The Shattered Sky: Only I Do What the Gods Can't

The night was different, though no one could have predicted how.

In the small village of Riverstone, nestled between rolling hills and ancient forests, most people were preparing for sleep.

Lanterns flickered in windows, casting soft shadows across weathered wooden walls. Dogs settled into their corners, and the last embers of evening fires slowly died in hearths.

Old Marcus, who ran the village's only tavern, was wiping down the bar when he first noticed something strange.

The usual evening sounds—crickets, distant owl calls, the soft rustling of leaves—had gone silent. An odd stillness hung in the air, like a held breath.

He walked to the tavern's door and stepped outside.

The sky was wrong.

At first, Marcus thought he was imagining things. But no—something was definitely happening above him.

The stars, which normally sat quietly in their familiar patterns, were moving. Not twinkling or shifting as they sometimes did, but actually moving. Sliding. Separating.

"What in the world?" he muttered.

Far away, in a realm beyond human understanding, the same moment was unfolding with far more dramatic consequences.

The Celestial Observatory was a place of impossible beauty. Its walls weren't made of stone or wood, but of pure light and memory.

Imagine a room where the boundaries between solid and ethereal didn't exist—where thought and substance merged, where the very air shimmered with ancient knowledge and power.

The Celestial Council sat in a circle, their forms both substantial and translucent.

They looked human-like, but only in the way a perfect sculpture might resemble a person—too flawless to be real, too intricate to be merely carved.

At the center of this gathering stood Orion.

He had been their guardian once. Their most trusted protector. Now, something had changed within him.

A darkness had taken root, growing slowly like a vine that eventually consumes an entire building.

"We have failed," Orion said, his voice carrying the weight of centuries. "For too long, we have watched the mortal world suffer while we remained detached."

Astraea, the most compassionate of the celestial beings, stepped forward.

Her form was a blend of silver and blue, like moonlight reflected on the surface of a calm sea.

"Power is not a weapon to be wielded carelessly," she responded. "The constellations are guardians, not tools."

Orion's laugh was bitter. "Guardians? We have become decorations. Distant. Useless."

In his hand, he held an artifact that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. Older than the oldest stars, more dangerous than any weapon mortals could imagine.

Its very existence was a violation of the cosmic laws that had maintained balance since the first stars ignited.

Back in Riverstone, Marcus wasn't the only one who had noticed the sky's strange behavior.

Children pressed their faces against windows. Farmers stood in their fields, pitchforks forgotten in their hands.

Sailors on distant ships watched in a mixture of terror and wonder as the stars began to move in ways no astronomical chart could explain.

The stars were falling.

Not like shooting stars—brief, beautiful, and gone in an instant. These stars were breaking apart. Fragmenting.

Each piece carrying millennia of accumulated power, potential energy that could transform or destroy with equal ease.

In the Celestial Observatory, Orion struck.

The sky—that perfect, luminous canopy that had guided civilizations and watched over worlds—didn't just break. It tore. Like living tissue ripped violently apart, the celestial landscape split into countless pieces.

Constellation fragments rained down.

Each fragment carried its own essence. Some blazed with the fire of warrior stars. Others hummed with the quiet wisdom of ancient knowledge. A

few carried harmony, subtlety, the kind of power that whispers instead of shouting.

One such fragment—a piece of the constellation Lyra—was falling toward a small, unremarkable house in Riverstone. Toward a boy named Kael, though he didn't know it yet.

In the mortal world, people watched in stunned silence as celestial pieces embedded themselves into earth, water, and occasionally, living flesh.

A farmer might find a star fragment in his wheat field. A child might discover one nestled in a riverbank. A sailor might pull a glowing piece from the ocean.

Each fragment was a potential miracle. Or a potential nightmare.

Orion's form was changing. As he consumed more constellation fragments, his body became a swirling maelstrom of stolen powers.

No longer just a celestial guardian, he was becoming something unprecedented—a being of pure, unrestrained potential.

"I am free," he proclaimed, his voice echoing across realms seen and unseen. "And this world will be remade."

In the devastated Celestial Observatory, most of the council was in shock. Some wept. Some raged. Some stood in stunned silence, watching their entire existence crumble.

Astraea was different.

While others lost themselves in emotion, she remained focused.

Her gaze was fixed downward, toward the mortal realm. Specifically, toward a single point in Riverstone—toward a young boy who would soon receive a fragment of Lyra.

Lyra. A constellation of harmony. The weakest, some would say. The most subtle. The least likely to produce a hero.

But Astraea knew something the others didn't.

Sometimes, the smallest spark creates the brightest fire.

In Riverstone, life was already changing. The star fragments were landing, each one a potential source of incredible power.

Some would be discovered by those seeking strength. Others by those driven by curiosity. A few would find their way to unexpected hands.

Kael's fragment would be different. Not because of its power, but because of the person who would receive it.

As the last of the celestial fragments fell, a new chapter was beginning. A story of a world transformed. Of power unleashed. Of a young boy who didn't yet know he would become the key to restoring what had been broken.

"Our Herald is coming," Astraea whispered.

And in the distance, where the boundaries between mortal and divine blurred, Orion's silhouette promised that this was only the beginning.

Far below, in a small house in Riverstone, a boy named Kael slept, unaware that everything was about to change.

[A/N: Hey guys. There is no need to read the auxiliary volume(volume 00) it's just to help understand why the world is like this. So if you find this part boring then feel free to skip to the main part of the book(volume 1), it won't affect your reading experience and these things will be explained and introduced in the book itself. 

Please do not judge the book based on just this auxiliary volume.🙇‍♂️

I promise you that the book is incredible.]