reflecting the ever-present light. Patches of meticulously maintained vegetation wove between them, offering a natural counterpoint to the sleek, transparent cityscape. High above, an intricate network of elevated transparacrete structures stretched across the skyline, shielding the popuce from the elements while doubling as nding ptforms for air and spacefaring craft.

  If it had them, the city’s very bones would absorb and embrace the light, much like its people did—glowing softly when the sun inevitably set. No Empyrean would ever be left in darkness.

  The construction of these transparent buildings was both artistic and practical. Opaque enough to ensure privacy, yet translucent enough that a focused observer could still make out the movements within. Light was always permitted its way. To block it completely, to shun its warmth, was to deny one’s very nature. To deny Empyr itself.

  A ship had nded on one of the high ptforms, its hull undeniably Empyrean in design, yet its presence felt wrong.

  A door on its sleek exterior slid open, but instead of the expected golden radiance rushing forth to greet the city's newest arrivals, inky nothingness bled out from the entrance, devouring the light around it.

  Empyreans on the ptform, their curiosity piqued, watched.

  From the void within the vessel, a man stepped forward.

  As he passed into the light, the onlookers gasped.

  He was Empyrean—there was no doubt about that. His features bore the hallmarks of their people. But his skin was dusky, unnaturally darkened. His wings—bck as the void itself. And there was an aura to him, something subtly off-kilter. A presence that felt at once familiar and utterly foreign.

  The strange visitor inhaled deeply, his smile warm, almost reverent.

  “It’s wonderful to be home,” he murmured, his voice carrying across the ptform.

  The gathered Empyreans exchanged gnces. No one recognized him. And yet, not a single one assumed he was lying.

  Two glowing figures stepped forward—members of the city’s watch, their long tunics shimmering in the light as they moved to intercept the visitor. They were cautious, but not hostile. A stranger returning home was rare, but not unheard of.

  Then, three more silhouettes emerged from the ship behind the first.

  And they were like him.

  Ebony wings. Darkened skin. But not their eyes.

  Their eyes were different.

  There was something wrong behind their gazes—a barely-contained mania, an energy teetering on the edge of control.

  The first man, the apparent leader, stepped forward confidently, extending his hand toward one of the greeters.

  “It’s been a long time, Tu’n.”

  Tu’n hesitated. The name was correct—his name—but the man before him was a stranger. He should have recognized him. Should have known. But he did not.

  And yet, the warmth in the man's voice unsettled him.

  Still, Tu’n took his hand, offering a dubious smile.

  The dark-winged man’s smile did not waver.

  “We have much to share with the Dallin.”

  Tu’n’s smile faltered. His gaze shifted.

  Something felt wrong.

  “Please, escort us to him.”

  Behind him, the three others moved in sync, fnking him like silent sentinels. The ship’s portal sealed behind them, as though swallowing up any possibility of retreat.

  Tu’n swallowed, his expression clouded. “Please forgive me, my friend… but I don’t know who—”

  “Don’t be concerned, Lan.” The dark-winged man cpped a hand on his shoulder. The gesture was familiar. Too familiar.

  “It’s me.” A pause. A knowing smile.

  “But we’ll reintroduce ourselves after the audience. Everyone will learn in time.”

  He took a step closer, lowering his voice.

  “Please keep something in mind, my friend.” His tone was soothing, almost hypnotic.

  “That which we’ve yearned for… has been found. True change for the better. The stagnation of our race has ended.”

  Tu’n’s breath hitched.

  His skepticism deepened, but so did his intrigue.

  This man, this visitor— he was wrong, and yet… something in his words struck at the core of him.

  Tu’n, like so many others, had longed for change.

  And that, more than anything, made him afraid.

  Sa’telle raced ahead into the park, her gleeful ughter echoing between the towering crystal pilrs that fnked the entrance. These radiant monoliths absorbed the sun’s energy during the day, storing it so they could shine like artificial stars throughout the night. Everywhere they stood, their glow ensured that no pnt, no path, no living thing in Ga’ldaigm Park would ever be deprived of light.

