I was seated on the throne of jade and gold, my fingers sinking into the carved vines that seemed to pulse beneath my skin as if the Eternal Garden breathed with me. The white marble streaked with turquoise stretched around me, cold and gleaming, reflecting the impossible light that bathed the Jade Palace. The scent of jasmine, damp earth, and ozone filled the air—a constant reminder that this place was real, too real for someone like me. My hands trembled, and I brought one to my temples, rubbing them with clumsy fingers as I tried to sort the chaos in my mind: the locket tumbling into the abyss, the icy wind of my fall, the broken scream I gave Lira before everything went black. I'd expected death, but here I was, trapped in a body that wasn't fully mine—a half-elf with spectral nails and a gray robe that weighed like a sentence.
"What am I now, Lira?" I murmured, my deep voice echoing through the vast hall. Seraphine and Elysia were nearby, their presences an echo of what I'd felt when I awoke: a liquid song and a warm light that had torn me from the void. I didn't look at them directly yet, my mind too tangled in the past, but I could feel them—their auras like beacons in the storm of my guilt.
A tingle ran down my neck, and the Collector's Eye activated without me calling it. Threads of spiritual energy danced before me, golden and black, weaving a tapestry that tied this place to me. But what stopped me were the two streams of light radiating from them: one turquoise and fluid, like a river of liquid sapphires, the other white and radiant, like a sunrise trapped in crystal. They were beautiful, so exquisite my breathing slowed, and a strange calm slipped into my chest. The Collector I'd created—obsessed with beauty, with the sublime—seemed to whisper in my blood, his eccentricity brushing my soul. Was that what soothed me? That perfection I'd always chased, now alive before me?
I finally lifted my gaze, and Seraphine filled my vision. Her pearlescent skin glowed with a soft sheen, flecks of white and pink dancing across it like the inside of a seashell under the sun. Her turquoise hair fell in long waves to her waist, moving like living water, and her eyes—deep as ocean trenches—met mine with a warmth that disarmed me. The translucent dress she wore flowed like a river, clinging to her voluptuous frame: a prominent bust outlined beneath the fabric, wide hips curving with sensual elegance, and legs faintly hinted at under the ethereal weave. Her barefoot steps grazed the marble, and her scent of salt and exotic flowers wrapped around me like a tide.
"Are you still doubting, Father?" she said, her voice a soft melody that tangled in my soul, warm and seductive like a mother comforting and a lover promising.
Beside her, Elysia stepped forward with silent grace, her form bathed in a glow that cast gentle shadows on the floor. Her white hair fell like a halo to her shoulders, shining like snow in sunlight, and her golden eyes gleamed with a serenity that cut through my chaos. Her radiant wings—white feathers flecked with gold—unfurled slightly, and the semi-sheer tunic she wore accentuated her ethereal beauty: a slender yet strong silhouette, with a delicate waist and long legs that seemed carved from light. Her skin was pale, almost luminous, and every movement she made brought a peace I didn't want to accept.
"This is your canvas," Elysia said, her tone firm yet laced with compassion. "Paint it as you wish, Father. We'll follow you."
The calm their auras had given me settled deeper, and I faced their words with a serenity I hadn't expected. But then the air grew warm, and Ashka burst into the hall in a blaze of flames. Her fiery red hair tumbled in wild strands down her back, glowing like liquid fire, and her bronzed skin shimmered with a warm hue that drank in the light. Her wings of flame—bright orange streaked with gold—spread behind her, and the scant dress she wore—little more than strips of black and red fabric—left little to the imagination: toned legs, pronounced hips, and a bust that defied gravity. Her amber eyes devoured me, and a passionate smile curved her full lips.
"You look too calm, my king," she said, her voice a searing whisper that burned the air. "This place is ablaze for you. Don't you feel it?"
"I feel it," I replied, my tone steady but firm, my eyes tracing every detail of her form. "But I'm not your torch, Ashka."
The air split with a whistle, and Veyra descended from an upper arch, her silver armor gleaming like a blade under the diffused light. Her golden hair was pulled into a tight braid that fell over her shoulder, shining like spun gold, and her fierce, ice-blue eyes pierced me with an intensity I couldn't ignore. The fitted armor hugged her athletic, curvaceous figure: broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and muscular legs that spoke of her strength. Her wings, barely visible beneath the armor, shimmered in silver-gray, and she carried a long spear glowing with celestial runes. Her presence was a living challenge.
"A king doesn't sit and stare," she said, her commanding voice slicing through the air. "This Garden is yours, but you must claim it. Or will you let me do it instead?"
"I'll claim what I must," I said, my gaze locked on her, calm but unyielding. "In my own time, Veyra."
The floor trembled, and Zahara stormed in from a side corridor, her black scales glinting like polished obsidian in the light. Her emerald-green hair fell in wild strands to her waist, framing a fierce face with eyes of the same blazing hue. Her body was a blend of strength and curves: defined muscles in her arms and legs, yet wide hips and a prominent bust that strained against her leather-and-scale attire. Her sharp claws scraped the marble, and her long, spiked draconic tail lashed behind her like a living threat.
