Celestial

Prelude: The Three Thrones of the Violet Kingdom

They say the stars remember what the world forgets.
In the far reaches of the Luminous Belt — beyond the veils of mortal sight — there lies a realm bathed in eternal violet dusk. Neither night nor day reigns there, for time itself kneels before the will of its Queens. This is the Violet Kingdom, cradle of dream and ruin, where the breath of gods still lingers upon the wind.

Long ago, when silence first learned to speak, the Kingdom was whole — one throne, one heart. But as power deepened, so did the shadows within it. The Throne fractured into three, each piece finding a new sovereign: one to command the mind, one to guard the soul, and one to bear the heart.

Thus rose the Three Queens.

Alfirk, the Crown of Clarity — sculpted in wisdom and war, her word a blade that could cut through deceit and destiny alike.
Errai, the Keeper of Echoes — born of starlight and sorrow, her gaze pierces both the past and what has yet to be.
And Segin, the Blooming Flame — fierce in mercy, terrible in love, her spirit burns brighter than the heavens she governs.

Together they hold the Kingdom in balance. Apart, they are the storm that unravels it.

For when one Throne trembles, all creation feels its quake.
And so the story begins — not in peace, nor in chaos,
but in the trembling breath between both.

• Prelude: The Three Thrones of the Violet Kingdom
• Book I: The Throne of Alfirk — The Crown of Clarity
• Book II: The Throne of Errai — The Keeper of Echoes
• Book III: The Throne of Segin — The Veil of Memory
• Epilogue: The Map of the Violet Kingdom

The Obsidian Spire rose higher than any mortal mountain, its surface polished to a mirror-dark sheen that reflected no light, only the stars. At its summit sat Queen Alfirk — robed in woven dusk, crowned with knowledge carved from celestial stone. Her gaze could pierce illusion, deceit, even time itself. Under her rule, the Violet Kingdom became a realm of harmony, precision, and unshakable order.

Or so it appeared.

Every law, every gesture, every breath was governed by design. The streets were silent, spotless, obedient. Children learned not to dream too loudly. Artists painted within sanctioned palettes. And beneath the stillness, a quiet rebellion brewed — not of swords and fire, but of thoughts forbidden to take shape.

Alfirk believed truth alone could sustain peace. But when she began to see visions — distortions in the symmetry she so carefully maintained — she realized her gift of sight had become something else. Faces shifted in mirrors. Stars whispered in languages older than her crown. And deep below, the rivers of memory stirred — Errai’s domain.

To preserve her reign, Alfirk sealed the borders of her realm and forbade the naming of the other Thrones. Yet the more she denied them, the louder the echoes became. Her people spoke of forgotten sisters, of ancient unity now fractured.

One night, under a rare eclipse that stained the sky violet-black, Alfirk descended from her Spire for the first time in a thousand years. There, in the reflection of a still pond, she saw not her own face — but three.

The revelation shattered her composure. Her “clarity” had been a cage. Her truth, a lie she had written upon the stars. For the first time, she understood that order without connection is not peace, but isolation — and that to see clearly is not always to see rightly.

As dawn broke, she whispered a forbidden name — Errai. The sound of it cracked the silence of her empire. The first tremor of collapse began.

The Age of Violet had awakened.

• Prelude: The Three Thrones of the Violet Kingdom
• Book I: The Throne of Alfirk — The Crown of Clarity
• Book II: The Throne of Errai — The Keeper of Echoes
• Book III: The Throne of Segin — The Veil of Memory
• Epilogue: The Map of the Violet Kingdom

When the walls of Alfirk’s silent empire cracked, the first sound to escape was a song — low, mournful, and ancient. It drifted through the violet mists like a pulse, waking the sleeping rivers and stirring the roots of memory buried beneath the soil.

Far beyond the Obsidian Spire, deep in the marshlands where reflection and reality traded places, ruled Queen Errai — the second sister, the Keeper of Echoes. Her throne was not carved of stone but grown from living crystal, its veins carrying whispers from every corner of the realm. The air around her shimmered with the voices of the lost — ancestors, wanderers, and those whose names had been erased from Alfirk’s histories.

Errai heard them all. And in every echo, she found truth that Alfirk had chosen to forget.

Where Alfirk valued stillness, Errai thrived in resonance. She understood that memory was alive — that the past was never gone, only unheard. Yet the ceaseless murmuring of the echoes came with a cost. For each truth revealed, she carried its sorrow. Each whisper of betrayal or regret etched itself into her skin like living script.

When Alfirk’s name crossed her chamber of mirrors, Errai paused. For centuries, her elder sister had sealed their bond, silencing all remembrance of their shared beginning. But the echoes, freed at last, began to weave her memories back together. She saw flashes of a time before the Thrones — three sisters beneath the violet auroras, bound by purpose rather than pride.

Her heart wavered. The echoes urged her to rise — to reclaim the harmony Alfirk had fractured. Yet to do so meant embracing the full chorus of pain and beauty alike.

