The Divine Council stood at the heart of the Supreme Aether, a realm suspended between the stars where time and space bowed to the will of the gods. It was a sanctuary of infinite splendor, a vast hall of starmarble that shimmered with the light of a thousand gaxies, its curved walls carved with consteltions that danced in living patterns – stories of creation, celestial wars, and worlds forged from chaos. Pilrs of pure light, each pulsing with the heartbeat of a universe under a god's dominion, supported a vaulted ceiling that reflected an endless sky, a tapestry of nebue and suns that spun in an eternal dance. In the center, a circle of thrones floated above a floor of bck crystal, each seat a unique masterpiece: one carved from petrified storm clouds, another woven from shimmering threads, another forged from ice that burned with blue fire. The air vibrated with a harmonic hum, an echo of the ws the gods had imposed on the mortal worlds, a song of power that resonated in the aether like an eternal heartbeat.

  The gods were gathered, their colossal forms filling the hall with a presence that could bend gaxies. Zarathul, Lord of Storms, occupied a throne of petrified bck clouds, his figure shrouded in lightning that crackled like living snakes, his blue eyes shining with a contained fury that had shattered rebellious worlds. His voice, a thunder that shook the pilrs, resonated as he smmed a fist against the arm of his throne, unleashing a lightning bolt that sparked between the stars on the ceiling. "The offerings of mortals in the south dwindle again!" he roared, his gray hair waving like storm clouds. "How difficult is it for those insignificant creatures to erect a decent altar?"

  Beside him, Veyra, Weaver of Fate, reclined on a throne of luminous threads that intertwined in infinite patterns, her form veiled by a cloak of light that hid everything but her delicate hands, which spun a silver spindle. Her eyes, invisible behind the veil, shone with a silver glow that saw beyond the present, and her voice – a whisper that cut through the air like a bde – responded calmly: "Patience, Zarathul. The mortals of Eldoria have raised new temples this season. Their destinies are well woven – for now."

  On a throne of burning ice, Grulthak, Spirit of the Wild Hunt, growled, his titan form with a wolf's head and eyes of red fire shining with a primal hunger. Bck cws tore at the air as he spoke, his voice a guttural roar that made the crystal beneath his feet tremble. "The orcs of the north hunt well this time – entire herds sacrificed in my name. But their prey dwindles. Something frightens them." His fangs fshed as he sniffed the air, a divine instinct catching an echo he did not yet understand.

  Lytheris, Healer of the Skies, stood on a throne of white feathers that shone with healing light, her ethereal form wrapped in a mantle of golden clouds that flowed like rivers. Her hands, delicate but charged with power that had restored wounded worlds, rested on an orb of crystalline water, and her voice – melodic as a stream – calmed the room: "Their worlds are at peace, brothers. Mortals prosper under our guidance. Let their small mistakes not disturb us."

  The council continued, their voices resonating in a trivial debate that filled the Supreme Aether with a murmur of power – discussions about insufficient offerings, boundaries between domains, and the insolence of certain mortals. Zarathul raised a hand, lightning sparking between his fingers as he growled: "If the humans of Eldoria do not bend the knee soon, I will send a storm that will ravage their fields – let them remember who protects them!" Veyra ughed softly, weaving a thread that shone with a distant future, while Grulthak struck his throne, unleashing an echo that shook the stars.

  Suddenly, a silence cut through the air – a sudden void, as if the harmonic hum of the council had been ripped away. The pilrs of light representing the worlds under their dominion flickered, and one of them – the one that shone with the golden glow of Zytherion, the world of Aurora – went out with a dry snap, its light dissolving into a bck thread that dripped onto the crystal floor. The gods stopped, their auras faltering as the floor trembled beneath their thrones, a tremor that made the consteltions on the walls crack.

  "What is this?" roared Zarathul, standing up, his lightning rising like a spear as he looked at the extinguished pilr. "Zytherion has… vanished!"

  Veyra dropped her spindle, the shining thread breaking into fragments that fell to the floor like ashes. "The connection… has been severed," she whispered, her voice trembling for the first time in millennia as her hands searched for answers in the air. "Thal'Korath's sanctuary – the bridge between us and that world – has disappeared."

  Grulthak sniffed the air, his eyes of fire narrowing as a low growl resonated in his chest. "I smell death," he said, his wolf tail striking the throne with a crack that made the crystal tremble. "What has Thal'Korath done? Does he betray us?"

  Lytheris raised a hand, her orb of water shining with a healing glow as she tried to restore the extinguished pilr. "It cannot be betrayal," she said, her melodic voice den with doubt. "He has guarded Zytherion since its genesis – his will is bance itself. Something… something has broken him."

