Chapter 1 - The Silver Bridge and the Gathering Shadows
Before the first crown was forged in the celestial fires, before the constellations were mapped by wandering prophets, there was only the vast, breathing dark of the cosmos and Selmora. She was the First Goddess of the Moon, carved from the primordial dust of a dying star. Her skin held the luminescence of a billion gathered tides, and her eyes were the deep, quiet wells of the night sky.
In those ancient epochs, the heavens were a chaotic abyss. Comets tore through the upper realms like screaming phantoms, and rogue nebulas swallowed whole worlds in blind hunger. When her son, Orion, was born of her starlight, he possessed a spirit as bright as a nova, but mortal feet could not tread the vacuum. The pathways between the planetary thrones were lined with razor-sharp solar winds and gravity wells that could crush an immortal soul into nothingness.
Selmora did not hesitate. With a knife forged from a fallen meteor, she reached into her own chest, tore a rib from her sacred framework, and reshaped it into a magnificent bridge of silver light. It spanned the entire expanse of the upper heavens, a shimmering pathway that pulsed with her own heartbeat. Across that bridge, Orion walked safely every night, rising to become the lesser light of the evening, watched over by a mother who asked for nothing in return.
She never reminded him of the empty space beneath her ribs. She never asked him to kneel or offer sacrifices of gratitude. To Selmora, love was simply the fuel that kept the universe warm.
Millennia passed like falling leaves. The celestial court grew crowded with younger, flashier deities—gods of wine who wept amber tears, spirits of the forge who hammered out mountains, and queens of fleeting vanity. Among them, none shone brighter or demanded more devotion than Lysenne, the Goddess of Beauty and Illusion. Lysenne was a masterpiece of manufactured perfection; her hair fell in cascading waves of spun gold, her eyes shifted colors to match the desires of those looking upon her, and her garments were woven from the very mist of morning lakes.
Orion fell under her spell during a solstice jubilee. Dazzled by her perpetual radiance, he brought her before Selmora to ask for her hand.
Selmora had looked at Lysenne with eyes that had witnessed the birth of galaxies. She saw past the shimmering illusions, past the flawless facade, and caught a glimpse of something brittle and hollow—a bottomless pit of insecurity that demanded total, uncompromised adoration.
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"She is beautiful, my son," Selmora had said gently, her voice sounding like the soft rustle of dry autumn leaves over silver water. "Ensure her heart is as deep as her face, for illusions cannot sustain a kingdom when the dark winter comes."
Orion had laughed off the warning, blinded by the golden aura of his bride-to-be. And so, the wedding was set—a grand, suffocating affair meant to outshine the stars themselves.