  The golden leaves crunched softly beneath her feet as she sprinted forward, far ahead of Sa’nal. The moment she rounded a bend, she encountered the park’s first inhabitant.

  A Dah’nasir.

  The creature was a vision of noble grace. Its thick, luxurious coat of white fur was softer than a baby’s cheek, pristine and glistening in the ever-present light. Only the sight of its long, fluid tentacles might have unsettled a visitor unfamiliar with its kind—but to Sa’telle, they were nothing short of miraculous.

  The creature coiled its sinewy appendages and unched itself at her in a blur of motion. Before she could react, the tentacles wrapped around her waist, hoisting her high into the air. She gasped in delighted surprise, her wings instinctively snapping open to steady herself. But just as she was about to descend, the creature’s tentacles gathered her effortlessly, gracefully, and nestled her securely onto its broad, muscur back.

  A whiskered snout turned toward her, trembling in anticipation. Then, with a gentle press of its proboscis against her cheek, it bestowed a Dah’nasir-style kiss—a warm, inquisitive nuzzle, curious and affectionate.

  Sa’telle giggled, throwing her arms around its upper spinal ridge where its powerful shoulders connected with its head.

  “Who’d you kiss with that nose of yours st?” she teased, her fingers sinking into its impossibly soft fur.

  The Dah’nasir’s whiskers twitched knowingly, as if to say, You already know the answer. But more importantly—its rge, intelligent eyes shimmered with a clear and simple question: Did you bring me a treat?

  Sa’telle ughed even as the creature coiled its body into motion, breaking into its unique galloping-slither, a seamless glide that barely disturbed the forest floor.

  “Sa’telle!”

  Sa’nal’s voice rang from above.

  Sa’telle looked up, eyes wide as she watched her mother descend in a dazzling spiral, her powerful wings slicing through the air effortlessly. Sa’nal maneuvered between trees with breathtaking ease, a dance of aerial mastery that left Sa’telle momentarily speechless.

  For a flicker of a moment, she hesitated.

  Could she ever truly match that kind of grace?

  The Dah’nasir leapt suddenly, its body gliding frictionlessly over a fallen log. In its wake, a luminous trail shimmered for a heartbeat before dissolving into the earth—nourishing the flora as it went.

  These creatures weren’t just the guardians of the wild. They were its gardeners, its caretakers. The lifeblood of the forests across Empyr.

  Sa’nal’s voice cut through the moment.

  “One moment, my fuzzy friend!”

  Sa’nal twisted in midair, extending her wings in a powerful, arresting motion just as they reached a clearing with a pyground. The Dah’nasir skidded to a halt without resistance—but it was not abrupt. It was elegance, a moment of serenity.

  And all the while, its tentacles remained steady around Sa’telle’s waist, ensuring her descent was as smooth as silk.

  Sa’nal nded beside them, ughing as the great creature rumbled with pleasure, sensing something delightfully sweet in her possession.

  Sa’nal ran her fingers up the creature’s proboscis, brushing along the whisker-lined ridges and over the tuft of soft fur crowning its head.

  “Your nose is true,” she murmured warmly, a teasing glint in her eye.

  She reached into the satchel at her waist, retrieving a sugar-den treat.

  The Dah’nasir rumbled deeply, its tentacles wrapping delicately around her hand as it accepted its reward. It gulped it down swiftly, tucking the treasured morsel away into the secondary throat where its taste buds would experience bliss for the next fifteen minutes.

  Sa’telle grinned, sliding off its back and bounding toward the pyground.

  “What do you say to our friend, Sa’telle?” Sa’nal called after her.

  Sa’telle froze mid-step, flushing.

  She pivoted sharply and gave a proper bow, her wings fluttering.

  “Thank you,” she said, her voice small, but sincere.

  The Dah’nasir shuddered with joy, its vibrations resonating across the clearing. With a final, delighted rumble, it turned and bounded away, its presence lingering only in the soft, fading hum that reverberated through the air long after it had vanished from sight.

  No sooner had it departed than smaller critters peeked from the underbrush.

