Sylvain's fingers brushed the hair off her sleeping face, reminiscing their time together. He loved his family equally, but it was undeniable that Lapis held a special place in his heart. She was the first. Back when he was just born, she was born with him. They were of one existence, born from one Source but with two minds, two souls and two bodies. They were an unprecedented anomaly. When they fled for their lives, they were separated, their Source splitting in half. While he managed to maintain enough power to remain awake and begin the process of completing himself, Lapis was not so fortunate. She fell into dormancy, becoming a seed sown in the depths of his being, waiting to sprout and blossom anew. When they were finally reunited, they were no longer the same siblings they once were. They could not even bring themselves to claim their old names. And yet their bond remained, even stronger than ever.
Sylvain carried her illusory body as he sat on his throne, letting her rest in his arms where she felt more comfortable. Sylvain could only lament at the fact that she was forced into this state of dormancy once more. Her existence as well as those of Sylvain's family were all tied to the Divine Constructs in this Council Hall. This was a method that Sylvain had devised in order to ensure their continued existence rather than simply preserving a record of their existence. For his wives, sisters and children, Sylvain had expected this result. Only a few among them actually had the power to have remained conscious, but still they could not last long. The ruination of their System of Existence had dealt a severe blow to their Sources. Lapis, on the other hand, should not have suffered this at all.
Just like Sylvain, Lapis was a stranger in the destroyed System of Existence. Although they have both grown within it over several cycles, their Sources' attachment to it was not deep enough to cause them damage. The problem lay elsewhere. Knowing they were about to be thrown into an entirely different System of Existence, Lapis expended most of her power to peer into what awaited them. Sylvain did not know what she found back then, but he remembered what she did right after.
As the Ruined Emperor unleashed all his power in an effort to preserve the records of Existence and hold onto the scattered fragments that remained, Lapis appeared in front of him. She smiled at him bitterly, her eyes filled with regret. She had only recently found him again in this new cycle, but now she was forced to leave him once more. The Ruined Emperor could not understand what she was thinking at that moment, his entire being was straining to save whatever he could. He was the Ruined Emperor, not because he thrived on ruination and tragedy, but because he swore to rise above them and ensure a new beginning for his people. This was his last act of sacrifice in this cycle. Burning his lifeforce to enact a barrier that would ward off the attention of foreign existences from this tiny fragment. But before he understood what happened, he felt the soft lips of his wife pressed against his own, a seed of power containing half of her existence was sowed once more in the depths of his being. And Lapis fell into dormancy.
"The Seed of Paradox, I wish I hadn't taken it back then."
A familiar voice echoed out in the Council Hall, dripping with grief and remorse. It was very similar to Sylvain's voice, but it was not him. Sylvain raised his head, his eyes locking onto the figure of a man seated on a throne in front of him. The throne was made from a dark marble-like material of exceptional sturdiness that would have easily surpassed the strongest materials in the world. And yet, it was in such a deplorable state that there were obvious damages on it. Most of its surface had cracks, but the worst things were a broken armrest and the backrest missing a sizable chunk on one side. The decorations carved onto the throne have all but faded. The ancient air of the throne now seemed more like a weary breath from a sick elder who did not have much long left to live, and yet it was still just as potent and terrifying as the rest of the thrones lined up by its sides. The Ruined Throne was lit with the presence of a man upon it.
The man's face was not at all similar to Sylvain's. His eyes were deep pits of abyssal madness that seemed insatiable in its voracity, yet also tired of the endlessness of torment. His demeanour and his attire did not reveal any sort of connection either. In fact, if other people could see them, they would not think for even a single instant that they were related at all. But there was one particular detail that would hint at their connection. Their eyes held a distant light known only to them, a symbol of recognition that only they could perceive. It was like a birthmark carved onto their very Source by the travesty of their existence. They were not related, they did not need to be. After all, they were one and the same. They were Grace.
"Alexander…, it was not your fault. You know how she's always been, the whimsical and carefree girl. Always the first to…."
The words halted. They did not need to finish the thought. Sylvain and Alexander looked to the side, finding the one who just spoke. A man with short black hair and eyes of brilliant gold and amethyst was seated on a throne that seemed to alternate between an inky black and white fluid state and a majestic golden and purple solid. In his hand was an orb made from the black water flowing in the space above them. The orb showed countless scenes, some accurate to their memories while others seemed slightly or even entirely different. The three could see the outcome a mile away. Lapis falling into dormancy. The man raised his head, the fury in his golden eyes seemed to paint the space around him a dreadful crimson. This was Myreil, the Emanator of Ascension.
"Even with the Aletheian Engine, there are things that we cannot change. Once is a coincidence. Twice is a pattern. Thrice is an Inevitability. And we cannot dwell on the Inevitable. We must continue onward for their sake."
Another throne lit up. It was made of shards of black glass that seemed incredibly fragile, but also extremely dangerous. It emanated a vicious and savage aura that could pierce through the core of countless worlds and cleave through them in an instant. The man who sat upon it was like a feral beast contained within the guise of a majestic and dignified ruler. His deep crimson serpentine eyes with specks of purple starlight flourished with unbridled Insanity. It was clear that he was barely reining himself in through sheer will, but the Inhuman Emperor failed to control the low guttural growl that escaped his throat. His leaking bloodlust seemed to spread a mist of even thicker crimson than Myreil.
"Calm yourself, Sinclair. Eagerness is unnecessary for us. We do what we must. But first, we plan."
With a wave of a hand, both Sinclair and Myreil were suddenly pacified. Their minds calmed and their fury cooled. They all looked to another throne, one that seemed to be made of countless wings of all sizes. Their feathers were either pure white, pristine gold or a demented mixture for bloody red and festering black. The man who sat upon it was perhaps the one among them who understood more about their madness. After all, he was the incarnation who truly embraced it. He was Halcyon, the True Divine Horror.
His hair seemed to flow down to his waist while also waving along an invisible breeze like an inky trail of stellar black, crimson and gold. His slender body hid a terrifying amount of power within every single fibre of his muscles covered by a majestic robe made from a material that seemed to interchange between silk, flesh, feathers, scales, fur and hide. His black eyes gazed deeply into Sinclair, but they all knew that his eyes were not truly open.
With a sigh, Halcyon opened his eyes. The black pits of abyssal darkness seemed to reveal countless points of singularities surrounded by countless more galaxies. The singularities seemed to flare to life, their horrifying devouring force being balanced out by a constant pulsing of power from crimson coronas that crowned the singularities themselves. And then, it happened. Alexander shook his head, recalling the first time he witnessed this sight. The singularities cracked open like eyelids to reveal the man's real eyes beneath them. Purple infinite masses of pure power with radiant golden cores that pierced through the thick veil of light. There were countless such eyes within either of the man's supposed eyeballs. If anyone other than this group were to witness this, their minds would either shatter at the onset or be corrupted by undeniable Truths that were embodied by each pulsating singularity. It was a true horror beyond mundane comprehension.