There, in perfect silence, stood Orion.
His posture bore the weight of ages — not as a burden, but as awareness. With closed eyes, he allowed his perception to expand. This wasn't meditation. Nor a trance. It was... transcendental vigilance. Like the heart of a world listening to all its pulses at once.
He felt the plazas brimming with life. The fields undulating with golden harvests. The small temples where disciples chanted mantras. The laughter of children and the sighs of weary artisans. Every detail of existence in Eryndor resonated in his spirit like a silent symphony.
But there was a dissonant note. A subtle trace — a doubt. And it didn't come from outside, but from within.
When he opened his eyes, the icy-blue glow of his gaze lit up the chamber. He inhaled deeply, savoring the air scented by the mist of the imperial gardens — a blend of celestial lavender and essences that only bloomed in soil shaped by his own hands.
Yet... the emptiness lingered.
He rose. His steps, serene yet firm, echoed through the hall. Each touch upon the floor seemed to calm the very walls of the palace. Reaching the balcony of white jade, he gazed upon the gardens stretching in infinite layers.
There was peace.
But peace, at times, bore the weight of all it required to exist.
"This... is what eternity means?" he murmured.
The crimson-stained sky seemed to listen. Orion knew the peace was real. That every soul welcomed into Eryndor had been saved from misery and injustice. Every child running through the fields, every elder teaching in the squares — all were fruits of his choices.
But... was it enough?
With a gesture, he summoned the Living Map of Eryndor. Every city pulsed with its own light. Every field glowed with abundance. The academies shimmered like stars, fusing knowledge and cultivation.
Yet even in that harmony, Orion noticed subtle tremors:
A village where tension grew between masters and disciples.
A temple where a priest nurtured silent ambition.
A garrison where zeal slowly turned to authoritarianism.
Cracks always began unseen.
"The power I gave the counselors... was necessary.
But strength without direction becomes poison."
The words hung like a vow. He knew: building an empire was one thing.
Guiding it beyond the first generation... another entirely.
The map shifted. Borders gleamed. Beyond them, other realms emerged. Orion narrowed his eyes. Some watched with fear. Others, with desire. And some... with dangerous silence.
"They will come" he said, voice tinged only with acceptance.
Back inside the hall, twilight bathed the ancient tapestries. Among them... a new symbol emerged: himself. Orion had no desire to be a god. Nor a tyrant. But he accepted the burden of being a pillar — something older and more necessary than any glory.
He sat. Closed his eyes. Felt Eryndor.
Not as a map.
But as life.
And this time... he felt something more.
The same memory as before.
Not his. But... ancestral.
The silence was absolute.
Timeless.
Formless.
Colorless.
Only void. Incomprehensible. Raw. Eternal.
A space with no past. No future. Like the echo before the first sound.
Then... something happened.
A crack.
Not physical.
Not audible.
Just... real.
And then...
A voice.
Masculine. Calm.
But terrifyingly powerful.
"Let there be light."
Orion trembled.
It was the second time this memory invaded his mind with impossible clarity. His eyes opened suddenly. The throne still lay beneath him. The gardens still bloomed. Peace still reigned.
But that memory... He knew it wasn't a vision. It carried a weight that even his eternal awareness couldn't decipher. But not now. Not yet.
"This... can wait."
He turned to the horizon, where the starry sky stretched like a living tapestry. Below, the people of Eryndor laughed, sang, worked, dreamed. That was what mattered.
With a faint smile, he thought:
"The priority... is Eryndor."
He remained there.
Not as emperor.
But as guardian.
A guardian of a future that, though unwritten, was already eternal.
Silence still hovered over Eryndor when Orion left the throne. That flash of memory — that voice in the void — echoed like a soft yet persistent tide. Still, he dismissed it like a breeze sliding across a calm lake.
One certainty outweighed all mysteries:
His duty to his people was absolute.
But not all duties demanded rigidity. Sometimes, keeping an empire balanced required lightness. An external perspective. A presence beyond its walls.
It was time to open another frontier: culture.
And Orion... though transcendent, felt human curiosity.
"Time to see what our neighbors have cultivated while we rebuilt."
He walked through the palace corridors. Crystal torches burned with steady flames. Imperial guards bowed in silence. No one dared interrupt.
Upon reaching his private chambers, he hesitated before the traditional attire: red and gold robes — a living symbol of his divinity. But that wasn't the message he wished to convey.
"I don't want to represent absolute power. I want to represent... presence."
With a gesture, his garments reshaped. Flowing robes of deep blue, embroidered with constellations that danced beneath moonlight. A translucent silk sash floated loosely. It was as if the night itself walked between worlds.
Before the crystal mirror, he sighed — half solemn, half amused.
"This is definitely going to cause a few fainting spells."
And so, without formal announcement, procession, or ritual, he departed. No roaring portal. No beam of light. Orion simply... vanished.
Days later...
The sky was vivid. Clouds like brushstrokes of time. Floating towers dotted the horizon, connected by bridges of solid mist. Trees breathed. Birds left trails of energy in their wake.
Orion emerged from the forest with serene steps. Leaves bent in greeting. Flowers bloomed in his path. Even spirit insects hesitated to buzz, as if sensing the sanctity of the moment.
In the distance, the gates of Aurelion rose.
Then, the side effect began.
By the gates, the guards were veterans. They had seen arrogant cultivators, eccentric prodigies, disguised emperors.
But this?
This was not normal.
The man approaching was a storm in human form. Crimson hair floating like calm fire. Eyes of ice, containing celestial orbits. An aura too light... too gentle. And precisely because of that, overwhelming.
"You... seeing this?" one guard whispered.
"Trying not to," muttered another, eyes lowered.
The third clutched a jade rosary, hands trembling.
"I think he's an ancestral spirit of beauty... or divine punishment."
Orion, meanwhile, walked with ease. As if he hadn't just frozen three squads with mere existence.
He stopped before the gate. His voice was gentle.
"How can I enter the city?"
A simple question.
But the tone... oh, the tone.
It was music composed by constellations.
Thunder wrapped in velvet.
The eldest guard, a veteran of three wars, answered with the courage to slay dragons — and internal trembling.
"T-Ten bronze coins, sir..."
Orion smiled. A kind smile. And handed over the coins.
"Thank you."
He passed through the gates as if the city already knew him. As if space itself had been designed to receive him.
When his silhouette vanished among the jade pillars, one guard dropped to his knees.
"I... I think I'm in love."
"Shut up, Marco" said another.
"Just... shut up."