  Two furry, eight-legged creatures scurried forward, their long tufted tails swaying rhythmically. Their rge, shimmering eyes peered up with open curiosity, their tiny paws pattering against the ground as they rubbed affectionately against the newcomers.

  “You almost made it to the pyground,” Sa’nal teased. “Hurry before—”

  One of the Chi’tara scampered straight up Sa’telle’s leg, its cws expertly navigating the fabric of her clothes. In mere seconds, it perched atop her shoulder, purring.

  Sa’telle beamed, nuzzling against it.

  “It’s fine, Mother! This is my favorite part!” she giggled, scratching behind its fuzzy ears.

  Sa’nal rolled her eyes fondly, reaching once more into her pouch. Smaller treats this time, perfectly sized for the Chi’tara.

  “I don’t think you’ll ever fall out of love with this park, will you?” she asked, tossing the treats gently toward the eager, chittering creatures.

  Sa’telle held up her tiny rocket ship toy, her eyes sparkling.

  “I think we broke the sound barrier today! Mission almost complete! But um…”

  Her gaze slipped toward the pyground.

  “Ummm… now I have to test its um… you know…” She twisted the toy sharply, mimicking the motions of a starfighter in flight.

  Sa’nal smirked.

  “Oh… maneuvering,” she supplied knowingly.

  “Yush!” Sa’telle nodded enthusiastically.

  Sa’nal ughed softly, watching her daughter’s excitement.

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way, little one,” she murmured. “Go have fun on the pyset. I’ll soak in some sunlight.”

  She tilted her head back, closing her eyes as she basked in the golden glow above.

  And then—

  A shadow.

  An unfamiliar darkness on the horizon.

  Sa’nal’s brows furrowed.

  It was subtle, but… in the direction of their home… something was wrong.

  She didn’t move.

  Not yet.

  For now, she simply watched.

  Tu’n bowed deeply, his wings folding tight against his back in a show of deference. Beads of sweat formed at his temples, though he willed himself to maintain composure. The Grand Hall of Illumination was not a pce for nervous gestures, but Tu’n’s pulse thrummed as if it might betray him.

  "My liege," he began, his voice steady but edged with apprehension. "I apologize for the interruption, but a malcontent has returned from his journey. He brings news."

  The Dallin, ruler of Empyr, remained seated upon his translucent throne, the very seat of his authority reflecting the ever-present glow of their world. He exuded an air of unshakable serenity—until his eyes, cold and piercing, flickered with irritation. His lips pursed, and his wings subtly shifted, a nearly imperceptible movement, but Tu’n noticed it.

  "A malcontent, you say?" The Dallin’s voice was smooth, but there was steel beneath it. "Why bring him here? Is there a security emergency? You should have called the Peace Forces before disturbing me with this rabble."

  Tu’n swallowed. "I understand, my liege… Uhm… he immediately requested an audience, ciming that the news he carries is of the utmost importance. He says he has discovered something far from Empyr—something that should concern us all."

  The Dallin’s brow arched, his expression caught between skepticism and disinterest. He turned away with a dismissive gesture, rolling his eyes in an almost leisurely boredom.

  "Concern us? In what way?" He sighed, running a hand through the ethereal strands of his silver hair. "No matter what small discovery he may have made out there, it can’t possibly matter. This petition is rejected. Send him off with provisions and be done with it."

  Tu’n hesitated. His fingers twitched as he clenched his hands into fists, the movement small but telling. The air around him felt oppressively bright, the very light of their hallowed halls now seeming to bear down on him.

  He licked his dry lips.

  "My liege…" His voice faltered. "He will not be dismissed."

  The words nded like a stone in a still pond. The chamber seemed to grow quieter.

  The Dallin’s gaze snapped back to Tu’n, a shadow of irritation passing over his otherwise immacute expression.

  Tu’n took a slow, measured breath, forcing himself to hold firm despite the weight of the ruler’s scrutiny. "I… I told him you would refuse him an audience," he admitted, his wings tightening further against his back, "but… he convinced me."

  He didn't need to say more.

