RELIC OF THE SUN & MOON

RELIC OF THE SUN AND MOON

Author : MOHAMMAD MAHEEN RAHMAN

**PROLOGUE**

In the time before time had a name, when the world was still raw and unformed, two forces clashed across the void.

One was the Void-That-Hungers—absolute entropy, the silence that devours stars, the ending that waits at the heart of all things. It sought to unmake, to reduce existence to perfect nothingness.

The other was the Infinite Becoming—wild creation, the song that births universes, the endless expansion that threatens to shatter reality under the weight of infinite possibility. It sought to multiply, to create without limit, until everything collapsed into beautiful chaos.

Neither could be allowed to win. Together, they would annihilate everything. Apart, they would still annihilate everything. So the ancient ones—beings who were neither gods nor mortals—forged a prison that was also a bridge, a seal that was also a balance.

They called it the Relic of the Sun and Moon.

Crafted from crystallized starlight and shadow, engraved with symbols that shifted between day and night, the Relic did not destroy the forces. It bound them. It forced them into eternal opposition, each checking the other, neither ever triumphant. For millennia it held, hidden in the space between worlds, guarded by those few who understood the terrible truth: the Relic was not a weapon or a treasure.

It was the only thing keeping reality from unraveling.

But prisons weaken. Seals crack. And guardians grow old, or die, or make desperate choices.

Centuries later, in a forgotten corner of a dying industrial town, a boy named Maheen pressed his back against a rusty locker while rain hammered the windows like angry fists. He had no idea that an ancient key—warm, pulsing, alive—waited in his grandfather’s locked room upstairs. He had no idea that the girl standing beside him, small and fierce in her faded hijab, carried a destiny intertwined with his own.

He only knew the sting of being called “Poverty Boy.” The weight of a life that felt like a dead-end alley.

He did not know that the balance was failing.

He did not know that the Relic had begun to call.

And he did not know that before the end, he and Nuha would have to give up everything— their humanity, their future, their very selves—to become the new seal.

Some prisons are not meant to hold forever.

Some guardians are not meant to survive.

And some loves are written into the fabric of reality itself, shining briefly, fiercely, before becoming part of the eternal balance.

This is their story.