Among the elders of Kiojafell, there is a story that is never written down and rarely spoken aloud.
It is said that on rare nights—usually when the air feels too still—Vix’ke the Crimson Sovereign comes to Kiojafell alone.
No army follows her.
No blood is spilled.
No alarms are raised.
She walks through the village without hostility, acknowledged by instinct rather than proclamation, and enters the Broken Spire of Kiojafell.
The sealed door opens.
Then closes.
No one knows how long she remains inside.
Those who whisper about it say she is not seeking power, nor permission, nor absolution.
They say she is visiting her echo.
Not to receive guidance.
Not to be judged.
But as one might visit a twin sister—separate lives, shared origin, neither ruling the other.
Some claim the Spire feels quieter afterward.
Others swear the Crimson Sovereign emerges calmer, sharper, as if something unresolved has been… acknowledged.
No one claims to have witnessed what occurs beyond the door.
Those who pretend they have are never believed.
If the rumor is true, then it confirms something deeply unsettling:
that the Goddess of Chaos does not forbid mortal approach
that the Crimson Sovereign does not seek ascension
that neither echo claims dominance over the other
Order has no language for this.
A god who allows visits without command.
A mortal who enters without supplication.
When pressed, the elders of Kiojafell give the same answer every time:
“If she enters the Spire, it is because the door recognizes her.
If she leaves, it is because she chose to.”
They refuse to elaborate.
Some say that when the Crimson Sovereign enters the Spire, the Pantheon of Chaos does not convene.
They simply make room.
And if that is true, then the most frightening thing about Vix’ke is not that she can destroy kingdoms—
but that when she stands before divinity,
she is not a subject.