Collection: Serpens
THE CURSE OF THE AMBER EYES
But sadly, not all Hu-Men were pure of heart.
In time, a darkness began to stir within the species. A subtle fracture appeared—one that would eventually divide the Hu-Men forever. Yet this division did not begin with war, nor with violence.
It began with a gaze—
a gaze the colour of molten lava, burning bright like the core of a living star.
This moment can be traced back nearly twelve billion years, to the arrival of those who would later be known as the Ambers—a rare and mysterious group of Hu-Men born with eyes of radiant amber, their irises glowing with an inner fire, as though lit from within by a spark of volcanic flame. They emerged not in one place, but across many of the Vita planets scattered throughout the Tzion system.
Their birth was rare, yet never ordinary.
And so the question echoed through the centuries:
Where did such brilliant, mesmerising amber eyes come from?
For ages, the sages of the Hu-Men debated the answer. Some held that it was a mutation—a natural side effect of a cosmic species teetering too close to divine perfection. Others feared it was a scar—a metaphysical wound left behind by the fall of an older, forgotten race… or perhaps a hidden flaw buried deep within the Great Architect's original design.
Yet the oldest accounts—those etched into the crystalline monoliths beneath the first Temples of Eden—spoke of something more ancient, more enigmatic.
Something beyond knowledge.
Something no Hu-Man, no matter how enlightened, could truly grasp.
The truth was this: no one knew.
And the mystery of the amber eyes would remain unsolved—its answer buried in time, hidden in silence—
for tens of thousands of years to come.
THE SEED
At the time, not even the wisest among the Hu-Men, nor any living mind in the Universe of Tzion—
not even the Great Architect Himself could foresee the truth behind the amber gaze.
Those golden eyes, glowing like volcanic fire beneath moonlight, were not merely a strange mutation…
They were a signal. A warning. A doorway.
What none could yet comprehend was that the light behind those eyes emanated not from the eyes themselves,
but from deep within the brain—
from the heart of the Sapiens soul.
More precisely, it came from a singular, hidden structure nestled in the centre of the grey matter:
the pineal gland.
No larger than a grain of rice, this tiny organ existed within all Sapiens beings. Biologically, it regulated cycles of sleep and wakefulness, responded to light and shadow, and secreted subtle hormones that connected the body to the rhythms of the Cosmos. But spiritually, it served a far greater purpose.
It was the bridge.
The sacred point of union between flesh and soul.
The altar upon which the divine spark anchored itself to the material form.
It was here—within this most sacred of places—that the true corruption began.
For those born with the amber eyes, their pineal glands did not shimmer with the quiet blue-silver light of the Alpha Hu-Men, but blazed with an unnatural amber fire. This fire, ancient and unholy, had not been placed there by chance, nor by evolution, nor even by accident.
It had been planted.
They were the cursed ones.
The bearers of The Seed—as it was called by the dark being who had conceived it.
A mutation, yes—but one by design.
Its architect was not the Great Architect of Tzion, but His shadowed mirror—
Satan, the supreme god of the Sumaya species.
A race of formless, howling spirits—beings of pure consciousness, cursed to drift across the great cosmos without bodies, without rest, without a home in the material universe. They were eternal, but exiled. Alive, but unmanifest. That was the price of their creation… and the torment of their existence.
But Satan, the twisted genius behind their design, had conceived a vile and cunning plan.
He would infiltrate the material realm not by brute force, but by seed.
Not by summoning his army into existence, but by preparing hosts for them—vessels of flesh seeded with his essence.
And to do so, he needed only to find a crack in the Architect’s design… a place small enough to be overlooked, yet central enough to infect the soul itself.
He found it in the pineal gland.
Through a dark invocation, spoken in forgotten frequencies that echoed through the subatomic spaces of creation, Satan corrupted this holy gland in a handful of unsuspecting Hu-Men across the stars of Tzion. The mutation spread quietly, undetected, masked as beauty, intelligence, charisma… and that hypnotic amber gaze.