  Zarathul roared, his lightning cutting through the air and striking the crystal floor, opening a crack that shone with starlight. "If he has broken the pact, I will tear him from his sanctuary myself!" he bellowed, his aura erupting in a storm that shook the vaults, raining fragments of consteltions on the council. "No guardian defies the council!"

  "Peace, Zarathul," Veyra hissed, rising as her broken threads floated around her like ghosts. "If the bridge is gone, it was not by his hand – I feel it. Something has invaded Zytherion, something that not even Thal'Korath could contain."

  Before Grulthak could respond, a crash shook the Supreme Aether – a portal opened in the center of the hall, a bck tear that bled living shadows and a stench of ozone and decay that made even the gods recoil. From the portal emerged Thal'Korath, Guardian of Bance, his colossal form shattered. His body of molten gold and silver was torn, bck cracks corroding his divine flesh like pulsating veins, his right arm reduced to a smoking stump, his spear lost. Golden blood dripped from his torso, staining the bck crystal with a glow that slowly faded, and his eyes – formerly spheres of white light – were dull, clouded by a green-bck blight that spread across his face like a living cancer. He crawled towards the council, his hands trembling as they tore at the floor, leaving a trail of blood and bck ashes.

  The gods rose, their auras erupting in a chaos of light and shadow – Zarathul's lightning sparked, Veyra's threads broke, Grulthak's roar resonated. "Thal'Korath!" roared Zarathul, his voice a thunder that shook the pilrs. "What have you done?"

  The Guardian raised a trembling hand, his voice a broken gasp that cut through the air like a jagged bde: "The Queen… her first echo…" The words choked off in a gurgle as bck blood spurted from his mouth, his body colpsing at the edge of the circle of thrones. "She… came… blight…" His eyes went out, and his form colpsed into a heap of corroded gold, the blight spreading across the crystal floor like a living river, eating away at the runes that shone beneath the thrones.

  Lytheris rushed towards him, her hands glowing with healing light that could restore wounded worlds. "I will not let you fall!" she cried, her melodic voice den with urgency as she poured a torrent of crystalline water over Thal'Korath. But the water turned bck upon touching him, evaporating in a green vapor that made the Healer recoil, her aura faltering as the miasma rose like a veil. "I… I cannot stop it!" she gasped, her hands trembling as the blight advanced, bck cracks spreading across her golden feathers.

  Zarathul unched a lightning bolt at Thal'Korath's body, a bolt that could split mountains, roaring: "Burn that abomination!" But the lightning dissolved upon touching the blight, the shadows devouring the light in a whirlwind that shook the hall. Grulthak jumped forward, his cws cutting the air as he roared: "I will tear it out myself!" But the miasma clung to his cws, corroding the burning ice into bck threads that dripped to the floor, and he recoiled with a howl of fury and fear.

  Veyra raised her hands, weaving threads of light to contain the blight, but the threads broke into fragments that fell like ashes, her voice cut short by a cry: "It's… unstoppable!" The crystal floor cracked under their thrones, the light pilrs of other worlds flickered, and the ceiling of the council – the tapestry of nebue – darkened, stars going out one by one as if the aether itself were dying.

  Thal'Korath raised his head one st time, his voice a broken whisper that resonated in the minds of the gods: "The Queen… is coming…" His body colpsed into a heap of bck ashes, the blight spreading like a dark ke that ate away at the crystal beneath him, his divine form dissolving into a smoking puddle that left only silence. The healing gods, Lytheris to the forefront, now stood still, their auras flickering as the miasma rose, an echo of Kaili's ughter faintly ringing in the air--a sound neither had heard, yet it cut their souls as a freezing bde.

  Zarathul fell to his knees, his lightning extinguishing as he looked at the ashes of Thal'Korath, his voice a broken growl: "What… what has done this?" Veyra retreated, her broken threads floating around her like ghosts, whispering: "The first echo… is only the beginning." Grulthak roared, his cws tearing at the air as the hall trembled, the stars on the ceiling flickering in a frantic chaos.

  The Divine Council y in ruins – the crystal cracked, the pilrs teetering, Thal'Korath's body a heap of bck ashes that still smoked. The gods, their auras dimmed by shock, looked at the pool of blight they could not touch, their faces reflecting a disbelief they had never known. The bridge to Zytherion was broken, its guardian dead, and an absolute terror had erupted in their sanctuary – a harbinger of the power of a Queen they could not comprehend, an echo that resonated in the aether like a war drum that announced the end of their reign.