  The Dallin’s eyes narrowed further, an unreadable glint in them now. His fingers drummed once against the crystalline surface of his desk before he turned sharply on his heel.

  "I understand your situation, Tu’n," the Dallin said smoothly. Too smoothly. "You need not say anything further."

  Then, with an almost serpentine grace, he walked back to his gilded comm-desk. His fingers brushed the smooth surface, activating a communication panel that only he had access to. He lifted the handpiece—a device encrypted for secure transmissions—and brought it to his lips.

  A secretive smile pyed at the corners of his mouth as he prepared to speak.

  Something in the air shifted.

  Tu’n stilled, his every instinct warning him.

  The Dallin was not dismissing this as lightly as he pretended.

  As the golden glow of Empyr's twin suns dipped beyond the towering transparacrete spires, darkness gradually crept over the world—not true darkness, but the gentle dimming of the pnet’s ever-present radiance. The luminescent veins woven into the pathways of Ga’ldaigm Park pulsed with a soft, natural light, ensuring that no Empyrean ever truly stood in shadow.

  Sa’nal carried her exhausted little one in her arms, her stride unhurried, each step deliberate and graceful. Sa’telle, once so full of boundless energy, was now nestled close against her chest, her tiny fingers curled into the soft folds of her mother’s tunic. Her small, dove-like wings, still not fully developed, rested lightly against her back, their feathery down shifting with each steady breath.

  Sa’nal smiled, warmth filling her heart at the sight of her daughter so at peace.

  "It was fun…" Sa’telle murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, drowsy but content. "I had a great day."

  Her happiness was quiet, but no less vibrant than that of the joyful Dah’nasir they had met earlier. Even now, Sa’nal imagined the creature’s rumbling purr still lingering in the air.

  "Yes." Sa’nal’s voice was soft, threaded with nostalgia, as she gently stroked her child’s silken hair, letting her fingertips glide through the sun-kissed strands. "It was wonderful, little one."

  She gazed into Sa’telle’s half-lidded, dreamy eyes and saw something familiar.

  The past.

  The old days.

  A memory, distant yet vivid, flickered in her mind—of when she had once been the one cradled in loving arms, when her own mother had held her just like this, murmuring the same words of comfort after long, joy-filled days.

  How quickly time passed.

  Sa’nal’s smile faltered just slightly, a whisper of unease gnawing at the edges of her thoughts. She tilted her gaze upward, looking toward the distant skyline where the towering structures of Empyr shimmered faintly in the evening glow.

  Something still felt… off.

  The dark stain on the horizon, which she had glimpsed earlier that day, hadn’t left her mind.

  Tu’n let out a burst of sudden, uncontrolble ughter. It was wild, unhinged—so unlike him that it sent a cold ripple through the chamber. His shoulders trembled, his breath came in erratic gasps, and he clutched his arms around himself as though fighting off a chill only he could feel. His eyes gleamed with something unnatural.

  “Do you?” he rasped between breathless chuckles. “Do you really? I doubt that you have any idea.”

  The Dallin’s eyes narrowed as he straightened in his seat. Something was very wrong. Tu’n’s expression was stretched, contorted by something unseen, and his tongue flicked out over dry lips, as though he had not tasted water in days. His posture sagged, then twitched as though he was suppressing convulsions.

  “What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

  The ruler barely had time to reach for the silent summoning beacon at his side, prepared to call the Peace Forces, when Tu’n threw his head back and howled— a sound too raw, too wrong to belong to any Empyrean. His voice, once measured and respectful, now carried a tone that did not know its pce.

  The Dallin flinched despite himself. If he was sick, this could be excused. If he was tainted… this was something else entirely.

  “I am, my liege.” Tu’n croaked, his ughter breaking into a cough—a sick, rasping sound. His body convulsed, his wings twitching as if they no longer belonged to him.

  No.

  The Dallin clenched his fist. This was wrong. All of it.

  He opened his mind to the beacon, preparing to call for aid—

  And then, everything died.

