"Grandma, grandma, grandma tell us the story you promised to tell us," Louis shouted with several other children nodding in agreement.
"Oh my child, which story are you talking about?" Grandma Alicia answered the child with a soft tone.
"Grandmaaaaaa," he said. "The one you always promised us," Louis shouted.
"Yeah, Granny," other children surrounding grandma Alicia agreed with Louis.
Grandma Alicia then let out a hearty laughter," Alright children, I remember now. Is it the story about how the realms and our world was fixed ??"
"Yes granny," Louis and the children echoed "that's the one,"
"Alright, I will begin. Listen attentively because this will be taught in your higher classes when you grow," Granny Alicia said.
Then the children nodded and granny Alicia began.
Long time ago, ...
...
Three thousand years before the world learned the true meaning of terror, there existed an age of silver. It was an era where peace was not a fragile truce or a fleeting shadow between wars, but a living, breathing force—deliberately sustained and jealously guarded. This was not the peace of kings, enforced by the edge of a blade or the shadow of a gallows. It was a peace that transcended the ambitions of men and the hunger of empires.
It was managed by the Guardians of the Heavens. They weren't kings or generals. They were more like cosmic moderators. For centuries, they watched over the rise and fall of the creatures in the world. They did not rule or seek recognition.
Instead, they ensured that no force in the world became too powerful. Instead, they ensured that no force in the world became too powerful. They allowed strength to flourish, but they cut it down before it could become absolute. They allowed ambition to thrive, but they ensured it never became unchecked. Because of them, conflict never grew beyond control, and for generations, the world remained stable. For a long time, they succeeded.
Until the balance broke.
It happened without clear warning. Forces that had long been contained began to rise all at once, driven by ambition and the desire for dominance. What followed was a complete collapse.
This era would later be known as the Great Dystopia and it would be remembered not only for its destruction, but for the way it altered the very nature of the world itself.
Alliances that had been held for centuries shattered, and trust lost its meaning. Power spread without restraint, and the world itself seemed unable to withstand it. The very fabric of existence trembled under the weight of the chaos. One day you're shaking hands with your neighbor, the next you're sticking a knife in their back because power is up for grabs and the Guardians can't stop you.
The Guardians fought to stop it. They tried to fix it.
They intervened where they could, and they attempted to restore the balance that had been lost. They reached into the chaos and tried to pull it back into order, but the scale of the destruction had already grown beyond what even they could control.
For the first time in history, they failed totally.
On the day that their failure became undeniable, its proof was shown in the sky
The light above the world dimmed in an unnatural way. It was as if the heavens had withdrawn their presence from the world in quiet judgment. The sky did not darken completely, but it lost its color and shine, becoming muted and distant,
At the edge of what remained of a once-sacred land stood the Temple.
The structure had been built in an age when the world had been whole. it remained standing despite the forces of war it had experienced. Cracks spread across its white stone walls, and signs of unseen force had etched themselves into its surface, but it did not fall. It still stood tall and unyielding.
Inside the Temple, the air was still felt unnatural and distant.
Silence and the movements of winds echoed around the temple, making even the smallest movement seem louder than normal. It was the kind of silence that demanded attention with a sense of a lingering presence waiting for the right moment.
The Guardians gathered there.
They did not stand as rulers or as figures of authority in that moment, rather they stood in shame. They stood as beings who understood the weight of failing a powerful mission.
Alongside them were their priests, who served as keepers of knowledge and interpreters of what lay beyond ordinary perception. The priests were the only ones permitted to stand beside the Guardians in moments such as this, because their role required them to witness and understand what others could not.
At the center of the gathering stood the Head Guardian.
He did not appear as a king, and there was nothing in his appearance that suggested dominance or command. However, there was no mistaking the authority that rested upon him, because it existed in the way he carried himself and in the quiet presence that surrounded him.
For the first time in centuries, that authority felt heavy.
"There is not much time for us," one of the priests said looking at the others, and his voice was quiet but clear.
No one argued or uttered a word, because they could all feel it.
There was a pull that extended beyond the world they stood in, a force that called to them from above, drawing them toward the Second Heavens. It was not a gentle summons, and it did not allow for delay. It carried the weight of judgment, and it left no doubt that their presence would be required.
The Head Guardian, however, did not respond immediately.
His gaze remained fixed ahead, directed toward the inner chamber of the Temple, where something awaited them.
"The Oracle waits," another priest said softly.
At the hearing of those words, the Head Guardian began to move.
His steps were slow and deliberate, and each movement carried a sense of finality and shame, as though he understood that what lay ahead would mark a turning point that could not be undone.
The others followed him in silence.
The chamber of the Oracle stood apart from the rest of the Temple in a strange way. Its walls were bare, without carvings or symbols, and its simplicity gave it a presence that felt more profound.
At the center of the chamber stood a wide, shallow bowl carved from a single piece of pale stone. Its surface shimmered faintly carrying a sense of quiet awareness.
This was the Sacred Bowl of Cleansing.
No one spoke as they entered the chamber, because even the air felt different within it. It felt thinner, sharper and conscious.
The Head Guardian stepped forward and stopped a short distance from the bowl. The weight of failure and shame pressed heavily against him.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then the air shifted.
