Three years had passed since the silver-black star fell from the heavens, since the Architect abandoned eternity and chose the fragile world of mortals. In those years, the child named Zen Von Emberhart had grown like any other. He was not a god, not a vessel of divine knowledge or memory. He was simply... a boy.
He laughed freely, his small feet stomping through puddles after rain, his fingers sticky with jam stolen from the kitchen. He played in the gardens, sword-fighting with sticks against imaginary dragons, often dragged into mischief by his older sisters or wrestling clumsily with his brothers. His eyes, once filled with ancient sorrow, now shimmered with the brightness of youth.
There was no trace of the Architect in his voice or his manner. To his family, Zen was just the youngest, the one everyone doted on, the one who always ended up underfoot but was loved all the same. Even Leo Von Emberhart, ever watchful and serious, found himself easing into a smile when the boy was around.
It was on a warm spring morning that Zen's parents decided to bring him to the Imperial Capital. His elder siblings were already there, studying at the prestigious Academia Solaria, an institution where only the most talented scions of noble houses were educated. Leo intended it to be a simple visit—a chance for Zen to see his siblings and for the family to reunite, if only briefly.
The capital was unlike anything Zen had ever seen.
Grand marble towers shimmered beneath the sun, airships drifted through the skies above, and wide streets bustled with carriages, merchants, and armored knights. Zen's eyes sparkled with wonder as they passed massive stone archways inscribed with ancient glyphs, his small hand tightly holding his mother's.
The family made their way toward the center square of the academy district—a vast, circular plaza paved with polished obsidian tiles and crowned with a grand statue of the Empire's founder, King Vaelor the Ascendant. The moment they arrived, however, the plaza grew crowded. Nobles from many houses walked the space, some recognizing Leo and engaging him in courteous exchange.
It happened in a blink.
Zen's attention wandered, drawn by the sound of a street performer juggling flames. He let go of his mother's hand—just for a moment—and took a few steps toward the noise.
Then another sound caught his ear: crying.
Faint, muffled… coming from somewhere nearby.
Turning away from the performer, Zen followed the sound instinctively, drawn through a narrow gap between buildings, deeper into the maze-like alleys behind the square. The voices grew clearer now. Not just crying—but mocking laughter, threats.
"Say 'I'm a worthless mutt' and we'll let you go," sneered one boy.
A group of three older children stood in a shadowed alley, surrounding a girl with long, disheveled black hair. Her dress was dirty, her cheek bruised. She didn't cry loudly—her pride wouldn't let her—but her small fists were clenched in helpless anger.
Zen stepped into the alleyway. The bullies didn't notice him at first—he was small, barefoot, and looked like nothing more than a lost toddler.
"Hey!" he shouted, fists balled up at his sides. "Leave her alone!"
The bullies turned. One, the tallest of them, snorted with amusement. "Who let the brat out of the nursery?"
"Go home, baby," another one said, shoving Zen backward.
He stumbled but didn't fall. Instead, something stirred inside him—not memory, not power, but instinct. The way a storm senses pressure. The way a predator senses danger.
Zen's movements were clumsy, but fierce. He ducked a slap, slammed his head into one boy's stomach, and bit another on the arm. A swirl of chaos followed—yelling, fists flailing—but in the end, the bullies ran, nursing bruises and bruised egos.
Zen stood over the girl, blood trickling from a small cut on his brow. He reached out a hand. "You okay?"
She stared at him with wide, stunned eyes, unsure whether to be offended or impressed. Then, slowly, she took his hand.
"You're crazy," she muttered.
He grinned. "Yeah, but you're not crying anymore."
Neither of them knew then, but this girl was Selene Albrecht, third daughter of the Grand Duke of Elarion—one of the most powerful houses beneath the imperial throne. And from this single act of defiance, a bond would form that neither fate nor gods could break.
Far above, unseen and silent, a sliver of the old Architect watched... and smiled.