Molten gold poured from the colossal buildings, rivers of liquid sunlight held aloft by chained Elder gods—impossible, titanic beings, half-sunk and forever drowning in gold that cascaded from the endless walls of the Solarium Bastion. The castle itself defied comprehension, its spires glittering in the haze, supported by the bowed forms of forty-eight ancient gods, their agony and might the very foundation of its grandeur. Around the Solarium, luminous rings of stars spun in stately orbits, weaving and unwinding in a cosmic dance that stretched across half the realm, casting halos of light through the eternal golden field.

  At a dizzying height, high above even the cloudline, Destiny gazed out into the endless golden haze from her window ledge. She was too high to see the Elder gods themselves, but she knew their presence—felt the distant rumble of their suffering in every breath of wind. She watched the shimmering horizon for a moment, a sigh escaping her lips.

  Then, fluidly, she spun off the ledge and back into the vast marble chamber. Her robe-like attire swept behind her—a rich crimson cloak, armored with intricate, dragon-shaped pauldrons and vambraces. Silver and onyx chainwork draped from her shoulders, catching the golden light in sharp glimmers. Her hair, pale and almost silver, was swept back in a messy, deliberate knot, stray locks framing a face both youthful and dangerous.

  She moved through the corridor with purpose, her armored boots making almost no sound on the golden marble. Servants and celestial beings in radiant livery bowed as she passed—some with respect, some with quiet fear—but none lingered, each returning swiftly to their duties.

  The halls of the Solarium Bastion were palatial: walls inlaid with constellations of starlight, vaulted ceilings flowing with streams of liquid gold, and windows that opened onto vistas of endless haze and cosmic rings. Once, she might have gawked at such splendor. Now, it was simply her world. Normal, if such a thing could ever be called that here.

  She came to a stop before a vast door—singular and imposing, forged from seamless auric alloy. A single massive V, wrought in pure gold, was emblazoned across its face. Coiled around the V were three sculpted white snakes, their scales iridescent, their eyes set with gems that glowed with sentient golden light.

  She raised a fist and knocked twice.

  The door did not swing open.

  But in the blink of an eye, Destiny found herself on the other side.

  No transition. No warning. Just a sudden shift, as if reality itself had moved to accommodate her.

  She stood in a chamber even more impossibly grand than the hall: walls shimmering with golden runes, the air thrumming with the pulse of ancient power.

  As Destiny’s eyes adjusted to the divine shimmer of the chamber, it took her a second to spot the room’s other occupant.

  B’Raixa Daqui Vari was nearly as much legend as living being—the Supreme Family Head of Vari, one of the Everest Corp herself. She was a vision of midnight gold: tall, elegant, with silver-white hair framing a sculpted face of sharp angles and cold beauty. Her eyes were molten gold, inhumanly bright, and a living golden serpent coiled up her arm, its head resting casually near her hand as gold dripped and reformed across her skin. A sleek black dress with strategic cutouts and golden bands showed both strength and effortless confidence. Even in this immense chamber, she seemed to command the space; the darkness behind her roiled, hinting at eyes and ancient power lurking just out of sight.

  Vari glanced over, her gaze lazy but piercing. “Destiny. You seem anxious,” she cooed, her voice smooth as poured honey.

  Destiny squared her shoulders, her own silver hair catching the golden light. “I’m bored, B’Raixa. You haven’t let me leave in a full year. I’ve counted.”

  B’Raixa’s lips curled in a faint, knowing smile. The golden serpent watched Destiny, tongue flicking the air.

  “Boredom is a symptom of potential untapped, not time wasted. But you know that, don’t you?”

  Destiny’s jaw tensed. “Or maybe it’s a symptom of being caged.”

  The air between them thrummed.

  “If I truly wanted to cage you, my sweet Jujisn,” B’Raixa purred, the golden serpent curling tighter around her arm, “you’d be like those foolish titans below us. Silent, bowed, and gold-drowned.”

  Destiny rolled her eyes, folding her arms with the casual defiance of someone used to these exchanges. “Yes, yes, you’ve used them for every analogy imaginable.”