The change was not obvious. It began as a faint tremor and then began to escalate.
The priests felt it, and they exchanged brief glances, because they understood what it meant.
Something was moving and it was moving through them.
Then, the Head Guardian drew in a slow breath.
"We seek the Oracle," he said, and his voice carried both strength and a quiet urgency.
He fixed his gaze on the still surface of the bowl. "Tell us this," he continued. "Have we ended it?"
The silence that followed stretched longer than expected. He spoke again not wanting to give up.
"Is there any chance left for this world to know peace again?"
For a brief moment, nothing answered. Then the water moved. It did not ripple or stir in any ordinary way. Instead, it rose upward like it possessed a will of its own.
The priests and the guardians stepped back instinctively, because the air grew colder and heavier.
The Head Guardian did not move. He could not move. An unseen force had taken hold of him, and it held him in place with an authority way more than his.
His body stiffened, and a faint tremor passed through his hands.
Then he stepped forward. The movement did not belong to him.
It was controlled, guided by something that existed beyond his will.
"Guardian," one of the priests began, but the word did not carry to completion.
The Head Guardian reached the bowl, and his hand was drawn forward without his command. His fingers broke the surface of the water. In that instant, everything changed.
The chamber darkened, and the air tightened.
When he spoke again, the voice that emerged was not entirely his own.
It carried something deeper, something older.
"When the crimson moon rises beneath a fractured sky," he said, "and the breath of magic falters in the bones of the world, a child shall be born beyond the claim of blood."
The priests stood frozen, unable to move or interrupt.
The Head Guardian's eyes were no longer focused on the chamber. They looked beyond it, into something unseen.
"Neither wholly light, nor bound to shadow," he continued, "they will walk between what was and what was never meant to be."
As the words echoed, faint lines began to appear along the walls.
They deepened slowly, carving themselves into the stone as an unseen hand wrote with deliberate care.
"The ancient powers shall waver," the voice continued. "The strong shall weaken, and the forgotten shall remember."
The priests watched in stunned silence as the writing continued to form.
"Marked by silence, yet heard by all, feared by those who rule, and sought by those who kneel, the child of the crimson hour will stand where fate unravels."
The voice grew stronger, carrying a weight that filled the chamber.
"To the one true king, their soul shall be bound, not by choice, nor by crown, but by something older than both. Half of what they are will be seen, and the other half will remain immeasurable."
The final words came slowly, as though the world itself resisted their release.
"Should they rise, the world may be remade. Should they fall, the world may finally break. When the crimson moon fades, only one truth will remain, and that truth is that some destinies are not meant to be survived."
When the voice fell silent, the chamber returned to stillness. The light returned easing the air around them. The water in the bowl also settled.
The Head Guardian staggered backward, and as his hand slipped free, his body gave way beneath him. He collapsed immediately to the ground.
When he opened his eyes again, he felt something strange that lingered in the air. "What is this strange feeling", he said to himself
He then noticed the other priests standing around him, and the other Guardians had moved closer, their expressions marked by concern.
"Can you hear me?" one of them asked.
The Head Guardian blinked slowly and nodded faintly. "Yes," he said. "You spoke through the Oracle," another said. "Did you see anything?"
He hesitated and then responded, "I do not remember". The answer settled over them, and although it was unexpected, it was not impossible.
One of the priests stepped forward, holding a strange scroll in his hands. "It was written," he said. The Head Guardian looked at it and read its contents thanking the oracle in his heart for giving the world another hope of balance.
The other guardians and the priests also understood the prophecy on the scroll. It meant that the world had not been abandoned completely and a chance of redemption remained.
After a moment, one of the Guardians spoke. "We should take it with us," he said. "No," another replied. "The Second Heavens will not allow it."
"Then we destroy it," the first said.
The Head Guardian closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them, there was clarity in his expression. "No," he said. "We leave it here."
He looked at the others. "We bury it," he continued. "We hide it from those who would use it or destroy it."
They all agreed to the head guardian decision of burying the scroll.
They left the Temple looking for a spot to bury the scroll.
At last, they chose a place far from the path.
Together, they buried the scroll.
When it was done, the Head Guardian spoke one final time.
"Let the future decide what we could not; let the future fix the disaster we could not prevent and subdue"
Then, they covered the earth.
Above them, the pull calling them returned, stronger than before.
One by one, they ascended to the second heavens to face the punishment of failure, leaving the world behind.
Creatures in the novel
Vampires: They feed on human blood, animal blood and fruits. They possess strength and speed. Their strength and speed also varies in the classes of vampires.
Classes of Vampires:
Pure blood vampires- feed on only human blood.
Middle class vampires- feed on animal blood.
Low class vampires- feed on fruits
Witches- They wield magic but are now banned from using it. Any witch seen welding and using magic will be burned to death.
Shadeborn: These are very strong creatures born under the alignment of the silver and obsidian moon. They were once protectors.
Blueweavers: These are very rare creatures who are thought to be extinct. They possess the ability to weave to raise the dead and reweave the life of the dead. They could also distort the memory of a living person. You will know a blue weaver by their dark blue irises.
And, Humans