No one suspected.
No one saw.
Not even the divine watchers.
But from that moment, the war had already begun.
For within those glowing eyes burned not the light of destiny…
but the first spark of invasion.
THE BREACH IN THE SANCTUARY OF THE SOUL
“The soul is the throne... and I have come for the crown.”
Satan could not create life.
He was an architect—but a sterile one. Cursed since the dawn of his existence, he had never known the sacred breath of creation. He could twist, corrupt, deform, manipulate... but never create. He could turn a gentle creature into a monstrous beast, could shatter the harmony of the natural order, but he could not breathe life into dust. That divine spark had been denied to him.
And for this, he burned with endless rage.
Condemned to wander the eternal dark with his creation—the Sumaya, bodiless spirits of chaos and hunger—Satan brooded in silence, consumed by the weight of his curse. He was not just defiant.
He was vengeful.
While the Great Architects, such as Goddark, sculpted civilisations from star-matter and seeded galaxies with life, Satan plotted from the void. If he could not create life… he would steal it. If he could not sculpt a soul… he would seize the throne of another.
But he did not act with fire or fury.
He watched. He listened. He studied.
And eventually, he discovered the hidden secret within the Hu-Men’s divine design:
the pineal gland.
A luminous micro-organ, no larger than a grain of rice, nestled at the exact centre of the Sapiens brain—what the Hu-Men called the Third Eye, and what the Kwasars revered as the Soul-Bridge. It was no mere biological structure. It was the sanctuary of the soul—the sacred threshold where thought and spirit converged, where the mortal will attuned itself to the breath of Goddark, the great Creator of all Sapiens.
In the Alpha Hu-Men, the pineal gland pulsed with crystalline balance—steady, radiant, and pure. But within the mutated blood of the amber-eyed, Satan detected something else:
interference.
The Amber Stain, though dormant in many, had subtly altered the gland’s resonance. It was no longer tuned solely to the divine frequency of the Architect—it shimmered with a second vibration, one that pulsed just on the edge of chaos, whispering of hunger and shadow.
And Satan—master of inversion, corrupter of essence—saw opportunity.
If he could disrupt the soul’s connection to the body…
If he could fracture the Soul-Bridge…
Then he could sever the individual from the divine harmony of the Architect.
And a Hu-Man without soul would not perish.
No.
It would become a vessel.
Empty. Hollow. Yet powerful.
A throne, waiting to be claimed.
“The soul is the throne,” he whispered into the void,
“and I have come for the crown.”
To carry out his plan, Satan reached into the sacred order of the Vita planets and violated it. Where life had been carefully composed by the will of Goddark, Satan sowed rot. Where ecosystems pulsed with balance, he injected dissonance. But most of all, he cursed the creatures that slithered upon the earth—the serpents.
And from them, he shaped his first abominations.
Infused with entropy and carved with infernal intention, the Serpens were born—
a corrupted species forged from the bodies of common reptiles, twisted by the abyss. These creatures, once harmless, were transformed into humanoid horrors:
tall, scaled beings with the heads of serpents, forked tongues, cold golden eyes, and minds sharpened to deceive.
The Serpens became his hands.
His whispers.
His subtle knives in the Edenic dark.
They were not mere monsters. They were charming. Persuasive. Capable of infecting the thoughts of others with venomous ideas. They crept into temples, posed as sages, offered “truths” too seductive to resist. And while the Alpha Hu-Men meditated in harmony, the Serpens planted seeds of doubt, ambition, and rebellion.
All the while, Satan worked through them—feeding entropy into the amber-eyed, injecting visions into their dreams, corrupting their pineal glands drop by drop, until what had once been a divine temple became a throne of darkness.
This was his invasion.
Not through armies.
Not through fire.
But through the sacred bridge within each soul.
And thus, the war for the cosmos began not with a sword, but with a whisper.
A fracture.
A gaze.
The Amber-eyed were no longer just different.
They were the doorway.
And the Serpens were already walking through.