  Vari’s laughter was low and luxurious, echoing around the gilded chamber. “What can I say? It’s one of my favorite feats. You’ll come to miss this ‘boredom’ soon enough.”

  Destiny shook her head, her voice edged with the longing only a caged animal could know. “As grand as this palace is, there’s a whole world outside. You, of all people, should remember how much we hated being locked away. The outside was our home.”

  Vari’s golden gaze turned distant, then cold. “No. It was our home. My home now is among the stars. There are vistas beyond your understanding, Destiny.”

  Destiny huffed, defiant. “I’m pretty sure I can also ascend to such heights! In fact—” she caught herself, inwardly cringing at how grandiose her words sounded. Yuck. Hanging around B’Raixa is making me talk like her.

  Vari laughed again, delighting in the echo of herself. “Are you sure you can?”

  Destiny squared her jaw. “Have I shown myself to be anything less?”

  For a moment, silence—hung between them, the kind that only echoed when a master and her living reflection stared each.

  A year ago, Destiny’s life was simple. She’d been mountain climbing with friends, chasing adrenaline, laughing at the wind. Then she’d found that strange cave—one she swore wasn’t on any map. She’d gone in alone, the others waiting behind, her boots crunching on the cool stone.

  When she’d stepped back out, everything had changed.

  Instead of open sky and shouting friends, there was a golden palace impossible in every sense. The ground had glimmered underfoot. Servants and strange beings had rushed around, barely glancing her way. Before she could panic, a golden eagle-man in a black cloak—wings broad enough to blot out the sun, sword big enough to cleave a mountain—had intercepted her. His tone was polite, but there was no arguing with that kind of presence. She might have tried to dash back into the cave—once or twice.

  Then she’d been brought before Vari. B’Raixa Daqui Vari, Supreme Family Head, Everest Corp legend, and as it turned out, Destiny’s own “origin”—she was a Jujisn. She’d gotten the whole speech, the cosmic power lesson, and the explanation that, as a Jujisn, she was to go by her middle name, Destiny, since Vari still used their first.

  The months that followed… Well, Vari was a lot. Like the most annoying, impossibly rich, smug older sister—if your older sister was a reality-warping goddess with a talent for reminding you exactly how far you had to go. Destiny had to admit (but never aloud) that Vari was, in her own way, actually cool. Not that she’d ever say it. Vari would ride that for centuries.

  Now, after a year in the palace, Destiny’s patience was worn thin—but she’d learned a lot. Maybe enough to take that next step herself.

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  Vari studied Destiny, gold eyes glinting with calculation. She had plans for her Jujisn—there was always a plan, even if the details shifted with the winds of fate. The Fortune Holder event was already thick with Jafar’s meddling; perhaps it was time to toss her own “younger self” into the crucible.

  It wasn’t about curiosity—Vari knew Destiny wouldn’t turn out the same. She would hate that. But to see Destiny claw her way to greater heights, forced to climb through adversity and chance… that would be a spectacle worth watching. And if she managed to ascend, if she found a shortcut or seized some power the old-fashioned way—well, perhaps it would even push Vari herself to new levels.

  She let the corner of her mouth curl in a private smirk. Destiny was right: the 48 gods analogy had gotten stale… what, three hundred centuries ago? She needed a new legend to brag about at family gatherings anyway.

  ——

  High above the clouds where the sky itself is woven from living magic, an impossible city sprawls across floating islands. The centerpiece is a titanic world-tree, its roots wrapping around an entire citadel carved from ancient stone, its boughs thick enough to cast day into dusk. Waterfalls pour from its roots, tumbling down to other floating palaces and emerald plateaus suspended in a sea of sky. Bridges arch between the islands, each one holding relics of lost civilizations, their ruins thriving with luminous moss and wildflowers that shimmer in every color of dawn.

  Beyond the world-tree’s shadow, even more islands drift—giant stone spires and broad fields of vibrant grass, their reflection perfect in the sky’s mirrored surface below. It’s a realm where gravity bows to beauty, where mountains hover serenely and wild meadows stretch into infinity.

