1000 years in the past, during the Ae'ther Wars.
A maiden, radiant in her purity, enters a large machine. She gives a sword with an empty slot for a jewel on its hilt to a blond man nearby. "Promise me, you will bring him back…" the man receives the sword and answers, "I swear it upon my soul."
He maiden kneels, looks at a small red jewel shard in her hand one last time, before bowing her head and clasping her hands together as if in prayer. A blinding light fills the room. When it fades, a massive Lens is in her place. "Set Belcrant to maximum power!" The blond man commands. He replaces the sword sheathed at his belt with the one he is holding.
1000 years in the past, the end of the Ae'ther Wars.
"We can't hold them back! They are breaking in!"
Kronos cursed behind gritted teeth. Er'ther dogs, He growled to himself. If I can't have this planet, no one will. "Set Belcrant to self-destruct!" He ordered the technicians, who grimly obeyed. If the Er'thers did manage to go into the command room, they were surely dead, and then the dogs would certainly annihilate their race. They had nothing left to lose.
The Swordian Masters rushed in. The technicians and Kronos all drew their weapons, ready to fight for their lives, if only for a while longer. Chaltier's Master saw the self-destruct sequence. "Kronos, are you mad?! "
"If we Aetherians will fade from history, we will take this world with us!" The battle began. Kronos himself and Dymlos' Master crossed swords. "If you destroy the world, none of your people will live! We'll all die!" Kronos stepped back and released the Divine Power spell. "Your 'people', they're lower than dirt! You don't own the world! You don't deserve the world!" The battle raged on, going against the steadily ticking self-destruct clock. The Swordian Masters, try as they might, could not reach the control panel because of the steady stream of spells, however weak, assaulting them. The Aetherians were just stalling, they realized. And there was no way through them. I'm not…I'm not going to give up! Dymlos' Master thought desperately. The people that I love, and even the Aetherians… The whole world is depending on us right now!
And then, a miracle. Stop! No more fighting. No more killing. An anguished, disembodied voice said. Belcrant's systems began powering down, and its safety measures clicked into place. "Atamoni?!" Kronos exclaimed. "We are betrayed…" His men lost morale immediately, seeing as they had no escape. "Surrender, Kronos." Dymlos' Master said. His tone was calm, certain. Without a trace of threat. But Kronos stepped back. He smirked bitterly and drew his sword. "I do not surrender to dirt." Then a hatch to the outside opened behind him. "Kronos!" Dymlos' Master exclaimed, but that was all he could say. Kronos stabbed himself with the sword and jumped. "Damn!" Dymlos' Master ran to the open hatch, trying to see where he fell. But his path was obscured by clouds.
And so nobody knew, that only a sword would hit the ground.
Dymlos' Master turned around. The other Swordian Masters had the Aetherian techs in a tight circle and were preparing to execute them. "No." he said, sheathing his Swordian. "No more fighting. No more killing."
The Aethersphere was sunk to the bottom of the sea, leaving the sky free to be viewed by all. The Lens powering Belcrant was found in a mountain by an adventurer not long after, and it was named the Eye of Atamoni after her. The story of the miracle surroundig the Eye, spread like wildfire. Over the course of centuries, a religion developed around it, and Atamoni became a Goddess instead of just a maiden.
But then… What about Berselius?