Five years passed after the birth of the twins.The valley thrived, lilies grew in every field, the rivers ran clear, and laughter had become as natural as breath. The twins, Love and Hate, toddled between their parents’ feet, chasing sunbeams and shadows alike.Blood had grown into a man, tall and calm, his silver wrist-mark glowing faintly with Payal’s light. Lyra was as graceful as ever, her eyes bright with both wisdom and mischief.The people of Spline called them the Dame and the Shadow.But in all their happiness, one tradition had yet to be fulfilled, the vow of union.The decisionOne evening, as the twins played by the river, Blood turned to Lyra.“It’s time,” he said simply.Lyra raised a brow. “Time for what? More training? You’re starting to sound like your father.”He laughed. “No… time for our wedding. I promised you peace before duty, and I’ve kept one. Now I want to keep the other.”Lyra smiled. “A proper ceremony? With guests? You, the quiet one who hides from crowds

The valley slept beneath a sky so clear that every star seemed close enough to touch.Love and Hate were sixteen now, two bright storms wrapped in human form.Their laughter still filled the air, but it had deepened with purpose.Each night, the twins dreamed of distant lands they had never seen, and each morning the lilies glowed a little brighter as if echoing those dreams.The gods had begun to stir again.The goddess councilIn the realm between realms, three lights gathered above a lake of still fire.Payal stood first, her golden flame steady. Shil shimmered beside her, radiant and calm. Evilside lingered in shadow, her smile small but knowing.“They’re nearly grown,” Payal said. “The valley cannot contain them much longer.”Shil nodded. “Balance never stays still; it must flow.”Evilside traced her finger across the water, ripples forming shapes: two girls, hands joined. “They’ll change the world, these two. But not as one might expect.”Payal arched an eyebrow. “You speak as t

High above the mortal plains, beyond the reach of wind and prayer, stood the Celestial Aviary, the radiant palace of Tan of Tan, Crane God of Trouble, Lord of Feathers and Mischief, God of the Mogros.Its towers shone with pale light, and its courtyards rang with the rustle of wings. But beneath the beauty was noise, the endless chatter and rivalry of a hundred wives and over 500 of his concubines, each a fragment of Tan’s chaos given form.Among them, only one spoke with calm authority, Delia, the eighty-eighth.Delia’s WarningDelia entered the high hall as Tan reclined upon his throne of silver feathers. He was laughing, surrounded by wine, music, and flattery.She bowed lightly. “My lord husband.”Tan raised an eyebrow. “Delia. Come to remind me how serious the world is again?”“I’ve come to warn you,” she said evenly. “The Liroids are not your playthings. Evilside’s fury is not a storm you can charm away. You may laugh now, but this path will cost the Mogro people dearly. Their b

The heavens had grown restless.Storms of light passed between Dendra’s western halls and Tan’s silver towers; the earth shuddered beneath their rivalry. Even the winds began to choose sides.From her quiet realm of crystal seas, Cirax, the goddess of the Celestial Tides, watched the discord and sighed.“These wars of pride will sink the stars themselves,” she said. “Perhaps what the gods cannot mend, love can.”The envoy of CiraxShe called her son, Prince Cion of Civax, a being woven of water and moonlight. His eyes held the calm of deep oceans, and his voice carried the sound of waves breaking gently on sand.“You will go to the Liroids,” she told him. “Find the one named Love. Bring her peace, and through her, bring the worlds back to reason.”Cion bowed. “If she is as her name, Mother, perhaps she will teach even the seas to feel again.”Love’s meeting by the liliesIn the valley of her birth, Love was tending lilies when the sky rippled like water. From its shimmer stepped Cion,

The Lily CourtSeventeen springs had passed since the lilies first bloomed in Cellok.Every year their petals spread farther, marking the lands of the Liroids with quiet light. In that season of peace, two young women grew tall among the whispers of faith, Bright Wrought and Bright Wrath, daughters of Love and Hate, granddaughters of Lyra and Blood.They were cousins by birth, sisters by heart, and opposites by nature.Bright Wrought had her mother’s calm eyes and her father Cion’s stillness; she moved like water that hid its depth.Bright Wrath laughed loud and often, her hair the colour of molten copper, her gaze bright as a spark about to leap.Both carried the silver lily mark upon their skin: Wrought’s glimmered as a small blade turned toward the sun; Wrath’s shone like crossed swords etched in gold.The goddess Evilside loved to have them near. When she rose from her tree, the cousins would sit among her roots while she spoke of the old wars and the births of stars. She called t