The sky burned with dead stars. No one
remembered when the heavens stopped shining,
only that the new order required them. Humans
hoarded what little light remained, trading
fragments for survival. The fae, once rulers of
the night, now scavenged in the ruins of their
own kingdom.
He walked through the ashchoked plains, his
wings tattered, his crown rusted. The humans
called him Vengeance. They did not know his name.
They had taken it from him, along with his
people, his magic, and the sky itself.
A human child found him. Not a boy, not a girl,
but something between. They offered him a sliver
of starlight — enough to restore his strength,
enough to make him see again. He took it, but
not without cost. The child’s eyes turned black,
and the air grew heavy with silence.
He followed the child to the city of glass and
bone, where the last fae were kept as relics.
The humans had built their empire on stolen
magic, their towers humming with stolen stars.
The child led him to the highest spire, where
the ruler of the new world sat, crowned in
shattered light.
The ruler was not human. Not entirely. A fae
prince, long thought dead, had survived the fall.
His name was Kael, and he had waited centuries
for this moment.
The child handed him a shard of starlight. It
was warm, pulsing like a heartbeat. Kael knew
then what the humans had done: they had not
killed his people. They had trapped them in the
stars, using their essence to fuel the new age.
He reached out, and the shard burned his palm.
The city trembled. The sky cracked. A thousand
stars fell, each carrying the memory of a fae
lost to time.
Kael stood at the edge of the world, the weight
of his revenge gone. The humans would not
survive the storm. The stars would not return.
But the fae would rise — not as conquerors, but
as reminders.
The child knelt, their eyes still black, but
their voice soft. “What now, Prince?”
Kael looked at the sky, now broken but whole.
“We begin again.”
