The One Who Writes Existence

Leaving the Sanctum..

Eterna stood at the threshold of the Eternum Sanctum, the divine palace where the gods resided. The towering gates shimmered with celestial light, their golden edges inscribed with runes older than the stars themselves. Behind her, the gods watched in silence, their expressions unreadable, their divine presence pressing against her like an unseen weight.

This was not a simple farewell.

It was a decree.

Her punishment was set.

She had to bring Nyxara back.

Her hands curled into fists as she recalled the moment the other gods had spoken.

"You were once two sides of the same essence," Solmara, the Goddess of Order, had declared. "If there is any who can reach her, it is you."

"And if she refuses?" Eterna had asked, her voice betraying none of the turmoil within.

Vaelthor, the God of Judgment, had met her gaze. "Then you will bear the consequences of failure as you once bore the consequences of her fall."

A cold sentence. A reminder.

Eterna exhaled sharply. None of them understood. None of them had truly known what it meant to lose Nyxara—to watch her descend into the abyss, to feel the bond they once shared unravel into nothingness.

And yet, it was not their burden to bear.

It was hers.

With a single step forward, she crossed the gates.

The divine light behind her faded. The voices of the gods grew distant.

And then, she was gone.

Vanishing beyond the celestial halls, stepping into the vast, endless expanse of realms.

---

As Eterna moved through the veils of existence, the past stirred within her, a whisper woven into the very fabric of creation. The memories surfaced unbidden, carried upon the silent currents of time.

She remembered the beginning.

The true beginning.

Before the first stars ignited. Before the great realms were sculpted into being.

There was nothing but darkness.

Infinite. Eternal. Absolute.

And from that abyss, two beings had emerged at the same moment.

The last-born deities of a pantheon already complete.

One was herself—Eterna, the embodiment of balance, the keeper of life and death.

The other... was Nyxara.

A name that now carried the weight of a curse.

A goddess of raw, untamed chaos. A force that could shape or shatter reality with a thought.

But before she had become the Demon Goddess feared by all, before she had cast herself into exile...

She had been more.

She had been her sister.

---

They had been wanderers then, stepping through the endless void before time itself took form.

Together, they had sculpted the realms. Not as rulers, not as gods—but as creators, as dreamers.

Their hands had shaped the first great landscapes, breathed life into the formless energies that pulsed in the abyss.

They had built together.

And for a time, it was enough.

But then... something changed.

At first, Eterna had barely noticed.

A hesitation in Nyxara's voice. A shadow in her gaze.

Small things. Fleeting moments.

And then, they grew.

Nyxara began to withdraw. The bright laughter that once echoed in the void turned to silence. Her presence, once a steady flame, became unstable, flickering between light and shadow.

Eterna had seen it.

And she had chosen to believe it was temporary.

A mistake.

One she would never be able to take back.

---

The breaking point came with a single realm.

A world newly formed, rich with energy, boundless in potential.

A place where destruction and creation coexisted in perfect harmony.

It was a realm meant for both of them.

Eterna had turned to Nyxara with a smile, her hands outstretched toward the world they had crafted together.

"We will both take this realm," she had said. "Half for me, half for you. It belongs to us both."

But Nyxara had not smiled back.

Her crimson eyes had gleamed with something unrecognizable.

Something that had never been there before.

Possession.

Desire.

And then she had spoken.

"No."

Eterna had frowned. "What do you mean, no?"

Nyxara's gaze never left the realm before them. "Because creation does not need balance, Eterna."

Her voice was quieter now. Colder.

"It needs power."

A silence had stretched between them. A silence that marked the first crack in everything they had built together.

Eterna had stepped forward. "We shaped this place together. We are sisters. This realm was meant for both of us."

But Nyxara's expression had hardened. "You speak of harmony," she murmured. "But harmony is a lie. Strength is truth. If I do not take this realm as mine, someone else will. And I will not let that happen."

Eterna had known then.

This was no longer a conversation.

It was a challenge.

"Nyxara, don't do this."

Nyxara's power had flared in response, dark tendrils of chaotic energy rippling through the void. The very air had trembled.

And the moment Eterna raised her own power in return, everything shattered.

---

Eterna's eyes snapped open, the echoes of that fateful day dissolving into nothing.

She floated above the abyss now, the Infernal Realms sprawled before her like an open wound in the fabric of creation.

Blackened skies. Molten rivers. Mountains carved from the bones of fallen titans.

A land sculpted by war, sorrow, and exile.

Nyxara's domain.

Her sister's prison.

And Eterna had come to break the chains of the past.

She took her first step into the Infernal Realms.

And the abyss stirred in response.

The moment Eterna crossed the threshold into the Infernal Realms, she felt the shift in existence itself.

Unlike the celestial and elemental realms, which thrived on structure and divine order, this place was raw, untamed—a land molded by the will of its ruler.

Nyxara's will.

The sky above was a swirling void, thick with crimson lightning that lashed out like the veins of a dying god. The land below stretched endlessly, a wasteland of charred ruins and obsidian cliffs. Molten rivers carved through the terrain like open wounds, their glow the only source of light in a world without a sun.

A land of war. A land of exile.

A land where Nyxara reigned alone.

The ground beneath Eterna's feet trembled as if it resisted her presence.

She took another step.

The Infernal Realms fought back.

From the cracked earth, tendrils of black fire erupted, twisting like serpents seeking to consume her whole. Shadows slithered between the rocks, whispering madness in languages long forgotten. The wind howled—not with the sound of nature, but with the screams of the damned, their wails merging into an unholy symphony of torment.

Eterna did not falter.

With a flick of her wrist, the flames extinguished, their embers dissolving into nothingness. The shadows that dared approach her recoiled as if burned, dispersing back into the darkness that had birthed them.

Even the wind grew still, silenced by her mere presence.

She was not an intruder in this land.

She was something far greater.

And she would not be denied.

The infernal landscape shifted as she moved forward, the terrain constantly reshaping itself in an effort to mislead, to disorient, to turn her back.

But Eterna was not so easily deceived.

Her path was clear.

At the heart of this forsaken realm, beyond the endless wastelands and rivers of fire, stood Nyxara's citadel—a fortress carved from obsidian and bone, its towering spires reaching toward the void above. Black flames wreathed its walls, flickering with unnatural hunger.

It was not built to welcome.

It was built to keep the world out.

Eterna's steps did not slow.

She reached the threshold of the citadel, where two colossal gates stood sealed before her, their surface engraved with sigils of binding, of warding, of isolation. The ancient runes pulsed with dark energy, a barrier meant to keep even the gods themselves at bay.

A warning.

A challenge.