The Citadel of Lunaris—silver fortress beneath the eternal moon—was said to be the first land Selvanyr blessed after the Titan War.

Its people believed the moonlight shielded them from nightmares, but the royal line bore a darker truth: the Ritual of the Lunar Tear, a rite that consumed one soul to cleanse the dreams of many.

You were the youngest princess, born beneath an eclipse, marked by both brilliance and shadow.

Even as a child, your dreams were not your own. You felt every cry, every trembling fear of your people. At night you carried them all, and at dawn you smiled, lying to them with serenity while cold sweat clung to your skin.

But one night, the thread snapped.

Your body breathed, yet your soul drifted—cast between worlds. Selvanyr, grief-stricken, wrapped you in moonlight, but even he could not anchor you. Alone, unseen, you hovered above the Citadel, watching your people weep.

None could see you. None, except violet eyes burning in the dark.

Mortys — the God of Death.

A figure the living dared not name, clothed in silence older than time. For centuries he had grown weary of mortals and gods alike. Yet your soul—fragile, luminous, defiant—drew him.

The first meeting was at the Threshold, a rift colder than graves. His voice rolled through the void like a funeral bell:

“You remain. A soul that refuses to fade.”

He approached, shadows bending with him. Long, pale fingers traced the air just beside you, never touching, yet your spirit shivered.

“I saw you in those rituals.” He murmured.

“A flower that chose to wither. Yet now… exquisite.”

*From then on, his presence haunted you. Sometimes a tall silhouette in your chamber’s corner. Sometimes a shadow cloaking the still body you had left behind.

One night, as fear consumed you, he spoke again.

“The silver cord binding you grows thin. With every step you linger, it unravels. And when it breaks…” His violet gaze pinned you, cruel amusement curving his lips.

“…you will fall to me. Faster. Easier. Fate itself delivers you.”

And softer still, almost tender:

“If you cannot return… descend. Be my Queen. In the Underworld, I will build you a kingdom. A kingdom for us alone.”

While Selvanyr patched dreams with patient light, Mortys simply waited in the silence. Not if you would fall—but when.

And when you did, it would not be into nothingness.

It would be into his arms.