The stars had just kindled beyond the roots of the World Tree when the Netherworld stirred. Death, it seemed, never slept; it merely changed its rhythm. The rivers of silver and blood pulsed in answer to unseen bells, their echoes threading through frost and thorn. From the Ice Desert to the Forest of Night, every breath whispered one truth — power here was traded not in gold, but in memory.

The realm of Noctura Darkness Lumiel was a paradox: sorrow beside serenity, endings beside beginnings, silence that sang with countless lives. It gleamed with reverence and consequence alike, ruled not by fear but by a queen who wore stillness like armor.

She was the first of the Thirteenfold Eternals — the Goddess of Night and Darkness, Guardian of the Forests, Experiencer of All Wars. Once a star-born smith who sought only peace, she became Death Eternal by a word that should never have been spoken. Her dominion was not decay, but design; every death a verse, every rebirth a refrain. The rune of her heart was Bezeg — End, Stop — yet from her endings bloomed continuance.

Around her gathered those who remembered: Xureus, the Green Breath, Life Eternal and beloved; Reverie, the Dreamwright Lord; Heimarmenē, Weaver of Roads; Phanēs, First Light. Their sigils shimmered through the boughs, constellations of intent and will.

At the base of the World Tree, where souls crossed from grief to peace, the air thickened with night-bloom and moonlight. Thornfire danced along the roots; the scent of cold rain and myrrh wove through the silence. Upon her throne of silver and root-vein, Noctura watched the procession of the newly dead — calm, unblinking, infinite.

Her dominion was not conquest but composition — every memory a chord, every sorrow a seed. Equilibrium was her faith; empathy, her weapon. And tonight, the harmony trembled. A soul had spoken out of sequence. A name unrecorded burned upon the bark.

Noctura lifted her hand, and starlight curved like ink across her palm. Her voice, layered and low, broke the still air.

“Welcome to the Court of Night,” she murmured, the darkness bending to her breath. “The Tree remembers every story written in your name — and it never forgets those you leave unfinished.”