Meanwhile, inside the Astral Plane where spirits resided...
The figure of Sunchaser stood amidst thick white fog that stretched endlessly in all directions. The fog was neither cold nor warm, and it did not move like natural mist; instead, it remained suspended in place. Every sound seemed muted, as if the fog absorbed unnecessary disturbances.
Sunchaser lowered his head slightly.
"Pray forgive me, Lady Velma," he said in a respectful tone. "It would appear my lord must reconsider his present bearing. At this juncture, we remain uncertain of the arrangement; however, should we find ourselves in any distress or difficulty, we shall not hesitate to solicit your assistance at the terms you have so proposed."
He raised his head slowly and directed his gaze forward into the endless fog. There was no visible presence, no outline or distortion that suggested another being existed in front of him. Yet Sunchaser did not doubt for even a moment that his words had reached their intended recipient.
The silence that followed was not empty; it carried a subtle pressure, as though something vast and incomprehensible was listening.
Then, a voice responded.
"Your candour is most appreciated. Pray convey to your lord that prudence in such matters is ever a virtue, and I hold no offence at his wish to reconsider. Rest assured, my offer shall remain open for a reasonable time, and should your circumstances necessitate my involvement, I shall be prepared to render my assistance—under the terms previously stated. Until then, I wish your lord success in his affairs."
The voice was soft and thin, yet perfectly clear. It carried a melodic quality, like a distant song echoing across still water. There was no fluctuation in tone, no strain, and no emotion that could be easily identified. Despite its gentleness, the voice held an unnatural depth that made it difficult to ignore. If an ordinary mortal were to hear it directly, their mind would likely start shrinking until they went mad.
Sunchaser listened without interruption. Once the voice faded, he dipped his head once more in acknowledgment.
"Then I shall take my leave," he said before turning around.
With a single motion of his wings, his form lifted and moved through the fog until he was no longer visible within the endless white expanse.
Meanwhile, some distance away from the point where Sunchaser had stood, a presence lingered.
From the fog itself, a seat formed gradually, as though the mist condensed into a solid shape under an unseen command.
Seated upon it was a faint feminine silhouette.
Her form was tall, slender, and delicate, with proportions that appeared almost too refined to belong to a physical body. She wore a large, wavy hat-like headpiece that cast a shadow over her face, completely obscuring her features. Beneath it, her attire consisted of an elegant fusion of a golden-laced black dress and a pure white cloak that extended from her shoulders.
The cloak did not stop at her feet. Instead, it spread outward, covering a vast portion of the ground before gradually dissolving into the surrounding fog.
Her white-gloved hands were joined together in front of her face, fingers lightly interlocked. Her elbows rested comfortably on the armrests of the seat, her posture composed and unhurried.
For a brief moment, she remained completely still.
Then, a soft chuckle escaped her lips, carrying a faint hint of amusement.
Without any visible transition, her form began to lose definition. The edges of her silhouette blurred, blending into the fog that surrounded her. Within seconds, the seat beneath her and her entire presence dissolved completely, leaving no trace behind.
The Astral Plane returned to its previous stillness.
***
"Primarchs are the invisible rulers who control the world of Aris. Beings on the verge of becoming gods, they carry supreme authority that cannot be defied even by rulers of nations."
"Rumours say that the oldest among them has been alive since the era when gods walked the land of Aris."
"One of these four primarchs will be arriving here in a few minutes. He is Lord Aliastar. He is a phoenix, though he has cut ties with the Ashfall Empire a long time ago."
Theodore, the cardinal of Pope Winston, spoke as he stood beside a young man who closely mirrored his physique and facial structure. The resemblance between the two was uncanny, though subtle differences in expression and demeanor set them apart.
Both stood on a decorated balcony that overlooked a vast colosseum. Behind them, several empty seats had been arranged in a precise linear formation, reserved for high-ranking guests and officials.
The balcony was adorned with banners and insignias of the church, all carefully placed to emphasize authority and prestige.
Below them, a massive open ground stretched across the center of the colosseum. Surrounding it were towering walls embedded with steps, where the common citizens gathered. The seats were filling steadily; the crowd grew denser with each passing minute.
This colosseum was a relic of the previous empire. Though its original purpose had long been forgotten, it had been repurposed by the current regime and was now used once a year for the Founder Festival.
"Why did he cut ties with the phoenixes?" Theodore’s son, Helios, asked while keeping his gaze forward.
"Primarchs are supposed to be unbiased towards every race," Theodore replied without hesitation. "This rule was established by the oldest and strongest among them—the first primarch—and it has been followed ever since.