  At the center of one of these skyfields, a young man lounges amid the dreamscape. He’s dressed in sleek, black streetwear accented with turquoise and white—a modern contrast to the mythic landscape, his look as striking as it is out of place. His hair is tousled by the celestial breeze, eyes green and sharp, one arm lazily thrown behind his head as he laughs.

  All around him, he’s mobbed by a hundred bird-bunny hybrids—each one fluffy, iridescent, with long ears and feathered wings. They twist and bound over each other, chirping and cooing, nuzzling his face and tumbling across his lap in a storm of affection. He grins, surrendering to their joyful attack, twisting and giggling as they nibble at his fingers and tug playfully at his sleeves.

  Above, the sky cycles from morning to dusk in minutes, stars pulsing even in daylight, and the wind is sweet with the scent of nectar and ozone. Here, in a place where islands drift on the clouds and world-trees cradle civilizations, divinity is not distant—it’s in every breath, every blade of grass, every impossible creature.

  Laughter still echoed among the drifting skyfields, the young man lost in a tangle of bird-bunnies when the light subtly changed. A ripple ran through the air, almost like a heartbeat, and suddenly every bird-bunny stilled.

  One by one, the creatures dropped to their bellies, wings folded and ears swept back in absolute deference.

  Then—

  “Found you, Tinsurnae.”

  The voice was unlike any other.

  It was a perfect balance—silky and composed like a soft-spoken man, yet lilting and musical like a siren. Each word rippled with poise and presence, delicate and ancient.

  Tinsurnae blinked and looked up. The sky had shifted.

  Standing there, barefoot and radiant, was a figure in a deep purple robe with a wide hood that barely concealed long white hair. Their skin was impossibly smooth, glowing faintly with divine warmth. Their features were androgynous—beautiful, unreadable, eternal. Their expression, as always, walked the line between fondness and distant judgment.

  Rhan Xas Rituain—the Supreme Family Head of Rituain. Everest Corp legend. Ageless. Limitless.

  The bird-bunnies—every last one—was kneeling. Heads bowed. Wings folded. Even the wind grew quieter.

  Tinsurnae swallowed hard, heart still thumping from joy, now shifted into slight annoyance.

  Rhan Xas didn’t move closer. They simply stood, the air around them shimmering like heat haze. “You hide in joy,” they said softly, “but even joy leaves footprints.”

  “I wasn’t hiding,” Tinsurnae muttered, brushing sky-flowers from his hair. “I’m pretty sure that’s impossible for me to do right now anyway.”

  Rhan Xas’s lips curled into a sly, knowing smirk. With a single, casual gesture, the world seemed to ripple—then a colossal bird, its feathers shimmering with nebula colors, emerged from the clouds. It was so vast that entire cities—entire continents—could have settled on its back. With a blink, Tinsurnae and Rhan Xas were instantly perched high atop its downy expanse.

  The wind rushed by, but carefully—almost reverently—as if even the elements were wary of disturbing Rhan.

  From this height, the patchwork lands of Requiem unfolded: islands and forests, castles floating and anchored, rivers of starlight carving paths between sky and earth. But what set the Rituain apart wasn’t their territory—it was their chaos.

  The Rituain family was less a family and more a roving pirate fleet, a storm of bloodlines and pacts. Their structure was loose: the Top Tribe—Rhan’s domain—could be called the “main house,” while the Mid and Low Tribes, bound by 50% and 25% blood respectively, connected to the heart through kin or conquest. They were the most diverse family in Requiem, a riot of animal and monster breeds, and their loyalty was as mercurial as the tides.

  Their secret was Sryun. Ryun twisted and sharpened, feeding on the negative emotions around them. Sryun was the closest thing to Ryun could be to true magic in Requiem, and the Rituain wielded it with a pirate’s glee.

  Rhan Xas, the family’s androgynous head, was a living enigma. Sometimes male, sometimes female, always Rhan—genderless, ageless, a homunculus who wore power like a second skin. No one knew their true form, and Rhan switched presentation as easily as one might change a robe.