"You're my prey and my master!" she roared, her feral voice booming through the hall. "Choose how I hunt you, or I'll decide for you!"
"I'm no one's prey," I replied, my gaze sweeping her savage form, my calm unshaken. "If you hunt me, Zahara, it'll be because I allow it."
I was stunned, almost hypnotized. The game didn't do them justice. Seraphine, with her pearlescent skin and water-like dress; Elysia, with her white hair and aura of light; Ashka, with her fire and wild sensuality; Veyra, with her armor and pride; Zahara, with her scales and fer 메시지ocity. They were more real, more beautiful than I'd coded them to be, and that beauty—that perfection—resonated with something deep inside me, something the Collector had carved into my soul. My mind spun, caught in their presence, when the shadows around me shifted.
Nyxara materialized suddenly, perched on my lap with a silent grace that caught me off guard. Her ebony skin gleamed like the night, smooth and flawless, and her silver hair fell in fine strands to her shoulders, framing a delicate yet lethal face. Her red eyes glowed like embers, and the tight outfit she wore—a mix of black leather and dark fabric—hugged her slender, dangerous figure: long legs, a slim waist, and a modest but firm bust. Her hands rested behind my neck, and she gazed at me with a vulnerability that clashed with her deadly aura.
"Don't you love us anymore, Father?" she whispered, her voice low and trembling, as if she feared my answer. She pressed her head against my chest, and I felt the warmth of her body through the robe. "We haven't met your expectations, have we?"
"Nyxara…" I murmured, my voice caught between surprise and the calm still holding me. I knew she could kill me in an instant, that her stealth was a weapon sharper than any dagger, but her touch was soft, almost fragile. She shifted, her legs sliding to one side of the throne, and before I could stop her, her lips brushed mine in a sweet, timid kiss—so unlike her lethal nature that it left me frozen. It was a gentle, reverent touch, and when she pulled back, her eyes searched mine with an intensity that pierced me.
"I love you with all my heart," she said, her voice barely a breath. "Monster or not, you're my creator. My king. My everything." Her fingers trembled against my cheek, and her devotion hit me like a wave.
I sighed, the weight of her words sinking into me. They were my creation—not just as code in Edenfall, but as something deeper, something I'd brought to life in this impossible world. Abandoning them would be like abandoning Lira, like failing her again. I felt a purpose swelling in my chest, a spark of redemption: to care for them, protect them, give them what I couldn't give her. Tears rolled down my cheeks, hot and silent, and I pulled Nyxara close, comforting her as my resolve hardened. "I won't fail you," I whispered, my voice breaking. "Not again."
Then a voice cut through the air like a blade. "If I brought you back from the dead," Elysia said, stepping forward with her radiant wings spread, "I can bring your daughter, Lira, too."
I turned to her, my heart stopping. "What?" I whispered, my voice trembling with a hope I didn't dare feel.
(Kaelith's Perspective)
Kaelith, envoy of the Radiant Sky Sect, soared through the Lower Celestial Plane, his wings of light slicing through clouds like divine swords. His armor gleamed with holy brilliance, and his angular face was taut with the mission Liora, his leader, had entrusted to him: investigate the floating fortress that had breached their domain without permission. "A stain on our sky," he muttered, his voice ringing with the arrogance of a lesser angel who'd reached mid-tier Divine Transformation. "I'll purify it with my own hands, and the Sect will sing my name."
Lysara's Eternal Garden loomed before him like an impossible challenge: floating islands shrouded in energy-charged mist, crystal bridges flashing like veins of light, and a chaotic aura that clashed with the purity of his celestial essence. Kaelith raised a hand, summoning a Purifying Light Beam that shone like a rising sun. "State your purpose, intruders!" he shouted, his voice amplified by his cultivation's power. "The Radiant Sky won't tolerate shadows in its realm!"
The beam struck an invisible barrier around the Garden, a shield of energy that flared with blue lightning and repelled him with a boom that shook the heavens. Kaelith reeled back in the air, his wings beating furiously as the impact rattled his bones. "A barrier?" he growled, his eyes narrowing. "This isn't mortal work. What profane power dares defy me?"
He landed on the edge of a floating island, the ground carpeted with glowing moss and flowers sparking with spiritual energy. The barrier hummed before him, a translucent wall separating him from the Garden's heart. "No matter," he said, raising his Dawnblade, a weapon forged in the celestial forges of the Upper Plane. "Light cuts through any defense." He struck hard, and the impact unleashed a shockwave that trembled the island, but the barrier barely flickered, absorbing his blow like a sigh.
"Damn it!" Kaelith roared, his pride stung. He summoned his ultimate technique, Light of a Thousand Heavens, and a torrent of sacred energy erupted from his sword—a river of light that could incinerate mountains in the Mortal Plane. The attack slammed into the barrier, and for a moment, the shield cracked, blue lightning dancing across its surface. But before he could gloat, a deafening thunderclap roared, and the sky darkened with storm clouds he hadn't seen coming.
