The rain did not stop.
It poured across every plane of existence as though the universe itself had been wounded, dark clouds swallowing skies that had never known storms. Thunder rolled endlessly, not sharp and violent, but deep—like a mourning drumbeat echoing through creation.
In the Celestial Realm, where light once flowed freely and endlessly, rain struck crystal platforms and shattered into mist. Celestials stood motionless beneath the downpour, wings folded, faces tilted skyward in disbelief.
This realm had never known rain.
Not until now.
One by one, they felt it.
The absence.
Something that had always been there—quiet, steady, unyielding—was gone.
A young celestial staggered back, clutching his chest.
"No…" he whispered. "That's not possible."
Others turned toward him, panic spreading through the ranks.
"The signal—his resonance—it vanished."
"He wouldn't fall that easily."
"He can't be—"
Silence cut through them like a blade.
An elder celestial, his wings marked with ancient runes of authority, stepped forward. His voice trembled despite his effort to remain composed.
"…Aethon's presence is gone."
The words settled like a death sentence.
Across the realm, cries broke out.
Some fell to their knees.
Some stared blankly into the rain.
Some clenched their fists, fury burning behind their eyes.
Far above them, beyond the Celestial Realm itself, the Ancient Domain stirred.
A vast circular chamber of stone and light existed there, suspended in an endless void. Twelve thrones stood arranged in a ring, each carved from a different aspect of existence—time, creation, destruction, balance.
Only ten were occupied.
Five of those ten sat unnaturally still.
The others shifted uneasily.
The storm raged even here.
One Ancient One rose from its throne, its form flickering like a dying star.
"This is madness," it said, voice echoing endlessly. "You have crossed a line that cannot be undone."
One of the five who had remained silent finally spoke.
"We did what was necessary."
"Necessary?" another Ancient One snapped. "You ambushed a celestial who had just finished a god-level battle!"
"He was no longer a celestial," a cold voice replied. "He was becoming something else."
Thunder roared, louder than before.
The rain intensified.
One of the Ancient Ones—older than the rest, its presence heavy with grief—lowered its head.
"He was our child."
Silence followed.
"He was raised by our hands," it continued, voice cracking. "Taught by us. Guided by us. And you slaughtered him like a threat."
A member of the five rose.
"He would have surpassed us."
"Yes," the grieving Ancient One replied. "That was the point."
The chamber erupted into argument.
"You feared him!"
"You destroyed balance!"
"You destroyed trust!"
"He was loyal!"
"Loyalty ends when power grows uncontrollable!"
The voices overlapped, clashing violently.
Only one Ancient One did not speak.
It stared at the rain falling endlessly through the chamber's open void, its ancient eyes reflecting the storm.
"…The heavens are crying," it said quietly.
That stopped them.
Slowly, all eyes turned.
"Every world," it continued. "Even those untouched by gods. Rain falls everywhere."
One of the five scoffed.
"A coincidence."
"No," the Ancient One said, voice firm. "A reaction."
Another Ancient One inhaled sharply.
"…You felt it too?"
"Yes."
They all had.
When Aethon died, something fundamental had fractured.
Balance had not been restored.
It had been damaged.
Back in the Celestial Realm, chaos spread.
Statues trembled.
Crystalline records flickered violently, ancient scripts rewriting themselves as if confused. Some inscriptions vanished entirely.
A group of celestials gathered around a massive statue at the center of the realm.
It depicted a young celestial holding a blade, expression calm and resolute.
Aethon.
A female celestial stepped forward, her wings soaked, her voice shaking.
"He protected Earth," she said softly. "Again and again."
Another clenched his jaw.
"He killed God Slayers without hesitation."
"And never once harmed an innocent."
A third whispered, "They called him a weapon… but he was more humane than all of them."
Lightning cracked above.
One celestial turned toward the Ancient Domain, eyes blazing.
"They killed him."
The words spread like wildfire.
"He was betrayed."
"Murdered."
"By the very ones who created him."
Some celestials cried openly now.
Others burned with rage.
But none dared move.
Not yet.
Within the Ancient Domain, the argument fractured further.
One of the two Ancient Ones who had tried to protect Aethon stepped forward, shaking.
"I felt his last moments," it said. "He knew."
Another Ancient One whispered, "He didn't beg."
"He never would have."
"He accepted it."
The five remained unmoved.
"He would have destabilized existence."
"You destabilized existence!" one Ancient One roared. "Listen to the storm! Feel the imbalance!"
Thunder boomed so violently that cracks appeared along the edges of the chamber.
For the first time, doubt flickered across one of the five's expressions.
"…What if," it murmured, "we were wrong?"
The others turned sharply.
The eldest among them snarled.
"There is no 'wrong.' Only survival."
"Survival at the cost of everything?"
The rain intensified again, pouring through the chamber in impossible volumes.
One Ancient One dropped to a knee.
"…He's gone," it whispered. "I can't feel him anywhere."
Another closed its eyes.
"…Nor can I."
For the first time in ages—
The Ancient Ones felt fear.
Not of enemies.
But of consequences.
In the Celestial Realm, an elder celestial stood before the assembled ranks.
"Hear me," he said, voice heavy. "We cannot act. Not yet."
Murmurs of protest rippled through the crowd.
"They will sense rebellion immediately," he continued. "And if we fall now, then his death truly means nothing."
A young celestial clenched his fists.
"So we do nothing?"
"We remember," the elder replied. "And we watch."
Rain continued to fall.
Somewhere deep within the layers of existence, beyond worlds and domains, something stirred.
Not alive.
Not dead.
A void pulsed faintly.
A crack formed where none should exist.
Back in the Ancient Domain, one Ancient One felt it.
Its eyes widened.
"…No," it whispered.
The five turned sharply.
"What did you sense?"
The Ancient One hesitated.
"…A fluctuation."
The eldest among the five narrowed its gaze.
"Explain."
"…It felt like an echo."
Silence followed.
"Aethon left no echoes," one of the five said coldly. "He is erased."
The Ancient One looked unconvinced.
"…Perhaps," it said slowly, "or perhaps the universe refused to let him go."
Thunder cracked louder than ever before.
The rain did not stop.
And far away—
Where even the Ancient Ones could not see—
Something waited.