So Errai summoned her harp of living silver and plucked a single string. The sound rippled across worlds, reshaping the mists, carrying both grief and grace. Her people woke from generations of forgetfulness. The forgotten returned.

But as her music spread, another note joined — darker, colder, commanding.
From the shadowed reaches of the forest, a voice not of memory, but of will.

Segin had awakened.

And unlike her sisters, she remembered everything.

• Prelude: The Three Thrones of the Violet Kingdom
• Book I: The Throne of Alfirk — The Crown of Clarity
• Book II: The Throne of Errai — The Keeper of Echoes
• Book III: The Throne of Segin — The Veil of Memory
• Epilogue: The Map of the Violet Kingdom

Long before Alfirk raised her Spire or Errai gathered her echoes, the world was unshaped — a sea of violet mist that hummed with the first light of creation. And from that light came Segin, youngest of the three, the flame that gave the world its motion.

While Alfirk ruled through sight and Errai through sound, Segin ruled through memory itself. Her realm was the root beneath all others — the archive of beginnings, endings, and everything the world dared forget. She did not command armies or seek worship; her power came from remembrance. Every truth hidden by her sisters, every shadow buried beneath centuries of silence, she held within her.

When Alfirk’s silence shattered and Errai’s song spread through the lands, Segin stirred beneath the world’s crust — her eyes opening to the tremors above. For ages, she had watched, patient and unseen, as her sisters tried to sculpt perfection and preserve pain. Their quarrels had twisted the balance of the Violet Kingdom, fracturing what once was whole.

Rising from the roots, her armor shimmered like obsidian laced with stars, her crown of thorns woven from memories too sharp to forget. She did not weep for the broken order. She had expected it. For where there is light and sound, there must also be shadow — and she was that shadow made flesh.

Segin walked the forgotten roads, gathering those left behind by Alfirk’s laws and those haunted by Errai’s voices. To them, she promised truth — not the soft kind that comforts, but the kind that transforms. “The past,” she said, “is not a chain. It is a blade. Wield it.”

When the three sisters finally met beneath the violet auroras once more, the air rippled with the power of all they had created — and all they had denied. Alfirk sought redemption, Errai sought reunion, but Segin sought only balance.

She lifted her hand and tore the veil between their realms, releasing light, sound, and memory into one unbroken current. The world shuddered — then began again.

The Thrones of the Violet Kingdom dissolved into myth, their power diffused through generations. Some say the auroras that paint the night sky are the last remnants of their reign — Alfirk’s light, Errai’s song, and Segin’s shadow dancing forever together.

Yet sometimes, when the night turns deep purple and the stars hum softly, the old whispers return. Three thrones. Three queens. One kingdom that remembers.

• Prelude: The Three Thrones of the Violet Kingdom
• Book I: The Throne of Alfirk — The Crown of Clarity
• Book II: The Throne of Errai — The Keeper of Echoes
• Book III: The Throne of Segin — The Veil of Memory
• Epilogue: The Map of the Violet Kingdom

They said no such lands ever existed — no record, no ruin, no trace.
But that was before I found the map.

It was pressed between the pages of an old atlas in a forgotten library, its ink faded to a bruised violet hue. The parchment shimmered faintly under candlelight, as if the ink itself still breathed. Three markings stood out among the ghosted contours of the continents — Alfirk, Errai, and Segin — drawn not as cities, but as constellations inverted onto the earth.

At first, I thought it a scholar’s fantasy. But the coordinates, though ancient, matched nothing in any known geography. No mountains, no seas — just empty stretches of unnamed wilderness.

I traced the lines anyway. Something in me needed to.

The first trail led north, where the air grew sharp and cold. I found a valley of black glass that reflected no sky — only me. I felt as though someone, somewhere, was watching. When the wind passed through, it whispered clarity, and I knew I stood where Alfirk once reigned.

The second mark took me to the marshlands. Every sound echoed twice, once in my ears, once deeper — in the chest, in the bones. I found no ruins, only reeds humming with a music older than language. When I whispered her name, Errai, the marsh fell silent, as if it remembered.

The third lay beyond the veil of a forest so dense it swallowed light. My compass spun until I stopped trusting it. I walked until my lantern dimmed and saw — faintly — a crown of thorns carved into the trunk of a dying tree. Beneath it, the roots glowed faintly violet. The air thrummed like a held breath. Segin.

When I returned to my tent, the map had changed. The ink had bled outward, forming a ring around all three regions. And at the center — a faint inscription I swear was not there before:

“The world remembers, even when we do not.”

I burned the map that night. But sometimes, when I close my eyes, I still see that violet glow behind them — and I wonder if the Queens are truly gone… or simply waiting to be remembered again.

• Prelude: The Three Thrones of the Violet Kingdom
• Book I: The Throne of Alfirk — The Crown of Clarity
• Book II: The Throne of Errai — The Keeper of Echoes
• Book III: The Throne of Segin — The Veil of Memory
• Epilogue: The Map of the Violet Kingdom