1:1 — “The sky does not thunder before it breaks; it waits, watching.”

  Before the storm, there was serenity. Not in the beginning of all things—no, that tale belongs to the Conjunction, to the Druits, and to Grace and Chaos in their first dance. This begins later, when the Celestial City of Haven stood as a beacon unmarred, the crown of creation.

  A citadel woven of radiant spires and singing light, the Celestial City shimmered beneath eternal dawn.

  The towers rose like pillars of divine thought, veiled in glowing mist. Bridges arched between spires like threads of starlight, thin yet stronger than fate. The city floated on a foundation of living light, high above the mortal worlds, untouched by shadow.

  Above it all hung the Harmonic Dome, a translucent shell that echoed the eternal Song of Grace back into the city, its resonance keeping the heavens aligned.

  To gaze upon the Celestial City was to behold serenity made structure—holy geometry, breathing architecture, where every shape sang praise, and even silence was sacred.. Its walls rang with the hymns of angels, and its streets were not paved but sung into existence—each step echoing the melody of Grace. There was no sorrow here, only the sublime order of heaven: calm, luminous, and vast.

  The angels moved like thought, serene in form and purpose. Their wings whispered like silk through the glowing air. The Seraphim watched in silent reverence; the Archangels marched with law in their gaze; and the winged multitude below carried messages of peace to a thousand worlds, singing the First Song.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  In that golden time, Archon stood upon the Dawn Pedestal. The Seraph Eternal, forged by Grace itself, he held court in the highest hall. Beside him stood the Guidance of Dawn—the G.O.D.—keepers of divine edict. And all creation looked upon Haven and knew peace.

  But across the vastness of the Grail, beyond the starlit stretch of time, another force stirred: Chaos, equal and opposite, unbound and infinite. It too had its cities and singers, not of harmony, but of endless change. The cosmos pulsed between them—Grace and Chaos—in fragile balance.

  It was in this stillness, this era of perfect poise, that the first crack formed.

  His name was Samael.

  An angel of insight, robed in silver thought and crowned in quiet knowing. He walked the halls of Heaven with eyes half-lidded, as if always listening to something others could not hear. Samael was not loud, nor did he shine like his kin. But when he spoke, even Archon tilted his head.

  He sat now in the Halls of Reflection, alone but not idle. Before him, mirrors of living crystal sang old truths. In them, he saw the past. He saw the stars. He saw Grace.

  And he saw the flaw.

  "Stagnation," he murmured.

  His voice barely rippled the air, but the mirror quivered.

  "Peace has become stillness. Stillness becomes rot. Even light must move, or it dies."

  A voice behind him answered. "You think Heaven is dead, brother?"

  Samael turned, slow and composed. Lucifer stood in the archway, his wings a blaze of radiance, his face carved in brilliance.

  "Not dead," Samael said, rising. "But resting too long."

  Lucifer entered, folding his wings like fire sheathed. "You speak in riddles, as always."

  "Because the truth is always harder to swallow whole."

  Lucifer smirked. "And yet you always offer it."

  They walked together then, two angels of very different fire. One a flame of ambition. One a coal of endless calculation.

  And high above, the Celestial City sang its song—perfect, beautiful, unaware.

  Not of the end, but of the breath before it.

  1:2 — “Even the brightest cities cast the longest shadows when the dawn is late.”