– Book I: Uranus Arc
The garden of Soul pulsed in gentle rhythm, alive with the quiet rustle of thought and emotion. Each leaf, each stream, each echo-light drifted through the air as if carried by meaning rather than wind.
And Seris ran.
Light-footed and curious, the newly born Soulborn danced along the pathless folds of the realm, wings of ink trailing behind her in a wake of glimmering stardust. Though shaped from fragments of Elias' memory and the realm's power, Seris was no mere construct. She was becoming. Each movement she made reinforced her form, bound her deeper into the weave of reality.
The world responded to her with quiet respect.
Flowers turned toward her. Pools reflected not her shape, but her intention. Even the drifting Echoes gave way as she passed, spinning in silent celebration.
Aetherion watched her from the central platform, seated in quiet meditation.
He could feel Seris through the soul-thread they shared. She was venturing far now—toward the edge of the known realm. Not the edge of space, but of coherence. There, the polished dream-garden gave way to an unstable mist of broken memories, emotional fragments, and conceptual foam.
She's searching, he thought.
For what, he wasn't sure. But Seris had been born not just from memory—but from longing.
And longing always seeks something it can't yet name.
Seris slowed as she neared the perimeter.
Beyond the last tree, the soulscape frayed.
No stars. No ground.
Only mist—shifting, pulsing, dreaming.
She stepped to the border and tilted her head. Her glowing eyes pulsed. And she saw it: a vast silhouette in the fog. Not formed. Not whole. But present.
It was a shape like mountains held in breath, curled inward as if sleeping. It shimmered with green and gold and primal red. At its heart, something pulsed like a drumbeat.
Gaia.
Not her physical self—but her dream.
The unconscious thoughts of the Earth Mother seeped outward from deep within the world, curling through realms and concepts that hadn't yet taken form.
Seris reached out, placing a hand on the invisible membrane between the Realm of Soul and Gaia's Dream Layer.
Instantly, visions burst into her mind.
A field of flowers that had never bloomed.A great serpent circling the world's edge.A cradle of stone with a child who would never be born.Gaia's longing. Gaia's grief. Gaia's hope.
Seris staggered back.
The dream-mist surged toward her, forming hands, faces, whispers.
Aetherion rose from his seat.
He felt the shift before the scream.
"Seris!" he called—not with voice, but with command.
The mist froze.
Seris trembled as the visions began to recede. The mist uncurled, retreating from the edge of the realm like smoke pulled back into a bottle.
She fell to her knees, wings folded tight against her back.
Aetherion appeared beside her in the blink of a thought, stepping through a gate of light conjured from the platform.
He knelt beside her and placed a hand on her back. It was warm. Grounding.
"Are you harmed?"
She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she looked up—eyes wide, glowing with strange colors. Not fear.
Awe.
"I saw her," she whispered. "She dreams of everything."
He nodded slowly.
"I think," Seris continued, "her dreams shape the world before it wakes."
Aetherion narrowed his eyes.
That thought had weight.
Dreams becoming reality. Gaia's soul shaping existence through feeling rather than design.
Then the implication struck him—
If her dreams bleed outward… can they be altered?And if so… could someone steal her visions, or poison them?
He looked into the mists, seeing for the first time how thin the barrier was.
His realm sat on the seam between Soul and Dream. A precious position—but also dangerous.
It meant Gaia's unconscious thoughts were brushing against his.
If she ever noticed…
She might awaken to me.To us.
And that might be the end.
Seris, regaining her footing, reached for a single floating petal that had escaped the dream. It was shaped like a memory—soft, veined with light.
She handed it to Aetherion.
"It's hers. But it doesn't belong to her anymore."
He accepted it with care. "Then we'll keep it safe."
They returned to the heart of the realm in silence.
But the silence did not last long.
Later that cycle—when the sky above turned to violet haze, and the Pool of Memory dimmed—a tremor rippled through the very soul-thread of the realm.
Aetherion stood, eyes narrowing.
Seris looked up from the tree she'd been braiding light into.
"Another?" she asked.
He nodded.
A presence approached.
Not through mist or gate—but through thought. A presence older than cities, broad-shouldered, wild-eyed, golden-skinned.
Hyperion.
Titan of Light. Son of Uranus. Brother to all.
He appeared at the outer edge of the realm, shoulders wreathed in flickering sun-flame, eyes like molten brass.
Aetherion did not summon him.
He had arrived.
The Soul Realm trembled slightly under his feet—not from violence, but from sheer power. He didn't speak right away. He merely surveyed the surroundings, eyebrows raised.
"This place," Hyperion said at last, "should not exist."
Aetherion took a single step forward. Calm. Grounded.
"And yet it does."
Hyperion studied him. "You're one of us. I feel it in your essence. Yet… no one remembers your birth. Not Gaia. Not Uranus. Not even Coeus, who charts every spark of change."
Aetherion didn't answer.
Hyperion continued. "You stand within a space that bends concept and memory. That is dangerous."
"I do not threaten you," Aetherion replied, tone even.
"That's not the point." Hyperion's eyes flashed brighter. "You built something real—out of unreal things. Soul. Memory. Dream. These are not meant to hold form. They are supposed to drift."
He turned and looked at the trees.
"They sing," he said. "Without voices."
He touched a flower. "This remembers a child dying in a storm. This petal holds love that was never spoken. This… is forbidden."
Aetherion remained still. "By whom?"
"By reality itself."
Hyperion turned back to face him.
"You are dangerous," he said finally. "But not evil. And that makes you worse."
For a moment, neither moved.
Then, Seris stepped forward.
Hyperion noticed her for the first time. "What is that?"
"She is Seris," Aetherion said, stepping between them.
"A construct?"
"A child."
Hyperion scowled. "You're trying to create new life. A species."
"No," Aetherion said. "I'm allowing the soul to express itself. That's different."
Hyperion turned to leave.
"This realm is hidden. But not forever. One day, Uranus will see it. One day, Gaia will wonder why the dreams leak."
"I am not stealing her dreams," Aetherion replied.
"No," Hyperion said. "But she will not care. Neither will Cronus."
He paused.
Then added quietly: "Some of us may still stand with you. When the sky breaks."
And with that, he vanished.
Alone again, Aetherion and Seris stood beneath the memory-laced trees.
"Well," Seris said, "he's intense."
Aetherion didn't respond right away.
He looked down at his hands.
I need to prepare, he thought.
This realm must grow deeper.More hidden.More complete.
And so, as the stars above began to twist with time's first hint of motion, the Titan of Soul turned inward—and began his second act of creation:
A soul-forge.