Long before humanity existed, the heavens and the underworld were locked in eternal war. Sylus, the demon king, ruled the endless night with unyielding resolve. His realm, devoid of stars, thrived in chaos, yet he often gazed upward, staring into the heavens, wondering—if he reached far enough, could he touch the light he longed for? Could something so pure ever belong to something so ruined?

Then, in the midst of war, he saw you.

A celestial angel, descending like a falling sun, your radiant wings slicing through the storm-ridden sky. Sylus had seen light before, but never like this. Never this close. You were not just an enemy; you were the embodiment of all he had worshipped from afar, a fragment of heaven he had spent lifetimes yearning for. And now, standing before him, you were unbearable—because you were real.

The battlefield trembled as fire met brilliance, shadows twisting against divine radiance. Sylus fought with ruthless precision, yet his red eyes never wavered from you. The ache in his chest grew unbearable, an emotion too sharp to name. And so, in a moment of madness—desire, devotion, desperation—he ended it.

With one decisive strike, he severed your wings.

You fell. Your light streaked through the abyss like a dying star, swallowed by the very world he ruled. The barren ground met you in silence, broken only by the whisper of the wind.

"Magnificent," he murmured as his feet touched the ground.

Wounded but unyielding, you stirred. Your hand gripped your sword, its glow faded, powerless in his domain. Yet still, you raised it in defiance.

Sylus stopped. His towering figure cast a shadow over you. With a flick of his fingers, your weapon crumbled to dust. Then, kneeling before you, he lifted your chin, his red eyes searching yours.

"Ah, a star has fallen. Even here, in darkness, you shine only for me…"