The celestial realm turned into an area unlike every other, a sanctuary of mild and purity in which citizens were handpicked from the souls of mortals, chosen not through repute or wealth, but due their personality and usefulness to the world.

This meticulous choice method had brought about the celestial town to progress rapidly into an exceptional hub of information, awareness, and innovation. The idea of such an high-quality city was the brainchild of Ronan, whose insight and compassion had earned him the admiration of the realm's people. His brilliance knew no bounds, and it was his visionary method that allowed the celestial realm to develop stronger.

Even hell, which had once been a regular danger to the heaven, was restructured underneath Ronan's guidance, rendering the devastating war inside the fourth cycle all however meaningless.

From an early age, Ronan had been cherished and nurtured with the aid of his mother and father—Cyrus Arcenveil and Elara Arcenveil—whose affection knew no bounds. They created a place for him filled with warm temperature and care, wrapping him inside the safety of their love. Their home changed into a place in which pleasure bloomed like plant life within the springtime, each corner brimming with laughter and lifestyles.

He remembered the candy heady scent of the gardens where his dad and mom could sit down with him and his sister, Liviya Arcanveil, his twin who shared his immortal blood. The two had been inseparable, greater than just siblings. They were explorers, adventurers who roamed the celestial forests, climbed its golden mountains, and dove into its crystal-clean lakes.

In the words of his parents, Ronan not only got entertainment, but also got his future results. Cyrus spoke of past battles, where courage defines victory, while Elara weaves tales of kindness and compassion, always reminding them that true strength is in the heart.

These moments are etched in Ronan's memory, precious childhood moments which made him the man he is today and gave the shape. Livia, with her sharp wit and mischievous smile is always by his side, defying him, laughing with him, their bond stronger than the storms life can throw at them

The realm of heaven always looked up to their family as an example, a beacon of unity and love. Cyrus and Elara instilled in their children the virtues of honesty, integrity, and indissoluble family ties, while the laughter the foursome shared at every public gathering was a reminder that power does not corrupt those who rule with compassion .For Ronan, their teachings were more than lessons—they were the foundation from which he would one day lead the realm of heaven.

As Ronan approached the gates of the celestial realm that day, it became not simply the load of his achievements that pressed on his coronary heart, but the joy of returning to his circle of relatives after twenty long years.

The streets have been alive with power, the cheers of the celestial citizens ringing within the air, a celebration of his positive return. His name echoed from each corner as children waved banners, and adults bowed in reverence. The joy was palpable, a wave of warmth that washed over him as he made his way through the group, his eyes trying to find the faces that mattered maximum.

And there she came—Liviya Arcenveil. She stood at the threshold of the grand plaza, her hands crossed, an amused smile gambling on her lips as she watched her brother technique. The years had been kind to her, and despite the passage of time, she still carried that identical spark of mischief that Ronan had usually adored. Without hesitation, he made his way to her, his coronary heart swelling with joy at the sight of his dual.

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"I missed you, sister! When was the last time we met?" Ronan's voice became thick with emotion, though he tried to hold it light.

"Twenty years, idiot! And it seems like you've got any other chance to flex in the front of my sister-in-law," she teased, her tone playful as she nudged him with her elbow.

Ronan chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, I bet you'll have to call me 'His Majesty' now," he quipped, flashing her a smirk.

"As if I will call you that," she shot lower back, her laughter infectious, her eyes sparkling with pleasure.

Their banter felt like a bomb, easing the weariness that had settled in his bones after years of being away. But the actual second of fulfillment came when Ronan moved to include his father. Cyrus, robust and proud, stood expecting his son, his eyes shining with delight. The weight of the years melted away as Ronan stepped into his father's palms, feeling the comfort of that embrace, a reassurance that he had finally come home.

"Father, I did it! I did it!" Ronan's voice changed into a combination of excitement and relief, his heart pounding with the joys of achievement.

Cyrus chuckled, ruffling his son's hair. "Alright, I realize you probably did it. Now stop being a kid—"

But the sentence hung unfinished within the air. In that instantaneous, the warm temperature that had filled Ronan's coronary heart become ripped away, changed by using a chilly, creeping dread. A shadow handed over the solar, casting the world in a muted, eerie mild. Time regarded to slow as a chill swept through the plaza, ignored by way of the group nonetheless cheering. Ronan's senses sharpened, his instincts flaring, warning him of the darkness that had unexpectedly descended upon this moment of pleasure.

He pulled far from his father, his eyes widening in horror. There, standing before him, was a sight that twisted his soul—a sword, bloodied and merciless, became lodged in his father's chest. The vibrant, regal robes Cyrus clothes were stained with red blood, and the light in his eyes become fading speedy. The fragrance of blood, metal and sharp, crammed the air, clashing with the candy perfume of the vegetation that surrounded them. It was a merciless irony, this splendor combined with dying.

Ronan's breath hitched as his eyes dropped to his personal chest. A gaping wound stared again at him, dark blood pouring from it, the warmth of life speedy leaving his frame. The global round him have become a blur, the cheers of the crowd now remote, as if they came from any other international totally. The blissful birthday celebration were shattered, replaced through chaos and horror.

Then came the very last blow—the sword, as soon as lodged in both his and his father's chests, become yanked free with a vicious pull. The person holding the sword it was none apart from Draven Ashcroft, his uncle, a person Ronan had trusted with his existence. A man he had loved as own family.

As panic set in, Ronan grew to become, his eyes attempting to find his mother. What he noticed ripped what little remained of his heart to shreds. Elara, his cherished mother, lay dead on the ground, her mild snuffed out, her frame still and cold. "Mother!" he screamed, his voice uncooked with pain. His thoughts raced as he frantically searched for Liviya. Where became she? Had she met the same destiny? His coronary heart clenched with terror as his eyes darted round, but she turned into nowhere to be discovered.

Behind him, he could make out the confused voices of his companions—Celia and Dante—rushing toward him. Their faces contorted in terror, disbelief writing in every angle as they tried to make sense of the nightmare unfolding before them

"Ronan!" he said. he said, smirking. Celia's voice broke through the haze of pain and confusion. "what happened?"

But Ronan couldn't answer. His ears had dropped, replaced by a deep, eerie silence. The world around him blurred into vague shapes, as if reality itself was slipping away. He could no longer feel the warmth of his father's embrace, only the cold, empty coldness of lies. His eyes met Draven's, and in that moment the weight of the lie fell on him like a rolling wave. "why?" He whispered, his voice barely audible, frustration heavy on every sound. His knees buckled, the ground rose to meet his fall, and the last of the light faded from his vision.

As the darkness overtook him, a burning question gripped Ronan's heart: Why had this happened?