Chapter Text
A RED WING ACROSS THE VOID
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The universe screamed.
Not in sound—space had no lungs—but in distortion, in the violent wrongness of reality being torn open like old fabric. The Astral Rail shuddered, its golden pathways flickering as something fell through them rather than traveling along them.
Herta Space Station’s sensors went haywire.
“Uh,” March 7th said, peering at a screen that was rapidly filling with red warning symbols. “Guys? Is the station supposed to do that?”
Dan Heng didn’t answer immediately. His spear hummed faintly, reacting to something he couldn’t see yet. “No,” he said at last. “That’s not a warp signature. That’s… an intrusion.”
Welt Yang had already stepped forward, eyes fixed on the main viewport.
Something massive was forming in the vacuum outside.
First came the light—deep crimson, like a dying star being squeezed into a single point. Then the shape: wings unfolding not from metal or energy, but from flesh that carried myth. Black feathers edged with glowing red veins spread wider than any ship, blotting out half the stars behind it.
The station’s artificial gravity fluctuated.
Plants in the hydroponics bay began to wither.
“Okay,” March whispered. “I’m officially uncomfortable.”
The creature drifted closer.
Its body was skeletal yet alive, horns curling back like a crown forged from extinction itself. Its eyes—ancient, red, and impossibly calm—looked upon the station not with rage, but with recognition.
Yveltal had awakened.
And it was not where it was supposed to be.
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INTERLUDE I — THE LEGEND THAT WALKS
In another universe, endings were gentle.
Here, they were feared.
Yveltal remembered earth beneath its cocoon. Remembered forests holding their breath. Remembered how life understood the bargain: I sleep, you live. I wake, you end—so you may begin again.
This universe did not know that language.
It screamed at Yveltal with alarms and weapons.
So Yveltal simply existed.
The effect was immediate.
Life energy drained—not violently, not maliciously—but inevitably. The station’s ambient vitality flowed toward Yveltal like rivers answering gravity. Lights dimmed. Power rerouted. A few unlucky researchers fainted as their bodies instinctively resisted a god they were never meant to meet.
Yveltal felt confusion.
Why did this world cling so tightly to continuation?
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Back inside the station, the Trailblazer staggered slightly, gripping a railing.
“That thing,” they said, breath unsteady. “It feels like the universe is… holding its breath.”
Welt’s expression was grave. “No. It feels like the universe is remembering it can exhale.”
Before anyone could respond, the station’s defense cannons fired.
Blue-white beams lanced toward Yveltal, slamming into its chest.
The beams dispersed.
Not deflected. Not absorbed.
They simply… ended.
Yveltal tilted its head.
A single flap of its wings sent a wave of red-black energy outward—not an attack, but a correction. The cannons shut down instantly, their power sources drained to inert metal.
March stared. “So we’re just—what—not fighting that?”
Dan Heng narrowed his eyes. “We can’t. Not like this.”
The Astral Express arrived moments later, warping into view like a golden promise cutting through despair.
Pom-Pom’s voice crackled over the comms. “Emergency boarding! Whatever that is, it’s messing with the Rail!”
Yveltal turned.
For the first time, it sensed something familiar.
A path.
A road that connected worlds.
The Astral Rail shimmered as Yveltal’s gaze fell upon it, and somewhere far beyond mortal sight—
An Aeon opened its eyes.
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INTERLUDE II — THE DESTRUCTION STIRS
Nanook did not sleep.
Nanook waited.
The presence that touched the Rail was not born of hatred, not forged in rebellion or despair. It was older. Quieter. Final in a way Destruction had never been.
This one ends worlds without rage.
Nanook smiled.
And the universe began to move.
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Yveltal spread its wings fully, crimson light bleeding into the void like a prophecy written in blood.
The Astral Express shuddered.
The Trailblazer raised their weapon.
“Well,” March said weakly, forcing a grin. “Guess we’re not having a normal day, huh?”
Yveltal’s cry rang out—echoing across stars, rails, and gods alike.
The saga had begun.