Unia: Echo of Harmony

The Fall of the Old Order: The Descent of a Celestial. Act 2

With silent indifference, the creature tugged the knife downward and, with a casual flick of its wrist, tossed it. Ruy stepped back, his stare locked on the twisted steel lying at his feet.

A voice, not carried by air but woven into the fabric of the minds of those around, cut through the chaos with a single word: "Enough." The command was simple, yet it resonated with a power that brooked no defiance. It wasn't a sound, not really—more like a knowledge, a piece of pure information that bypassed ears and slipped directly into thoughts. Shapeless, without syllables or language, it flooded every mind, sending shivers down to the bones.

In that fleeting instant, the blade Ruy wielded—so solid, so deadly—began to crumble, the steel turning to dust. Around him, his comrades' weapons suffered the same fate—swords, axes, and arrows dissolving into the air, swirling briefly before the night claimed them, as if swept away by the wind's silent command.

Ruy's knees buckled, body collapsing into the dirt like a marionette with its strings severed. Fear, cold and absolute, flooded his veins, washing away the rage that had had fueled him moments earlier. His hands, once so steady, now clawed at the earth, grasping desperately for something solid, something real, to anchor himself. But there was nothing—only the haunting void left in the wake of lost bravery.

The man's eyes, wide with the terror of a cornered beast, lifted to the figure above him.

With distinctly feminine features, the being was terrifying in its beauty—features so perfectly sculpted that they appeared heavenly, smooth as porcelain and just as deceptively fragile. Even the deep shadows that framed its visage, hinting at exhaustion and illness did nothing to tarnish its perfection. Instead, they accentuated the sorrow etched into its gaze—a sorrow that pierced Ruy's soul with the silent rebuke of a mother witnessing her child's shame.

"What was all of this for, child?" The inaudible voice came again, filling his mind with a question that echoed with an unsettling calm.

The marauder's response, barely more than a whisper, was driven by instinct rather than thought: "¡Por las riquezas!" The words tumbled from his lips, automatic and unthinking, as if the drive for wealth was as natural to him as emptying his bowels. He expected judgment, feared otherworldly wrath, but found none. Instead, that flawless face reflected the same quiet compassion glimpsed in the humiliating look of the woodland elder slain by his hand.

As if to cleanse the world of the destruction that had taken place, a wave of golden luminescence began to seep from the creature's form, spreading outwards like dawn breaking after the longest night. This glow wasn't just bright; it was alive, pulsing with warmth and emotions that filled every space it touched.

The light flowed like liquid gold, washing over the ruined houses, the charred trees, the trampled soil. Where there had been only destruction, new structures rose, majestic and gleaming as if cast from the very light itself. Trees, once blackened and ravaged, stood tall again, their branches heavy with leaves that glittered like precious gems. The blood-stained earth was replaced by a soft, green carpet, fresh and fertile.

That was nothing short of miraculous—a paradise that stretched as far as the eye could see, an impossible beauty that filled the air with the scent of blooming flowers and the soft rustle of leaves in a gentle breeze.

Ruy stood paralyzed, caught between the icy grip of horror and the burning sting of reverence. Cries of despair melted into prayers, a desperate symphony rising to the heavens, but the celestial figure before him remained untouched by the chaos, its gaze piercing into him alone. Its voice—soft yet all-encompassing—echoed in the deepest corners of his mind, creeping into the recesses long since buried.