  The lights. The ambient hum of sor resonance that filled the chamber. Every device, every powered circuit, every whisper of technology that had functioned fwlessly for centuries cut out in an instant. The city’s transparacrete glowed faintly beyond the walls, reflecting the st light of the setting sun, but inside, inside—there was nothing.

  Not dimness. Not shadow. Just… nothing.

  The only sound was the faint fizz and pop of overloading circuits. Then, the slow, creeping hush as the glow of the room’s sor-charged walls faded into absolute bck.

  The Dallin had never experienced true darkness in his entire life.

  A raw, primal understanding sank into his bones, and he didn’t hesitate. He called forth his birthright. Sor energy surged through his being, crackling as he pushed his aura to its highest limit, a radiant shield against the creeping void. He had expected resistance—but the darkness did not shrink back.

  It ate at him.

  He turned his palm outward, firing a beam toward where Tu’n had stood. Light carved through the bck.

  A voice hissed in pain.

  For an instant, the Dallin caught a glimpse of him—Tu’n, his form warped and twisted, wings now drenched in abyssal bck. Then, the dark closed in again, tightening like a vice.

  And then, the ughter.

  It started as a murmur, a breath, curling around him like mist. Then, it rose.

  “Are you afraid of the dark, my Dallin?” The voice was silk and menace intertwined.

  The Dallin gritted his teeth. “Of course not. Darkness pervades space… but Light breaks and shatters it.”

  A chuckle, indulgent. Mocking.

  “So na?ve,” the voice mused. It came from nowhere and everywhere. “You will understand soon enough. Your catechisms, your beliefs—they are relics of a dying world.”

  The darkness pulsed, alive, seeping into the chamber like tendrils.

  “Darkness is everything. It is the true state of existence. Before Light, there was Darkness. And when Light fades, when the stars die, when all living things reach the end of their time…”

  The whisper grew deeper, heavier. A weight. A truth.

  “Only Darkness will remain.”

  The Dallin did not give it time to finish. He turned and fired everything he had toward the voice.

  A deep, resonant ugh followed, unfazed.

  “Oh my… so powerful. The blood of the Dallin is indeed the mightiest. And yet…”

  A figure emerged from the bck.

  Tu’n.

  But not Tu’n.

  His eyes gleamed—not golden, not bright, but bloodshot and fevered. His expression twisted in euphoric madness. He stepped forward, unfazed by the assault, and bowed low, spreading his arms wide as though in devotion.

  “My liege,” he cooed, his voice thick with ughter. “You’re so small.”

  The Dallin recoiled. His pulse hammered against his ribs.

  Tu’n grinned wider. “Just a speck. A flickering light. That’s all you are. That’s all you’ve ever been.”

  The Dallin’s temper snapped.

  Light exploded from him in a surge unlike any he had ever unleashed. The full power of a Dallin—an Empyrean ruler—unrestrained.

  Tu’n screamed. The bst struck him square in the chest, flinging him across the chamber to crash against the far wall.

  For a moment, there was silence.

  Then—

  “Well done, my Dallin.”

  The voice was amused. Pleased.

  The darkness peeled away just enough to reveal another figure stepping forward.

  The Dallin’s breath caught in his throat. He knew this face.

  Ta’Khar.

  The leader of the malcontents. The one who had abandoned Empyr, who had vanished in search of greater things.

  And yet, here he was.

  The Dallin’s lips parted, but no words came.

  Ta’Khar smiled. His presence was overwhelming, an aura of command woven with something else. Something alien.

  “You struck down your man without hesitation,” Ta’Khar mused, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “You are indeed fit to bear the power I’ve brought to Empyr. Eternal youth. Supreme power. Control over space itself. We now ascend and become gods.”

  “Wh-what?” The Dallin whispered, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

  Ta’Khar’s eyes glowed softly —not with Empyrean light, but something deeper. Darker.

  “It’s simple, my liege,” Ta’Khar purred. His voice coiled around the silence.

  "You need only extend your arm. Wish for it. It is within your grasp."

  He stepped forward, spreading his hands.

  “Reach out, as Tu’n has before you.”

  His smile widened.

  “And a new age for Empyr begins.”