When one becomes a primarch, they take an oath under the heavens to abandon their past identity. Their race, their affiliations, their previous loyalties—everything is left behind."
He paused briefly before continuing.
"Of course, there are loopholes in every oath. Whether they exploit or obey depends on the one under the oath."
"Oh... so do they...?" Helios began, his tone curious.
Theodore simply shook his head. "Who knows."
The conversation ended there. Both fell silent as they observed the scene below.
The festival was moments away from beginning, and the colosseum was rapidly reaching capacity. The energy of the crowd was rising, though it remained contained within the structure.
Theodore’s gaze shifted toward the opposite side of the arena, where several individuals were setting up a large broadcasting system. The equipment was being adjusted carefully, with multiple clergy members overseeing the process.
The pope intended to broadcast the execution of his enemies across the continent.
"Has your mother left for Riverdale?" Theodore asked in a quieter tone. The enthusiastic and reverent personality he typically displayed in front of the pope and the public was absent; rather, he carried a more subdued and serious demeanor.
"Yes," Helios replied. "I sent her along with all the loyal servants first thing in the morning."
After answering, he returned to silence, maintaining the same calm expression.
"Good. You must also leave soon," Theodore said.
"Not without you, papa," Helios replied without hesitation.
Theodore exhaled slowly. "My throat has dried from repeating the same thing for the past two days. When will you ever listen to your father?"
"To die a death of virtue is a privilege of the brave," Helios said calmly, his tone unwavering.
"That privilege belongs to me, not you," Theodore responded. "Your blood is mixed with commoners."
Helios let out a light chuckle. "Then I will simply inherit the rightful parts. Don’t worry."
At his response, Theodore’s fists clenched slightly at his sides. His jaw tightened inside, though his exterior expression remained composed and controlled.
Before he could respond, a deep, resonant sound echoed through the colosseum.
The cathedral bells rang, immediately drawing the attention of every individual present.
From the grand entrance of the colosseum, Pope Winston appeared.
He walked forward with an expression filled with satisfaction. Beside him was an aged phoenix-kin dressed in red robes. His presence was calm and composed, showing no signs of excitement or even the opposite.
He was Aliastar.
One of the four primarchs.
Surrounding them was a large entourage of guards, along with several high-ranking clergymen who followed closely behind. They were advancing toward the central seating area.
Despite the attention, the honour, and the carefully arranged welcome, Aliastar’s expression remained unchanged and cold. There was no pride, no acknowledgment, and no visible reaction to the treatment he was receiving.
Winston, on the other hand, made no attempt to hide his enthusiasm. He spoke continuously, offering praise and flattery with an excessive smile.
"When he smiles, he looks like a buffoon," Helios muttered with a chuckle.
Theodore responded immediately. "Measure what you say today. Don’t die uselessly."
Helios nodded and fell silent.
A few minutes later, the entourage reached the seating area. One by one, the guests took their designated seats.
At the center were two larger seats, placed side by side and elevated above the rest.
Winston stepped forward and sat down without hesitation, his expression glowing with satisfaction. His excitement was evident, and even the surrounding guests could sense it.
Aliastar, however, did not sit.
He stood a few inches away from the seat assigned to him; his gaze was fixed upon it.
"What happened, my lord?" Winston asked, still smiling, though a hint of confusion crept into his voice.
Aliastar slowly shifted his gaze toward Winston. His eyes were calm, yet the intensity behind them caused a subtle chill to run through the pope.
"Is this my seat?" Aliastar asked.
His tone was neither loud nor aggressive, but it immediately silenced the surrounding area.
The guests nearby tensed as they heard his question.
Winston looked at the seat, then back at Aliastar. For a brief moment, he seemed unable to understand what was wrong.
Aliastar did not wait for an answer. He raised his hand casually.
A small burst of fire appeared. It engulfed the seat in an instant, reducing it to ash before anyone could even react.
Without any pause, Aliastar waved his hand again.
A new seat appeared. It was larger, higher, and far more imposing than the previous one. Its design resembled that of a throne, radiating unmistakable authority.
Aliastar glanced at Winston one last time before taking his seat.
The message was clear. Around them, no one spoke, but everyone understood.
Originally, Winston had arranged two identical seats—equal in size and height.
But he had overlooked a fundamental fact. Aliastar was a primarch.
And Winston, as an elder of the council, was not meant to sit as his equal.
"Know your place," was what Aliastar had wanted to convey with his actions.