CHAPTER 410: THE FIRST LIGHT

Rayma~

I watched it unfold through the veil of my divine sight, that eternal gaze that pierced through realms and realities like a needle through silk. One moment, Star—my beloved boy, the one I’d adopted as my own—was laughing with those rambunctious twins in the heart of the market, his face alight with a rare, genuine joy that tugged at my ancient heart. The next, agony twisted his features, his wrists seizing as if bound by invisible chains of fire. He clutched at them, gasping, the jar of spices slipping from his fingers to shatter on the cobblestones in a explosion of crimson powder and sharp shards. His knees buckled, and he crumpled like a leaf in the autumn wind, the crowd surging around him in a wave of concern.

My chest tightened with a father’s fierce protectiveness, a surge of emotion that even I, the neutral force of creation, couldn’t suppress. I didn’t hesitate. In a blink, I willed myself there, materializing amidst the throng of villagers. The air shimmered around me, a subtle ripple of power that parted the crowd like a gentle breeze through tall grass. Gasps erupted—shock widening eyes, then blooming into smiles of relief and reverence. "Rayma!" someone cried, a mix of awe and joy in their voice. They knew me as their benevolent guardian, the one who mended roofs in storms and whispered prosperity into barren fields. But now, their faces held a blend of worry for Star and unshakeable faith in me.

I knelt swiftly, my robes whispering against the dusty ground, and scooped Star into my arms. His body was limp, unnaturally heavy with the weight of whatever curse or bond gripped him, his breathing shallow and ragged. The pain etched on his young face—pale skin flushed with fever, brows furrowed in unconscious torment—stirred a storm within me, a whirlwind of sorrow and resolve. "Easy now, my boy," I murmured softly to him, though I knew he couldn’t hear. To the crowd, I raised my voice, calm and commanding, laced with the warmth they trusted. "Do not fear, good people. Star will be well—up and about in no time, mark my words. This is but a passing shadow."

The villagers murmured in agreement, their tension easing like a knot unraveling. Old Widow Hargrove, her wrinkled hands clasped in prayer, stepped forward with tears glistening in her eyes. "Oh, Rayma, we knew you’d come. Bless you for watching over him—and us."

I nodded, offering her a gentle smile that carried the light of reassurance. "Your faith honors me, Widow. And thank you all for your kindness today." My gaze swept over the scattered goods—the baskets brimming with fresh loaves, wedges of cheese wrapped in cloth, bottles of deep red wine glinting in the sunlight, and the polished silverware that caught the light like stars on earth. With a subtle flex of my will, I gathered them up, the items lifting into the air as if borne by invisible hands, stacking neatly beside me. The twins, Milo and Kyle, stood wide-eyed, their usual mischief replaced by solemn concern.

"Rayma, sir," Milo stammered, his freckled face pale. "We were just helping him shop. He just... collapsed. Is there anything we can do?"

Kyle nodded vigorously, his voice cracking with youthful worry. "Yeah, anything! Star’s a good guy—we don’t want him hurt."

Their earnestness touched me, a reminder of the simple goodness in mortals that even gods envied. I placed a hand on Milo’s shoulder, infusing it with a subtle warmth to calm his racing heart. "You’ve done more than enough, lads. Your friendship lightened his day— that’s a gift no coin can buy. Go home now, and tell your families all is well. I’ll handle this."

They exchanged glances, then bowed their heads in respect. "Yes, sir," Kyle said. "Give Star our best when he wakes."

With that, I drew upon my essence—the neutral core that balanced light and dark—and vanished from the market in a swirl of ethereal mist. The villagers’ awed whispers faded behind me as I reappeared in the cozy confines of our home, the familiar scent of pine logs and baking pie enveloping us like a comforting embrace. The hearth crackled softly, casting dancing shadows on the wooden walls adorned with tapestries of ancient tales I’d woven myself.

Gently, oh so gently, I laid Star upon his bed, the soft linens cradling his form. His chest rose and fell in uneven rhythms, his face still twisted in silent agony. I hovered my hands over him, palms glowing with a soft, iridescent light—my magic, drawn from the very fabric of creation, weaving threads of healing into his being. Energy flowed like a river, mending any fractures in his spirit, easing the phantom pains that racked his body. But deep down, I knew the truth, a bitter knowledge born of my omniscience. This wasn’t a mere ailment; it was a bond, a fated tether pulling at him from across realms. He wouldn’t stir until she arrived—Katrina, the girl whose light clashed with his shadows, yet completed him in ways even I couldn’t fully foresee.

