you won’t do it alone

Ren had faced generals with armies at their backs, priests who spat curses laced in divine light, and creatures born from the marrow of nightmares.But as he stepped into the throne hall of the Celestial Palace, Lyra's fingers wrapped tight around his, he felt something else entirely coil in his gut.

A colder fear.One that spoke not of battle — but of final endings.

The hall stretched wide, columns climbing like ivory spines into vaulted shadows. Silver banners fluttered high above, bearing the sigils of old gods whose names were whispered only in ruins. Along the walls, pale fires burned in open braziers, each flame dancing with ghostly faces that watched and wept without sound.

At the far end stood Caelis.

Tall, draped in dark garments that shifted between robes and smoke. His skin was the color of moonstone, hair long and bound in braids of ash. Eyes like cracked opals locked on Ren the moment he entered, assessing him the way a butcher might inspect a beast on the block.

Two massive hounds lounged at Caelis' feet — skeletal things wrapped in ethereal sinew, each exhale a swirl of lost souls that drifted to the ceiling.

Ren's hand tightened on Lyra's. She squeezed back, small but unflinching.

Saphira stood just ahead, expression smooth but voice edged like glass. "Lord Caelis. As overseer of the binding trials, I present Ren Zian. He stands under the sanction of divine contest, by decree of the Elder Accord."

Caelis tilted his head, studying Ren as though amused. "A mortal who made it this far. Curious. Most are ashes by now, or gibbering things locked in shadow cages."

His gaze slid to Lyra. A slow smile crept over his mouth, humorless. "And the Bloom Goddess deigns to stand by his side. How quaint."

Lyra's chin lifted. "Careful, Caelis. Not all gods here fear your judgment."

A dry laugh. "No — but they should. Because your mortal has disrupted more than your fragile heart, Lyra. He's fractured destinies already written. Undone threads carefully woven over eons."

Caelis began to walk forward, each step silent on the marble. The air grew thick. Ren's lungs strained like he was inhaling smoke.

"I watched you, Ren Zian," Caelis murmured. "In the mirrors Amara set for you. I saw how close you came to embracing that darker throne. To binding every soul around you with terror instead of love."

He stopped just a pace away. So close Ren could see faint cracks running along his irises, tiny rivers of darkness that pulsed with each slow heartbeat.

"But you turned. You chose memory, grief, mortal ache. Noble." Caelis leaned in slightly. "Foolish."

Ren forced his shoulders back, though every instinct told him to step away. "Maybe. But I'd rather be a fool who loves than a king who devours."

Lyra's breath hitched, a tiny smile breaking through her fear.

Caelis' face, however, only turned colder. "You think this is love's tale? A tragedy penned for two hearts to dance at the center? You forget your very existence is built on power ripped from our hands. Every step you take reshapes equations older than your sun."

He lifted one hand. The temperature dropped so fast Ren saw frost bloom across the marble. From between Caelis' fingers spilled a chain — delicate, silver-black, etched with runes that wept shadow.

"This is what your path was meant to be." His voice was almost soft. "A mortal forged by auctions, bound by divine decree. A perfect tool. Chained. Predictable."

The chain slithered through the air, reaching for Ren's throat.

Lyra stepped in front of him instantly. Her hand rose, blooming with pale petals that hardened into razor-edged shields.

"Enough," she hissed. "He is under celestial trial protection. You have no right to enforce judgment without the full conclave."

The chain stopped — hovering a breath from her skin. Caelis' smile was terrible. "Brave, little bloom. Would you wager your own immortality to defend this mortal? Knowing the Elder Accord can revoke it in a breath?"

Lyra swallowed, but her stance didn't waver. "I would wager everything."

Ren moved then, stepping to her side, wrapping an arm firmly around her waist. The chain brushed against his collar, a ghost of cold that made his spine arch. But he didn't flinch.

"If your world can't handle a man choosing memory over dominion," he growled, "then break me now. Tear me down. Better that than live crawling to your decrees."

Caelis' eyes narrowed. The chain paused… then slowly withdrew, coiling back into his palm.

"You misunderstand the depth of your threat," the god said. "We are not worried you will fail. We fear you will succeed. That your defiance will become scripture for lesser souls, and the bindings of fate will unravel."

Saphira finally stepped forward, voice low but carrying. "Lord Caelis, by law of the divine pact, Ren Zian is entitled to complete his final trial before any judgment of obliteration is rendered. Do you challenge this decree?"

A muscle ticked in Caelis' jaw. The dogs at his feet let out twin growls, wisps of anguished faces rising from their maws.

At last he shook his head. "No. But know this — your final trial is not one you walk alone. The mirror has fractured more than your own fate. Even now, other realms whisper of following your example. When next we meet, it will not be under courtesy."

His eyes locked on Ren's. "It will be at the end of all your choices."

Then he vanished. A breath of frost, a swirl of shadows, gone.

The hall seemed to exhale. Warmth crept back, the ghostly flames along the walls flaring with renewed light.

Ren realized only then that his heart was pounding painfully. Lyra still clung to him, her pulse a frantic flutter under his palm.

Saphira's expression was tight. "You've made too many ripples, mortal. The Elder Accord was meant to keep you as an amusing gamble. Now they see a threat."

"Let them," Ren rasped. "I'll rewrite every rule they ever worshipped."

Lyra leaned into him, pressing her lips to his temple. "Then you won't do it alone."

As they left the hall, hand in hand, Ren couldn't help glancing back at where Caelis had stood. The frost hadn't yet faded, tiny cracks in the marble marking where judgment had hovered.

It would not be the last such scar.

But he also knew this: every time they tried to chain him, he would tear those chains apart.Every time they tried to silence his heart, Lyra would be there — burning bright enough to make even gods step back.

And if that meant more gods would come for them?

So be it.Let the heavens quake under their love.