The bells rang like thunder over silver spires.
Across the floating terraces of Tempest's capital, chimes of auric crystal resonated through the wind, sending arcs of light dancing through the air. Elemental currents swirled through the marble skyways, stirring robes, banners, and breath. Every corner of the empire's heart glittered as if touched by stardust. The coronation had begun.
Beneath the ceremonial dome of the Starhall, thousands of citizens filled the viewing galleries—elementals, war-forged, scholars, and artisans, all bound by reverence. The room itself shimmered with impossible craftsmanship: walls carved from translucent stone, arched ceilings that reflected the sky like mirrors, and a grand throne forged from moonsteel and anchored by runes of Nahility.
At the center of it all stood Noctas Tempest.
He wore formal imperial black lined with silver and pale blue. His long, silver hair cascaded down his back like moonlight caught in motion, strands shimmering with aurora hues under the temple lighting. A half-circlet, embedded with quiet flame, rested in his hand—his crown, untouched. He hadn't placed it yet. The ceremony waited for him to do it.
But he hesitated.
The voices of the council droned around him in rehearsed praise. Rites were spoken. Blessings were called. Somewhere, the Head Maid stood silently at the dais edge, monitoring the timing. Keith, his firebound general, waited in full armor at his right—stern, immovable, and ready to announce the new era with thunder if needed.
But Noctas?
He wasn't quite listening.
He gazed out over the gathered empire and thought only of how quiet it felt.
Not the crowd—the room was alive with magic and movement. But the stillness was deeper, older. Like walking through a library that had been sealed too long. As if everything around him had been paused since the moment his father vanished.
His fingers tightened around the crown.
> "Is this it?" he thought. "Is this what he wanted me to wear when he left?"
Azagoth had ruled with storm and steel. Noctas… wasn't sure what he wanted. He hadn't wanted the throne. But he had outlived every regent. And now the Veil still held, the world outside still locked away, and everyone beneath him expected their new emperor to take the next step.
His name echoed as the High Archivist announced it in full:
> "By the line of Azagoth the Unyielding, son of the Stormbearer, rightful heir of Tempest… I present to you—Noctas Tempest, Crowned Emperor of the Eternal Sky!"
A roar of energy burst from the crowd.
With a sigh so small only Keith could hear it, Noctas placed the circlet on his brow.
Light spilled upward from the throne's foundation. Sigils long asleep reawakened, tracing up the columns behind him in a web of silvery glyphs. The throne recognized its new master. The ancient seal of Tempest burned across the dome, casting pale reflections across every watching face.
A thousand voices cheered.
Noctas remained still.
He sat as the final ritual was completed—his name written into the Veil's command schema, binding him as its sovereign. The responsibility now flowed through him like heat through glass.
He didn't feel powerful.
He felt... sealed.
---
After the ceremony, the palace returned to silence.
Noctas slipped out of his audience chambers before the final applause had faded. He passed through halls gilded with starlight, past honor guards who bowed low but said nothing, past his aides, who turned away politely—no one ever questioned where the Emperor went. Not anymore.
He made his way to one of the highest balconies, a crescent platform that overlooked the sleeping lakes and folded gardens of the inner sanctum. From here, he could see beyond the towers—toward the artificial sky that curved above Tempest like a second ceiling.
He tilted his head.
> "It still looks real," he whispered.
A breeze moved through his hair. The artificial moon hung above, serene and sterile.
Then—
Footsteps. Familiar. Purposeful.
Keith approached, unarmored now, but still radiating the presence of a storm caged in flesh.
> "You missed half your own celebration," he said.
> "I was there for the important part," Noctas replied, eyes still on the horizon.
> "You're Emperor now. People notice when you vanish."
> "Let them wonder. It gives the court something to do."
Keith crossed his arms.
> "You can't keep running from this. You're not a child anymore, Noctas."
Noctas turned, finally meeting his gaze.
> "I know. That's the problem."
Keith blinked, slightly thrown by the honesty.
> "Everything's working. The empire's stable. The sky holds. We have peace."
> "Exactly," Noctas said. "It's been the same for a thousand years."
He turned back toward the sky.
> "Don't you ever wonder, Keith? What's beyond it?"
The general was silent for a long time.
> "No. I wonder what would come through if we ever open it."
Noctas didn't reply. His fingers drifted to a small, metallic orb in his sleeve—a Nahility toy he'd made. He spun it absently, watching the shimmer inside.
Beneath the crown, behind the throne, under the Veil, the new Emperor of Tempest stood quiet.
He wasn't planning anything yet.
But something had begun to shift.