The kiss still burned on her lips.
Even hours later, Lena stood by the window of her new chambers, staring into the false night of the Underworld. There were no stars — only flickers of soul-light drifting like fireflies through the obsidian sky. Somewhere beyond them, the Celestial Court plotted. She could feel it.
Lucien had not spoken a word since they parted. He had left her alone — not out of cruelty, but fear.
She had remembered something during the kiss.
Not just the feeling of his lips or the scent of ancient smoke on his skin. She had remembered her vow.
"If I ever forget you," she had sworn, centuries ago, "burn the world to bring me back."
And he had.
She shivered.
The door creaked open behind her. She turned — expecting Lucien.
It wasn't.
A figure stood cloaked in gray, robes rippling with divine sigils, face hidden beneath a veil of shifting light. Not a god. Not mortal either.
A Harbinger.
Messengers of the Celestial Court.
He bowed his head.
"Lady Lena of the Reclaimed Soul," he said, voice echoing in the air. "I come bearing the will of the Pantheon."
Lena raised an eyebrow. "They send a diplomat now? Didn't they try to kill me last week?"
The Harbinger didn't react. "You were not yet recognized. Now you are."
Her spine straightened.
"Recognized as what, exactly?"
"A potential threat," the Harbinger said.
Her silence was answer enough.
The Harbinger stepped forward, placing a scroll upon a floating pedestal of light.
"You are hereby summoned to the Celestial Court in three days' time," he declared. "You will stand before the Twelve and answer for your reincarnation, your union with the exiled god Lucien, and your disruption of the Sacred Order."
Lena laughed bitterly. "So it's a trial."
"An audience," he corrected. "But one that may end in judgment."
She walked slowly toward the scroll, letting her fingers brush the glowing parchment.
"What happens if I don't show up?"
The Harbinger paused.
"Then the purge will begin. Realm by realm. Until the corruption you have spread is wiped away."
She met his eyes — or where they should be.
"And if I do go?"
"You may be offered a choice. Amnesia. Rebirth. Exile. Or... obliteration."
She took the scroll.
"Tell them I'll be there."
The Harbinger nodded. Then vanished into a gust of light and ash.
She found Lucien in the Hall of Memories — alone, as always, standing before a wall of floating echoes. Shards of their past lives.
He didn't turn when she entered.
"They sent a Harbinger," she said.
"I felt it."
"They're calling me to stand trial. Three days."
Lucien's voice was hollow. "They'll try to strip you of everything. Again."
"I know."
He turned finally — and the raw fear in his eyes nearly broke her.
"I can't lose you again," he said. "Not after everything I did to bring you back."
"Then help me prepare."
Silence.
Then he whispered, "There's someone you need to see."
That night, they descended deeper than Lena had ever gone — past the Gates of Flame, the River of Regret, and the Hall of Forgotten Kings. At last, they reached a door made not of stone or steel, but pure silence.
Lucien touched it. It opened without a sound.
Inside sat a boy.
No older than twelve, hair black as void, eyes gold and ancient.
He looked up. Smiled.
"Sister."
Lena froze.
"I'm sorry... do I know you?"
The boy stood. He radiated divine power — dense, coiled, immense. And yet... familiar.
"I was your twin in your first life," he said gently. "They erased me too. But I remembered faster."
Lucien watched them from the shadows, letting the moment pass unspoken.
The boy stepped forward. "My name is Aedric. And I've been waiting a long time to finish what we started."
They returned to the surface with more questions than answers. Aedric would remain hidden — a secret weapon the gods couldn't anticipate. But Lena knew she was out of time.
On the third day, she stood before the Mirror Gate.
Lucien approached, cloaked in his battle regalia — a terrifying vision of vengeance and shadow.
"If they touch you," he whispered, "I will tear down heaven."
She smiled faintly. "Let me try diplomacy first."
He kissed her forehead.
"I will be waiting."
She stepped through the gate.
And into the blinding light of the Celestial Court.
The Twelve sat on thrones of fire, ice, thunder, time, wind, light, void. Each god radiated an element of dominion — and none of them smiled.
At the center, on the highest throne, sat the new High Deity.
The golden-masked god.
"Lena," he said, voice silk and steel. "Welcome back."
She didn't bow.
She didn't flinch.
Instead, she said:
"I remember you. You're the one who stabbed me in the back."
Gasps echoed across the court.
The High Deity rose.
"We gave you power. You used it to challenge us."
"You gave me lies," she spat. "And now I'm here to take back everything you stole."
And as her voice rang out, the pillars trembled.
Because Lena — finally — remembered everything.