The Radiant Bastion's inner hall glowed with a soft, ethereal shimmer, its crystalline walls reflecting drifting runes of light that floated like dust motes in slow motion. Rows of newly risen gods stood in a semicircle around the central platform, where the examination glyphs pulsed with quiet anticipation.
Aethrion stepped onto the dais and raised his hand. A gentle stillness swept across the chamber as the glyphs brightened.
"Your divinity does not define your fate," he said. "But understanding it is the first step toward not being consumed by it."
A few of the young gods exchanged nervous glances. Some puffed their chests as if expecting to reveal greatness. Others shifted their feet, unsure what would emerge.
Aethrion gestured to the first candidate, a broad-shouldered demigod whose energy hummed like distant thunder.
"Step forward."
The young man moved into the circle. Glyphs ignited beneath him, swirling upward in a spiraling column. The air crackled; sparks leapt along the floor.
"Storm and Time," Aethrion announced. "Rare, powerful, and requiring strict discipline. Your training will begin in the Dawnrise Expanse."
The young man visibly relaxed—impressed with himself, and relieved to be alive.
The next candidate stepped forward, a tall woman whose presence felt like shifting dusk. Her glyphs rose in deep violet currents, spiraling like ink suspended in water.
"Shadow, Memory, and Nightwater," Aethrion said. "Your path leads toward the Celestial Archives."
Her expression never changed, but she bowed with quiet pride.
Several more ascensions followed. A gentle boy manifested Dawnlight and Hearth; Aethrion guided him toward the Everspring Gardens with a warm smile. Another ascendant revealed Magma and Smithing—destined for the Luminal Forge.
Each demonstration settled the crowd a little more. These were strong, respectable divinities. None world-ending. None forbidden.
Then Aethrion paused, his expression dimming.
"The twins."
Whispers rippled through the hall—curiosity, anticipation, unease. Dante's chest tightened, and Anarissa exhaled softly beside him.
They stepped together into the circle.
The floor reacted instantly. Glyphs didn't simply rise—they snapped into existence in overlapping arcs, struggling to settle on any form. Light spiraled around Anarissa first in a sudden, brilliant wave.
Aethrion flinched, then recovered.
"Anarissa Aritzen," he said, voice steadying. "Your core divinity is Eternal Sun."
Warmth flooded the hall, rich and life-giving. Her aura radiated like the dawn breaking across a newborn world. Several gods shielded their eyes.
But the brightness trembled—and a cold, silent void formed beneath it.
Aethrion's tone dropped.
"You also carry Oblivion as a core divinity."
The chamber fell still. Not fear—pure, heavy awe.
Oblivion resonated as a hollow undertone beneath her radiance, like the quiet breath before existence itself is written or erased.
The glyphs flared again.
"Your innate divinities manifest as Life…"
A soft pulse of green-gold radiance rippled outward, gentle and restorative.
"…and Creation."
A construct of light spiraled into being above her palm—intricate, delicate—before dissolving into drifting motes.
Aethrion drew in a breath.
"You are a goddess of Eternal Sun, Oblivion, Life, and Creation. A combination unseen in many eras."
Anarissa stood tall despite the murmurs swirling around her. Dante moved a half-step closer on instinct, but she gave him a proud, steady nod.
Then the glyphs shifted violently—darkening, bending inward.
Dante stepped forward as the light coiled around him.
"Your turn," Aethrion said quietly.
The runes beneath Dante's feet pulsed in alternating patterns of silver and deep void, the lines flickering as though unsure which shape to settle into. Aether shifted in the air—thickening, thinning, trembling.
"Your primary divinity…" Aethrion began, the words slow, "is Dreaming Moon."
Dreamlight unfolded across the hall like drifting fog of silver-blue, carrying fragments of unspoken thoughts, half-formed illusions, flickers of memories not yet lived. The air itself seemed to breathe with him.
But as soon as the dreamlight expanded, it darkened at the edges—pulled inward into a heavy silence.
"And Oblivion," Aethrion continued, "is your second core divinity."
The temperature dropped. Even some of the elder gods straightened, watching him with new attention. Oblivion didn't roar—it erased. It swallowed sound. It existed where things ceased to.
Yet, somehow, the dreamlight and void balanced rather than consumed each other.
The runes changed again, splitting into two mirrored spirals.
"Your innate divinity of Duality stabilizes the contradiction between Dreaming Moon and Oblivion," Aethrion said, almost in disbelief. "Few gods have ever manifested this."
A pulse of opposing forces rippled outward—one of soft luminescence, one of quiet nothing.
Then a ripple of invisible force radiated out—clean, sharp, unsettling.
"And the last is Psionic Minds," Aethrion said. "A divinity tied to consciousness itself."
Some gods recoiled, hands instinctively rising to their temples as if warding off intrusion. Dante quickly clamped down on the accidental psionic pulse with a wince.
Aethrion stared at him and his sister with an expression caught between awe and worry.
"You two carry combinations of divinity that have not existed together since the earliest days of the Eternal War. Sun and Dream. Oblivion in both. Life and Creation paired with Psionic Minds and Duality. Core forces in perfect, dangerous, impossible resonance."
He stepped back from the dais.
"Your training begins at once. You must learn to master what you carry… before your divinities shape the realms around you without your intent."
Dante felt his pulse hammer—but Anarissa placed her hand on his, steady and warm. He squeezed back.
Whatever this new existence held, they would face it together.
Aethrion dismissed the gathering, though his gaze lingered on the twins with something close to apprehension.
The hall slowly emptied, leaving Dante and Anarissa standing amid the fading glyphlight, new gods whispering their names with wonder, envy, or fear.
The twins said nothing as they left the platform.
But they both understood:
Their ascension had just begun shaping destiny—whether they were ready or not.