There is a place in the universe where light goes to die.
No maps lead there.
No traveler has ever spoken of it.
A dead star drifts through that forgotten corner of space — cold, silent, and hollow.
And around that star, like the ghost of an ancient world, a ruined temple slowly turns in the dark.
Its towers are broken.
Its halls are empty.
Time itself seems to have abandoned it.
But the temple is not empty.
Someone still lives there.
Cleor.
He stood at the edge of a shattered balcony, the endless void stretching before him.
Below, the dead star floated like a wound in the fabric of the universe.
It had burned once.
Long ago.
Now it was nothing more than ash.
Cleor understood that feeling.
The wind whispered through the temple's broken corridors, carrying grains of ancient dust across the stone floor.
He didn't move.
After centuries, he knew this place better than memory itself.
Every shadow.
Every crack in the stone.
Every echo of silence.
In his hand rested a small crystal.
Inside it, a golden light flickered weakly.
Like the last breath of something that refused to disappear.
Cleor stared at it for a long time.
He had tried to destroy it.
More than once.
Yet somehow, he never did.
Because within that fragile light lived a single name.
"Eriti."
The moment he spoke it, the crystal trembled.
Cleor's expression tightened.
For a brief second, something dangerous surfaced in his eyes.
Pain.
He closed his hand, forcing the light to dim again.
"Enough."
His voice was quiet, but final.
Love had already destroyed him once.
He would not allow it to return.
Cleor turned away from the balcony.
Then the crystal flared.
A sudden burst of golden light flooded his hand.
Cleor stopped.
For centuries the crystal had only grown weaker.
But now it was burning brighter than ever.
His eyes narrowed slowly as he stared at the golden light.
That should have been impossible.
Somewhere, far across the universe…
Something had awakened.