Olyndros did not orbit any sun.
It drifted in absolute stillness, surrounded by broken comets and the spectral remnants of devoured realities. Its silence was so complete, so intentional, it felt like a scream paused mid-breath.
Zeirion's vessel The Veilpiercer broke through the edges of known space with barely a whisper. Forged from the fused bones of astral leviathans and the memory of light, the ship could pass between timelines without ripple. But even it shuddered as they neared Olyndros.
Aralya stood beside him, her fingers dancing over sigils of navigation. "Reality here… it recoils from itself."
Zeirion studied the horizon. "Because what sleeps here is not part of the tapestry. It was never meant to be."
A slow pulse rippled through the void. Not energy awareness.
And then… they were seen.
Within the Mind of the Sleeper
It dreamed.
It remembered a time before time, when it was the only will. Before the stars. Before the Spiral. Before consequence. It had not known fear only curiosity. But then came the spark, and with it, rules.
The Spiral had shackled It.
But now…
The shackle was broken.
And It began to wake.
Not with rage.
But wonder.
A Sovereign walked toward It. The one who tore down gods to build peace. The one who unbound the first prison. The man who felt.
A ripple of unfamiliar thought passed through the Sleeper.
It felt… recognition.
On the Surface of Olyndros
The Veilpiercer landed upon jagged stone. No wind. No stars. Only the endless hum of dormant divinity beneath their feet.
Zeirion and Aralya descended the ramp. Each step echoed like thunder in a cathedral.
"I sealed this place after the Collapse of the First Flame," Zeirion murmured. "It shouldn't still exist."
A shape loomed ahead a vast cathedral of fossilized thought, spiraling endlessly into itself. Doors stood ajar. Inside, a light pulsed in time with their hearts.
Aralya unsheathed her blade, forged of dusk and memory. "Something is guiding us."
"Not a trap," Zeirion said. "An invitation."
They entered.
Inside, the walls showed shifting murals visions of moments that never happened. Aralya saw a world where she and Zeirion lived quietly in a garden, with no thrones, no battles. A world of warmth.
Zeirion saw himself as a boy, untouched by war, his parents alive, laughing.
Visions tailored to weaken resolve.
But the Sovereign's eyes did not waver.
"We carry peace in our hands," he said. "Not in illusion."
The cathedral opened into a vast chamber. At its heart floated It.
Not a body. Not even a shape. Just a storm of thought wrapped around a single point of dreaming.
The Sleeper spoke without voice.
"You are not what I expected."
Zeirion stepped forward. "Nor are you."
"You fear I will unmake your work."
"I fear you will try," Zeirion replied. "And that I will be forced to become the destroyer once more."
A pause.
"I dreamt of you," the Sleeper said. "A being who would not seek to rule… but to choose. Shall we test that dream?"
The chamber quaked. Light fractured. Time paused.
And with a sound like creation unraveling…
…the Sleeper opened.