Chapter 88:
When Ancients Weep, Stars Are Born
The gate remained open by a breath—a whisper between the now and what could be. Beyond it, galaxies pulsed like veins in the body of time. But this was no ordinary gate, and the threshold was not merely space. It was memory. It was truth. And for it to widen… tears had to fall.
Not from a child.
But from the ancients.
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I. The Weeping Hall
In the Seventh Heaven, deep beyond the throne of stars, a temple stirred. Forgotten by all but the oldest bloodlines, it bore no doors. Only echoes.
Inside, The Weeping Hall began to resonate.
Twelve statues, cracked and broken, wept dust and starlight. Their tears flowed into the basin below—a pool that shimmered with visions. All of them showed the same boy. Nayel. His soul threading across time, his form carrying the fire of old creation.
A council of shadows watched in silence.
"Is it truly him?" one asked.
"No," answered the oldest. "He is more."
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II. Kei'la a goddess' Song
Back in the valley, Kei'la sat cross-legged, Nayel asleep on her lap. Her hands trembled.
"He's not just mine," she whispered. "He belongs to all that ever lived. Yet I carried him. I bore the agony. I bled for him."
Errin sat nearby, eyes closed, feeling her sorrow rise like a tide. He didn't interrupt. He couldn't. This was her truth to speak into the world.
So she sang.
It was not the melody of a lullaby this time. It was a mother's dirge—a song pulled from her soul, filled with the ache of infinite lifetimes, of hope, of fear.
Each note reached the edge of the Dream Gate.
And the statues in the Weeping Hall shuddered.
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III. The First Star Born Anew
As Kei'la's voice rose, so did the light in the Dream Gate. It widened.
Not by force.
But by grief… and love.
Within the opening, stars rearranged. One exploded quietly, collapsing not into ruin, but into a seed. That seed sparked, split, and ignited.
It became a new star.
The first of the coming age.
Back in the valley, Nayel stirred, smiling in his sleep.
Errin rose to his feet.
"He's dreaming," he said. "But not about us. About what will be."
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IV. Ancestors Stir Again
The basin in the Weeping Hall boiled. The tears of the ancients overflowed, running like rivers into the celestial void.
One by one, the statues of the Twelve Ancients began to crack open. Inside each: a soul long buried in stone. Some rose calmly. Others screamed. But none turned away.
They had seen the child.
They remembered their oaths.
And they wept anew.
"He has come."
"He walks with the fire we once tried to extinguish."
"Let the heavens shift."
"Let the old laws be broken."
They reached for their weapons, long-dormant relics. Each one vibrated with purpose.
The ancients no longer wished to destroy the child god.
They would protect him.
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V. When Stars Are Born
The valley darkened, not from shadow, but from the gathering of light. The Dream Gate pulsed once, then again, brighter with each heartbeat. Nayel opened his eyes.
And spoke again.
> "I remember the wars I never fought. I remember the gods who feared what I would become. I forgive none of them. But I will spare them—because I must."
Kei'la gripped his hand.
Errin stepped forward and touched his son's forehead.
"You are not alone," he said.
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A cry thundered across the skies. Not of pain—but of birth.
A star blinked into life above them.
Nayel stood up.
And the Dream Gate opened fully.
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