Before the world remembered Zeirion as Sovereign, before the stars learned to bow at his name, there was a war so great its scars outlived empires. It was a time known only in forbidden texts as the Siege of the Nine Thrones—a cataclysmic uprising where the rulers of the highest realms united… to end him.
Now, as fire clung to Zeirion's armor and Eclipsion pulsed with awakened force, memory returned—not as visions, but as reality echoing forward.
They had called him a tyrant.
A god-slayer.
A force that upset the balance.
And perhaps they had been right. But none of them had understood the cost he bore.
The Memory Gate Opens
Within the sanctuary of the Twilight Observatory, an ancient device constructed from pieces of fallen stars, Aralya opened a rift into the Chrono-Obelisk. It was a spire of still time, built to store the locked memories of Zeirion's conquests—too volatile to trust even to the mind of a sovereign.
He stepped forward. His presence alone caused the obelisk to fracture.
"Are you sure you want to remember it all?"
Aralya asked softly.
"I must," he said. "The past is not dead. It waits, buried, for weakness to bloom again."
The obelisk shattered, and they were inside the war once more.
The Burning of the Luminous Throne
A city of marble suns. Walls engraved with vows of light. Its king, Valtherion the Blessed, once wielded the Staff of Equinox and called himself Light Incarnate. He was the first to challenge Zeirion's rule.
They had offered him a choice: kneel, or burn.
Valtherion had laughed. His skies turned white with flame.
But he underestimated the man who had rewritten winter.
Zeirion had not replied with an army. He had come alone.
His shadow entered the palace before his feet did. Light dimmed in his wake.
Valtherion summoned the six Solar Archons to bind him. They cast chains woven from hymns and hope.
Zeirion shattered them with a whisper.
He raised Eclipsion, and the stars above the Luminous Throne fled.
When the sword fell, the throne ignited with unholy fire—and a new law was etched into the skies:
"Light shall not rule unchallenged."
The Shattering of the Frostbound Pact
In the North, the Ice Courts believed themselves untouchable. Protected by the eternal pact of the Three-Cold Lords, they wielded frost that could stop time itself.
Zeirion walked into their blizzard-nation alone, wrapped in nothing but silence.
He met them in the Temple of Still Breath, where time did not move.
There, he stopped their frozen hearts with one word:
"Shatter."
The Ice Courts fractured. Time began again. Their pact was undone.
Not by battle.
But by sheer presence.
In the Present
As the memories faded, Zeirion stood within the broken Obelisk. Aralya watched him closely. He did not weep. He did not sigh.
But his voice was lower when he spoke again.
"I ended nine thrones… and yet they rise anew."
"History repeats only when unhealed," Aralya whispered. "This time, you are not alone."
Their fingers met once more.
And then, from the far reaches of the Oblivion Crescent, a messenger arrived—half-dead, soul-stitched by desperation.
He knelt at Zeirion's feet and rasped, "The last surviving heir of the Luminous Throne has declared vengeance. They've raised the Scorchveil Banner. They're coming for you."
Zeirion turned his eyes skyward.
"So be it," he said. "Let the last ghost of light come."
Eclipsion pulsed, and the skies darkened—not with dread.
With expectation.