Before time held meaning for her,
Before she had a name,
Before the world whispered in color and light—
There was a storm.
It wasn’t made of rain or thunder, but of power.
Raw, undiluted power—screaming across realms, rending the threads of creation like silk under fire. Harmony shattered. Order cracked. The Great Weave frayed at its edges.
The Choir trembled in their golden spires, singing notes of terror into the fading light.
The Void howled with delight, licking at the seams of reality with hunger and awe.
And at the center of it all stood three.
Seraphiel, wings wide and burning with celestial fire. Her skin cracked with divine strain, her tears carving molten paths down her cheeks. Her halo bled silver as she held on—not just to hope, but to something far more dangerous: lov
