Zayn drifted through the void between realms, arms crossed behind his head, eyes shut, smiling.
The stars whispered around him. Some flinched in his presence. Some tried to speak. But none dared to stop him.
He wasn't flying. He didn't need to. He willed himself forward. Past dimensions, past time pockets, past the grasp of creation.
He was searching. Not for treasure. Not for meaning.He was looking for something fun to punch.
And he found it.
In the shattered constellation of Seraphyx, entire star systems were being devoured by blades of divine light. Galaxies burned without sound. Souls shattered before they could cry.
At the heart of the destruction stood a figure cloaked in luminous gold—her silver hair flowing like starlight, her wings burning with radiant flame.
Her name was Lyra Solan, and she was the youngest of the Twelve Prime Gods. Goddess of Light. Slayer of Starborn Tyrants. Bringer of Purity.
She was a divine executioner.
And Zayn? He was just bored.
He landed in the center of the battlefield as her spear of light impaled a rogue god-king the size of a moon.
The moment she turned—her radiant eyes scanned his form. She didn't recognize him. And that bothered her.
Every being had a fate-thread.
Except him.
"You do not belong in this war," she said, her voice like a thousand violins woven into lightning.
Zayn smiled. "I liked your spear. Can you throw it again?"
She narrowed her eyes. "This is divine territory. Speak your name."
He nodded thoughtfully, as if considering whether or not to lie.
"Zayn."
"Zayn of what realm?"
"Nah. Just Zayn."
He stepped forward, hands in his pockets. Debris floated around him like confused dust. Lyra summoned her wings to full spread, and a blinding sigil appeared behind her—The Emblem of the Prime Seat.
"You're not part of the Cycle. You're an irregularity."
"I get that a lot," he said, cracking his neck. "Want to spar?"
Her answer was a blade of pure stellar light hurled at his chest.
It didn't even scratch him.
He yawned.
"C'mon. Use two hands this time."
With a flick of her wrist, reality inverted. Light and shadow twisted into a divine labyrinth. Zayn vanished from sight—but not from pressure.
He emerged right behind her, whispering:
"You're beautiful when you're trying to kill me."
Her heart skipped. She hadn't felt that in thousands of years.
Angry, confused, and strangely curious, she summoned her divine form.
Twelve spears of light. Crown of judgment. Cosmic storm aura.
Zayn didn't dodge. He smiled wider.
"This might actually be fun."
They clashed.
Planets nearby shattered. Suns went dark. Gods far away turned their heads.
Fist met divine steel. Her wings met his foot. His laughter echoed louder than her war cries.
For the first time in her immortal existence, Lyra didn't win easily.She didn't even understand what she was fighting.
She began to enjoy it.
And Zayn?
He had just found someone who could push him past 1%.
At the end of their battle, they stood in a crater the size of a solar system.
Lyra knelt, panting—not from exhaustion, but awe.
"What… are you?"
Zayn offered a hand and grinned.
"I'm what happens when you stop following rules."
He helped her up.
She didn't take his hand.
But she didn't strike him again either.
And in the silence that followed, a warning echoed from beyond the edges of the universe—carried by the wind of dead gods.
"He has awakened… The Aetherborn walks. And the Balance is breaking."