  The Rituain were embroiled in constant feuds: an open war with the Supreme Family Warsavage, a frigid standoff with Supreme Family Qui Tensigon, and the occasional skirmish—or outright heist—with the Jafar and Laos royal families. They got away with it because their blood ran everywhere: marriages, alliances, children in every house. There were more Rituain in the world than any other family, even among the royals.

  Rhan Xas looked out over the endless sky, then down at Tinsurnae. “I’ve decided what you’ll be doing for the next ten years.”

  Tinsurnae sat up, shaking their head nervously. “You… what? Why do I feel like I’m not going to like this?”

  Rhan’s eyes sparkled—mirth, mischief, and something ancient all at once. “It will be good for you. You need a challenge worthy of your blood.”

  “That’s what you said before the last time you sent me to negotiate with the Warsavage.” Tinsurnae frowned. “And I almost lost my soul.”

  Rhan just laughed, voice rolling across the clouds. “Growth requires discomfort, little wanderer. Besides, you have more than one soul.”

  Tinsurnae grumbled, but couldn’t help the small, defiant smile tugging at his lips. Rhan always got their way. And in some strange, chaotic way, it was comforting.

  “Why ten years?” Tinsurnae asked, unable to keep the suspicion out of his voice.

  “That’s simply how long it is,” Rhan replied, as if the answer were obvious.

  Tinsurnae let out a long sigh, running a hand through his hair as the giant bird soared in lazy, regal arcs above the cloudscape. Ever since they’d tumbled down that well—the well that had spat them out into this reality—life had been a fever dream of impossible requests, family feuds, and the revelation that Rhan was somehow him. Or he was Rhan. Or they were each other, but he was a “Jujisn,” whatever metaphysical headaches that entailed.

  He hadn’t even been able to use his real name anymore. Not when your godlike double insisted on keeping the original. Hence, Tinsurnae—the user name he’d once used for video games, now stuck for eternity.

  Life with Rhan and the Rituain was an adrenaline rush with no end, a high that refused to fade. He’d loved every reckless second, right up until Rhan came up with one of their “growth assignments.” Five years in, you’d think he’d be unshakeable. You’d be wrong.

  He gazed over the floating isles and endless, shifting world. “So, what’s the deal with this ten-year plan? Are you sending me to college, or is this another one of those ‘become the family’s next legendary outlaw’ sort of things?”

  The bird beneath them crooned, wind rippling through its feathers, and Rhan’s laughter rang clear—bright, ambiguous.

  “Perhaps it’s both,” Rhan mused. “Education is, after all, about survival. And no one survives quite like a Rituain.”

  Tinsurnae groaned, but a reluctant grin tugged at his mouth. “You realize most people get a syllabus before class starts, right?”

  Rhan’s eyes sparkled. “Where’s the fun in that?”

  They looked out over the scattered constellations—a thousand glimmering stars, each one a secret, a memory, a prize. Many, in ways big and small, belonged to the Rituain. Wars with other Supreme Families, squabbles with two Royal houses—those were almost tradition. Rhan didn’t bother with the details; that was for their children, always eager for drama and conquest. As for themselves? They’d recently spoken with Jafar and Laos—cordial, curious, a meeting of old immortals trading schemes.

  Jafar’s plan for his Jujisn was, Rhan admitted, deeply entertaining. And rumor was Vari might be sending hers into the fire as well.

  That sparked a new line of mischief in Rhan’s mind.

  They turned to Tinsurnae, the wind tugging at their robe. “My little wanderer. You’ll be joining the Fortune Holder event.”

  Tinsurnae sat up so fast a few bird-bunnies tumbled off his lap. “Wait—what? Now? Isn’t it too late to sign up? Don’t they have, like, registration deadlines or something?”

  Rhan’s smile was that infuriating blend of reassurance and challenge. “There are very few things in the realms that remain beyond my grasp. And this is certainly not one of them.”

  Tinsurnae huffed, crossing his arms as the flock settled protectively around him. “You’re sending me to the cosmic Olympics with no prep and no warning. Typical.”

  Rhan’s gaze shimmered. “Preparation is overrated. Opportunity, though—that’s always on time.”

  Tinsurnae grumbled, but his heart beat a little faster. With Rhan, the impossible was always just the start.