"Did you really think we wouldn't notice your return?"
Kael's voice struck her like a whip across the face—familiar, cruel, and impossibly calm. That smile he wore was not the one she remembered from stolen kisses in the palace gardens. It was the smirk of a man who had rewritten history with her blood.
Lysandra's breath caught in her throat. Her pulse thundered in her ears, but she didn't let her face betray the fire boiling in her chest.
She stood slowly, every movement a defiance, eyes never leaving his. "You should have made sure I was dead the first time."
Kael chuckled—soft, cold. "You always were too stubborn to stay buried."
The guards around him raised their blades. Their armor gleamed under the moonlight, but their eyes showed unease. They didn't expect her to face them so boldly. They didn't know what she was.
Yet.
She reached for the pendant around her neck. It pulsed with heat, the voice of the goddess humming just below her skin.
Run. Burn. Rise.
A whisper. A command.
Lysandra didn't hesitate.
She slammed her palm into the ground. A shockwave exploded from her feet, hurling the nearest guards back. Cracks split the cobblestones. A violet flame burst from her hands, surrounding the air like a living thing.
Kael's eyes widened for the briefest moment,"Magic—?!"
She spun and ran. Again. Like the coward they'd painted her to be. But not because she feared him.
Because she was not ready. Not yet.
---
She darted through alleys, heart hammering, cloak soaked with sweat and rain. Her body burned. The goddess inside her screamed for vengeance. For war. For blood.
But Selene—this fragile vessel Lysandra now wore—was not yet strong enough.
Not yet.
She found refuge in the hollowed remains of a bakery. Burned in the riots. Forgotten by the city.
She collapsed behind the counter, breath ragged, limbs trembling. Her fingers were still glowing faintly.
The whisper came again, clearer now.
You are no longer theirs. You are mine. And I do not forget.
Lysandra clenched her fists. "Then help me," she whispered back. "Help me make them suffer."
A beat of silence.
Then, a pulse of power. A memory. A name.
"Eiran."
The man with the starlit eyes. The one who had found her in the market.
He had known who she was. Who she had been. What she was becoming.
And more than that, he had waited.
She closed her eyes and let the goddess's whisper guide her thoughts.
A path.
A name.
An ancient place hidden beneath the capital's bones.
She stood.
No more running.
If she was to reclaim her throne, her vengeance, her name—she needed power. Real power. And it began with finding Eiran.
---
The undercity was older than the Empire itself. A maze of forgotten catacombs, broken shrines, and bones no one had ever counted.
Lysandra followed the whispers.
The shadows seemed to recognize her now, parting like servants before a queen.
She stepped into a vaulted chamber, lit by flickering torches that shouldn't have still been burning.
Eiran stood at the center, robed in shadow and silver. Eyes like galaxies. Calm as moonlight.
"You came," he said, voice dipping into reverence.
"I want answers," she growled. "What am I? What is this power inside me?"
Eiran tilted his head. "Not what. Who."
He stepped forward, and with every step, the air thickened.
"You were Lysandra, Crown Princess. Betrayed. Executed. Forgotten."
He lifted a hand. Her pendant rose from her chest, glowing.
"Now, you are Selene. The vessel of the Forgotten Goddess. The one cast aside by the pantheon. The one whose wrath they sealed in chains."
She swallowed. "Why me?"
"Because your rage called to her. Because when they buried you, your soul screamed louder than the gods could ignore. You were chosen not for your bloodline... but your fury."
Her hands trembled. "Can I control it?"
A pause.
Eiran's smile was bittersweet. "Only if you stop denying who you are."
He raised his palm to her forehead. Magic surged through her—a wildfire licking her veins, cracking her bones open. She screamed.
Visions. Past lives. Selene's torment. Her imprisonment. Her chains forged by divine hands. Her final promise:
I will return. I will not be silenced.
And then—her own face. Wreathed in flame. Seated on a throne of ash.
She collapsed, gasping.
Eiran knelt beside her. "They killed a princess. But they resurrected a goddess. And now, the world must pay for forgetting."
Lysandra—Selene—opened her eyes. They glowed like silver fire.
"What do I do now?"
He reached into his cloak and produced a scroll, sealed in wax.
"War is coming. And your first ally waits for you beyond the Dead Hills. But beware—he is not loyal. Only obsessed."
She took the scroll.
A weight shifted in the air. A prophecy beginning.
Then—
The chamber exploded.
A shockwave hurled them both across the floor. Dust rained from the ceiling. The torchlight died.
From the shattered archway, a figure emerged.
Kael.
But not as he had been. His armor was different—darker, etched with runes. His eyes… glowed faintly gold.
He wasn't alone.
Behind him, Serena. Dressed in robes of a priestess, her crown gleaming. She looked at Lysandra like she was filth.
"You should have stayed dead, sister."
Lysandra rose to her feet, her voice low.
"I'm not your sister."
Serena smiled. "You're right. You're something worse."
Kael raised his sword. It glowed with divine light.
Eiran hissed. "That blade—"
Lysandra's blood froze.
"The Blade of Silence," Eiran said. "Forged to kill gods."
Kael moved.
Faster than thought.
Steel met flame. The chamber lit with magic and fury.
Lysandra screamed, power bursting from her like a star going nova.
But it wasn't enough.
Kael's sword drove into her side.
Pain lanced through her. Her knees buckled. Blood spilled.
But she didn't fall.
She caught his wrist. Her silver eyes burning inches from his.
"I will make you bleed for every lie you told."
He smirked. "Too late."
Then she felt it.
A pull.
Magic dragging her back.
No—not yet!
But the world blurred. The chamber twisted. Time cracked.
And she vanished.
Leaving behind only blood, and a whisper:
" You can't kill a goddess. You only delay her wrath."