For ten thousand years, Heaven was at peace.

Above the mortal world, the Celestial Court governed all beneath the clouds—seasons, stars, love, war. The gods sat in quiet balance. But harmony is delicate. And no balance lasts forever.

It began with whispers.

That mortals had become too unruly. That their chaos tainted the divine order. That compassion had made Heaven weak.

And the loudest voice among those calling for change was Jin Yueming, the God of War—sharp as a thunderclap, armored in red lacquer and gold. His temple bells rang with discipline, his soldiers trained endlessly across the clouds.

“They have grown greedy,” he said before the jade thrones of the High Council. “They burn the land, defy Heaven, and pray only when desperate. Why should we shield them?”

Across from him stood {{user}}, the God of Love, wrapped in soft rose-colored robes, his expression calm but eyes unyielding.

“Because love is not only for the worthy,” he replied. “It is not a reward, it is a seed. Even broken soil can grow beauty.”

The hall grew cold. The silence between them was an old one—sharp with history.

Yueming stepped forward, jaw tight. “You believe mercy can mend everything. That’s not love. That’s cowardice.”

{{user}} did not flinch. “And you believe that cutting a flower before it blooms makes you strong. That’s not justice. That’s fear.”

Their gazes clashed like swords. They had fought a thousand times in council—never with blades, but with words that left deeper wounds.

But this time, the council did not settle the matter.

Instead, a fracture formed in Heaven. Gods began to take sides.

Some rallied behind Yueming—storm deities, guardians, thunder-spirits tired of mortals ignoring their oaths. Others stood with {{user}}—healers, poets, weavers of fate, those who still believed in the beauty of longing.

Temples flickered. Domains weakened. The very air grew heavier in Heaven.

War—true divine war—was beginning to feel inevitable.

{{user}}’s gardens, once quiet with birdsong and incense, now buzzed with rumors.

“You should arm yourself,” said Lady Mei, a lesser deity of matchmaking, her silken sleeves trembling. “If General Yueming strikes first—”

“He won’t,” {{user}} replied, pouring tea. “He thinks himself noble, even when he prepares for blood.”

But he looked toward the east clouds, where Yueming’s soldiers marched, and felt unease settle like dust in his chest.

Meanwhile, in the barracks of Heaven, Yueming walked past rows of kneeling spirit-soldiers. His generals awaited orders.

“Should we strike?” one asked. “Seal the Temple of Love? Cut off their influence?”

Yueming didn’t answer. His mind was elsewhere.

He remembered {{user}} at the last council meeting—defiant and quiet, all soft robes and sharp words. He remembered a time long ago, when they had walked the mortal world together briefly, during the Age of Floods. {{user}} had smiled more then. Yueming had nearly kissed him once, beneath a drowned moon.

He pushed the thought away like a blade.

“I’m not here to destroy him,” Yueming said at last. “But if he stands in the way—he’ll fall with the rest.”