The stars above bent unnaturally as the skyship approached the Sky Reaches—a floating city that shimmered like a mirage in the firmament. It didn’t orbit any planet. It hovered in time itself, locked in an eternal hour that reset over and over again.Lioren tightened his grip on the helm as spatial pressure increased. “We’re breaching the first barrier. Time’s thinning around us.” Kaela whispered a quick prayer, not to a god, but to possibility.Alan stood at the prow with Eira at his side, holding the glowing key made of sound and light. Its hum harmonized with the pulse in his chest.“When we enter, we only have one hour,” she warned. “After that, the loop resets. If we’re still inside… we start losing memory. Even identity.”Nara smirked darkly. “Let’s hope our boy Alan remembers he’s a god by the time the clock strikes twice.”Alan gave her a dry look. “Thanks for the confidence.” They passed through the veil.Immediately, everything stilled. Above, the sun hovered at a fixed posi

The stars grew dim as the ship crossed into uncharted skies. Below them stretched a land that maps refused to show a vast dead region called the Throat of the Void, where nothing grew, no wind blew, and even magic grew still. It was the graveyard of forgotten gods. A place where names went to die. Alan stood at the helm. Each breath he took felt heavier. The Seventh Pillar pulsed faintly inside his chest, not like a power waiting to be used, but a question waiting to be asked.And the closer they drew, the louder that question became: “Do you deserve the truth?”The airship could go no farther. The moment its shadow crossed into the Throat’s rim, its runes flickered and died. Gravity twisted sideways. Time unraveled. They disembarked in silence.The ground below was black sand, dry and echoless. No insects. No life. Only bones and ash. Colossal skeletons half-buried in the earth whispered of gods who had once ruled, fallen, and been forgotten.Kaela looked around, uneasy. “This place

The sun rose over the Throat of the Void. Not as it had for thousands of years dim and dying but new. Brighter. As if the sky itself had taken a deep breath for the first time in eons. Alan stood at the ridge, his cloak billowing in the wind, eyes fixed on the horizon. The throne was gone. The Architect vanished. And in their place, something far more dangerous had taken root: Possibility.A World Reshaped. All across the lands, the old order collapsed. Temples that once channeled divine power now sat silent. Priests wept as relics disintegrated in their hands. Magic shifted, no longer bound by the Seven Pillars, but by the will and intent of those who used it.The Sapphire Council? Dissolved. The Sky Reaches? Descended from the heavens, merging into mortal lands. And in the slums of forgotten cities, where fire once feared to burn, children began to dream of stars that listened. Alan had broken the cycle. But in doing so, he had unleashed the unknown.The Scattered Fellowship In the

The Nameless God did not move. It simply was a silence that swallowed reason, a void where the concept of identity frayed like old thread. Alan stood still in the center of the formless chamber, his heartbeat the only sound. Ashbreaker hung heavy at his side, not from weight, but doubt. He finally asked, “What are you?”The spiral-eyed shadow answered in a voice that bent the walls of his mind: “I am what was removed to make the world clean I am dissonance The memory no one dares keep. The possibility no god allowed. The first story, before the First Flame.” Alan’s breath caught. This wasn’t just a forgotten god. It was the truth that didn't fit.The Forgotten Flame. The Nameless God reached into Alan’s chest, not with a hand, but with a pull. Visions slammed into him. A world where the Pillars were prisons, not gifts. A timeline where Alan never existed, yet the world fell anyway. A fire that did not purify, but consumed meaning itself. The Eighth Flame, not destruction, not creatio

The war was over. But peace was not the quiet absence of conflict. It was breathless, bruised, and born of endless work. Peace demanded more from the living than battle ever had. It was waking up each day and choosing to remember.Alan stood at the crest of Citadel Hill, his boots crusted with dust from the newly cut stone beneath him. The sky above was open and honest, streaked with gold and ash like a scar healing too slowly. Behind him, the ruins of what had once been a temple to the Forgotten Gods lay like the bones of a myth outgrown. In their place, rising carefully stone by stone was the Flamekeeper Archive.Not a monument to triumph, nor a cathedral to glory. But a sanctuary for memory. Here, they would remember everything. Not just the victories carved in bardic song, but the failures raw, shameful, necessary. Especially those. Alan had vowed: no history would be buried under silence again. The Real would not be reborn by forgetting, but by choosing to carry the burden of tru