Descendants Of Mortality: Begins

Prologue

A brief sound reached Aviral IV's ears. Sound like that of a brief tingle. He had to open his eyes then. Sitting on the chaste mat of Vicetroy with his legs crossed and back in a disciplined design, the fourth version of the Merakian God of Human Arts, Aviral IV opened his eyes, leading himself to see the world around him after a long interval of nineteen years. The sacred room- enclosed with walls of Mysonëan muck that were converted to gold using a Paras- in which he'd been worshipping Razel- the light that makes up the entire multiverse- was now left with semi-broken walls of ordinary muck and straw.
Before Aviral was a small firebasket, in which there were a dozen valeberries put for fire. The light was of purple colour, giving out ultraviolet rays that at times seemed blinding for even a God like Aviral. But the colour it gave out resembled the colour of Razel, treating the firelight as an idol of Lord Razel.
A little further than the firebasket, at a higher altitude, was kept a digital watch up calendar, which gave a tingle sound again, projecting the ongoing month and date:
Älstyer '7 ; 19 years since chant began.
Aviral wondered that the month of crowning an authentic person as the next King of the Royal House of Misacshace, home nation to most of the Mysonëan Gods, had arrived. Yet, Razel Lord didn't give any signal that the chant was a success or not.
A thought shot though Aviral's mind right then.
He turned his face to his any accessory movement. Another person right, without was sitting besides him in a tranquil posture, eyes eyes closed, and his lips uttering some stranger lines in the Ältyn language, most of the Mysonëan Gods' oral language,'Novoka enstryn deno, remaegsera Razel; Maritha rev Mysonë-Misacshaee; remaegsera Razel. . .'
'Give us our Prince back, we beg you Lord Razel; For the future of Mysonë and Misacshaee, we beg you Lord Razel.' said Aviral, the same thing that the man said, but in English.
That other man was the God of Wisdom and Patience, and also an ex-disciple of Lord Vicetroy, namely Dyron Älstyre.
On seeing Älstyre chanting continuously with frigid lips and crimson cheeks, Aviral IV was compelled to think,
I haven't seen so much of valor and patience filled in any of the Gods, be it Paramārth, Yathārth or Master Starfield himself. I don't know how it is, but, the actual thing is: He's a terrible piece of Starfield's Stellar Creations, highly loyal too his realm and nation; a Godlike of great patience and courage, he's spent nineteen years asking Lord Razel to give Mysonë its Prince back. He's an archtype of an individual who is both audacious and obdurate at the same time.
May Lord listen to his worship once.
Sitting besides Aviral, Älstyre was able to see various visions even with closed eyes. He was standing in air in an infinite cosmic space without any celestial body around him. He felt as if he was trapped in the Sacred Codex.
Dyron was wandering to find a way out, his lips constantly uttering those Ältyn words. His mind was over-burdened with strange thoughts about the dark past of Mysonë.
In an instant, a divine ray of light shot past him, a voice being emitted from those light particles.
'Älstyre,' said the voice,'you want your Prince back, that is why you are here.'
Älstyre understood that it was Lord Razel.
In an instant, he was on his knees, bowing down with his right fist on his heartplace.
'Lord,' said he with an agreeing tone,' the thing that occurred nineteen years ago has changed the timeline of the entire Kshitiz Universe, and other universes are also prone to this altering. The thing that Acsh did has turned out as a malediction for Mysonë.'
'The downfall of Acsh was written in fate,' said another ray of Razel light, emerging from Nowhere. ' No one can change it ever- except one thing: 95Turn watch of Clayton.'
Älstyre looked up, addressing Razel,'So can I use the 95Turn to undo the events of Reyncole? Am I supposed to do it?'
'You could have done it, and you can do it even now. But don't. The Omniverse tries to keep itself balanced. The Acsh, whom you lost nineteen years ago, is back on Mysonë, and in a different form.'
'Means my Acsh is back..?' exclaimed Älstyre with water in his eyes.
'Yes. And you can recognise him by his vellir. I'm sure that my Versatile Descendant will give Mysonë its new Prince.'
'Lord.' said Älstyre with determined eyes.
At that moment, the raylight passed, and Älstyre allowed his eyes to see the real world around him, finally giving his lips some rest. He gave a serious look to Aviral, who asked dubiously, 'Are we...good?'
Älstyre smiled with jubilance.
'Get ready to throne your Prince as the Master Misaschaee.'
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