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Chapter 1 .The Cerulean Oath As spoken by Asriel, the Cerulean Vow
“We stood with godhood within our grasp, our hands still warm with the blood of sleeping divinity—and chose to refuse it. For what they offered was hollow, and we craved something far more dangerous.
We chose clarity over power.We chose to carve from ruin a testament of strength and compassion the aloof heavens had never dared dream.”

We spoke those words not as heroes, nor saints, nor gods. Only as those who remained.
Before them, I was a shadow walking through memory. The name I once carried Vyrn, the Crimson Shadow burned across the pages of history like ash in the wind. I had carved it into tyrants, screamed it into storms. It was born from loss, shaped by fury, and hardened in blood. But even names like that can fade. It died the day Ren did . The gods took her, and I answered with silence. Not peace. Not forgiveness. Just… silence. I abandoned Vyrn and became something else. Something bound by promise rather than wrath. I am Asriel, the Cerulean Vow. My true name in the ancient tongue of Ashal’viir is Asr’iel Vashara Velmara, the Promise Bound to the Endless Sky.” I wandered for centuries before I found them. Through fractured cities where the dead still walked, through neon-soaked jungles thick with whispering spirits, through market towns bathed in false sunlight from floating satellite panels. I passed through villages where lanterns burned with soulflame and technology blurred into prayer, where elevator shafts whispered old lullabies and vending machines dispensed charms instead of drinks. Everywhere, the world was trying to heal. And everywhere, I listened. I met Clarissa first on the edge of a time-warped zone where buildings looped through their own construction, caught in echoes of collapsed futures. She stood barefoot in the middle of a temporal rift, golden threads of light weaving between her fingers as she tried to anchor reality itself. When our eyes met, I knew she had seen it—every version of this world that ended in ruin. “I’m Clarissa,” she said. “I’ve seen a thousand endings, you know and in every one of them you find me first. I said “well maybe it's because you are not constrained by time , just like me. She smiled and turned back to her weaving. I stayed. And when the rift finally closed… We walked away together. For weeks, we wandered in silence. Through windswept plains lined with solar monoliths, past ghost-cities echo repeated old advertisements like mantras. We helped where we could—guiding lost spirit-children back to their graves, deactivating half-mad drones still guarding collapsed labs. No one asked who we were. We didn’t volunteer names. Then the mountains called. We found him meditating beneath the broken statue of an old mountain deity, where the snow never melted and breath left the mouth like smoke from a funeral pyre. Chains wrapped his arms—each link etched with a name. He stood before I spoke.