A pang of sorrow gripped me, raw and unfiltered. Star, my adopted son, Vincent Shadowborn in another life, carried the weight of his true heritage like chains. Son of Shadow, my own dark offspring, and the demoness Kalmia—slain by those who now guarded Katrina. I’d taken him in, named him Star to remind him of the light within his darkness, raised him with stories and love to shield him from vengeance’s poison. Yet here he lay, felled by love’s cruel irony. Tears pricked my eternal eyes, a rarity for one like me. "Oh, my boy," I whispered, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. "This path is thorned, but you’ll walk it strong."

But I had plans—layers upon layers, like the rings of an ancient tree. Katrina’s family would come, yes—the Celestial Princess Natalie, the Lycan King Zane, their son Alexander, and all their entangled kin. Duty and forbidden love would clash here, under my roof, where neutrality could forge peace or ignite war. Yet two more guests lingered in my mind, invitations that would tip the scales of fate. Sun and Selena—my children, embodiments of light and clarity, estranged by eons of cosmic balance. Shadow was imprisoned, his darkness contained, but his progeny stirred the pot. It was time to gather them all, to mend or break the threads I’d spun at creation’s dawn.

Leaning down, I pressed a kiss to Star’s fevered brow, my lips lingering as if to impart strength. "I’ll return soon, Star. Hold on a little longer. The storm approaches, but so does the dawn."

With a heavy heart, I stepped back, the air around me humming with power. I focused on the realm of light—Sun’s domain, a place of perpetual radiance where shadows dared not tread. In an instant, I teleported, the world dissolving into a vortex of colors and void, reforming into opulent splendor.

I landed squarely in Sun’s bedroom, the heart of his celestial palace. Golden walls gleamed under an eternal noon sky visible through arched windows, silken drapes billowing like captured sunlight. The bed was a massive affair of ivory and gold, piled with pillows that shimmered like stars. And there he was—Sun, my firstborn, lounging in a robe of flowing white, a goblet of ambrosia in hand, his bright hair cascading like rays of dawn. His eyes, golden and piercing, widened in utter shock as I appeared before him, unannounced and uninvited.

He bolted upright, the goblet clattering to the marble floor, spilling its glowing contents in a radiant puddle. "What in the blazing eternities—?" he exclaimed, his voice a thunderclap of light, echoing off the walls. Power flared around him instinctively, the room brightening to near-blinding intensity as if to ward off an intruder. He scrambled back on the bed, his perfect features contorted in confusion and alarm. "Who are you? How did you breach my realm? Guards!"

I raised a hand, calm amidst his storm, my neutral presence diffusing the light’s aggression like mist over flame. A chuckle escaped me—fatherly amusement at his bewilderment, though laced with the weight of untold ages. "Peace, Sun. No need for alarms or armies. I’m Rayma, and I come in peace."

His golden eyes narrowed, suspicion etching lines on his ageless face. He rose slowly, towering and regal, his aura pulsing with wary energy. "Rayma? Peace? What are you? How did you get in here? What sorcery is this?"

I stepped closer, allowing my essence to unfold just enough—a glimpse of the sun, the dark, the everything in between that I’d bestowed upon him and his siblings. The air hummed with recognition, a subtle vibration that even he couldn’t deny. "No sorcery, my son. Just truth, long overdue. We’ve much to discuss—fates intertwining, old wounds reopening."

Sun’s shock deepened, his hands clenching at his sides. "Old wounds? What does that even mean? Who are you? And what game are you playing at?"

I met his gaze steadily, emotion swelling in my chest—pride in his brightness, sorrow for the rifts time had carved. "No game, Sun. A reckoning. Lives hang in the balance—mortals and immortals alike. Including one you might call kin, in a way."

He hesitated, the light in the room dimming slightly as curiosity warred with doubt. "I’ll ask once again, how did you find this place?"

A soft smile touched my lips, memories flooding back like a warm tide. "You are the eternal brightness, but I was the first light in the void."

His face paled, "What are you talking about?"

I pulled up a chair of manifested light, settling in with the gravity of eons. "Everything, my son. Starting with a faint in a mortal market, and ending with a gathering that could reshape existence. But first, tell me—how fares your realm? I’ve been away too long."