A figure emerged from the other side of the barrier, walking with a calm that chilled Kaelith's blood. It was a woman—an elf of inhuman beauty that stole his breath for an instant. Her electric-blue hair sparked like living lightning, her eyes blazed with the fury of an eternal storm, and her light armor clung to a body that blended lethal grace with overwhelming power. Lyria, the Stormflower, gazed at him with a cold, sadistic smile, her lips curving as if she'd already sealed his fate.
"What do we have here?" she said, her voice icy yet laced with cruel delight. "A winged rat sniffing around my domain. Did you think you could waltz into the Eternal Garden like it's yours, little angel?" She took a step forward, and the ground beneath her cracked with a flash of electricity. "I'm Lyria, guardian of the first tier, and you… you're an insect I'll crush for fun."
Kaelith straightened, his celestial pride roaring in his chest. "I am Kaelith, envoy of the Radiant Sky Sect!" he proclaimed, his tone ringing with divine authority. "This fortress is an affront to the light! State your purpose or face purification. It's my only warning, heretic!"
Lyria tilted her head, her smile widening into a gleam of madness. "Warning?" she laughed, a sound that sliced the air like lightning. "I love men who think they can order me around. But here, I'm the law." Without giving him a second, she raised a hand, and the sky roared with power that shook the island. "Let's see how long your light lasts, rat."
Kaelith didn't wait. "Light of a Thousand Heavens!" he roared, unleashing his supreme technique again. A river of sacred light burst from his sword, illuminating the Lower Celestial Plane like a forced dawn. The attack was unstoppable, capable of reducing Nascent Soul cultivators to ash in an instant. But Lyria didn't flinch. With a snap of her fingers, she summoned her Dancing Storm, and the sky filled with blue lightning that twirled around her like living serpents.
The river of light clashed with her technique, and what followed was an explosion that rocked the floating islands. But when the dust settled, Kaelith saw with horror that Lyria stood unscathed, her lightning devouring his attack like it was a joke. "Pathetic," she said, her voice dripping with contempt. "If that's all you've got, you don't even deserve to touch the Garden's ground."
"Impossible!" Kaelith shouted, lunging at her with his sword raised. He summoned Dawnwings, boosting his speed until he became a blur of light, and slashed with a strike that could split mountains. But Lyria smiled and, with a graceful motion, unleashed her Windburst. The air turned into a tempest, and her form vanished, reappearing behind him in an instant.
"Too slow," she whispered in his ear, her breath cold as ice. Before he could turn, a Silent Thunder erupted from her palm—a stealthy bolt that pierced his celestial shield like paper. The impact hurled him against the barrier, and the angel crashed with a crunch that echoed in his ribs. He fell to his knees, gasping, his armor cracked and his pride shattered. How? he thought, his mind reeling. She's beautiful… but this strength… she's a monster.
Lyria strolled toward him, her hips swaying with cruel elegance. "Poor thing," she said, her tone mocking as the sky roared with her power. "You thought your light could match me. How delusional." She raised a hand, and the air charged with an Electric Veil—a shield of lightning that crackled with blinding intensity. "I'm going to enjoy this."
Kaelith staggered to his feet and roared with desperate fury. "Don't underestimate me, heretic!" He summoned his final technique, Radiant Sky Judgment, and the heavens split with a pillar of pure light that descended on Lyria like a god's wrath. The attack was devastating, capable of annihilating entire armies in the Plane of a Thousand Lakes. But Lyria laughed and, with a flick of her wrist, unleashed her Immortal Storm.
The sky blackened completely, and a tempest of blue and black lightning erupted around her, forming a vortex that swallowed the pillar of light like a candle in a hurricane. The bolts danced in impossible patterns, each one charged with power beyond Kaelith's comprehension. The vortex swelled, and a deafening thunderclap shook the Lower Celestial Plane to its core. Lyria stepped forward, and the vortex condensed into a single beam that struck Kaelith with the force of an ancestral dragon.
The angel screamed, his armor disintegrating under the impact. He was hurled across the island, his body crashing through rocks and trees before stopping in a smoking crater. His wings were broken, his sword lost, and his holy aura faded like ashes in the wind. Trembling, he looked up at Lyria, who approached with the calm of a predator done toying with its prey.
"Is this all the Radiant Sky Sect has to offer?" she said, her voice frigid as she stopped before him. "What a disappointment." She crouched, her eyes gleaming with icy sadism. "You're weak, little angel. So weak you don't even deserve to die by my hand." Her fingers closed around his throat, lifting him with a strength that belied her slender frame. "But Father will decide what to do with you."
Kaelith struggled, but a jolt of lightning coursed through him, paralyzing him completely. "The Sect… will come… for you!" he gasped, his voice broken.
Lyria laughed, a sound that chilled the blood. "Let them come," she said, dragging him across the moss like a trophy. "I'll show them what happens to insects who defy the Eternal Garden." She crossed the barrier with him in tow, her laughter echoing like thunder as the sky cleared, leaving only the reverberation of her power.
Renn remained seated on the throne of jade and gold, an unmoving figure carved from shadows and broken promises. Elysia's words rang in his skull like funeral bells: "If I brought you back from the dead, I can bring your daughter, Lira, too." His fingers dug into the throne's carved vines, the cold jade biting his skin as his mind drowned in a sea of blood and memories. Nyxara stood beside him, her warmth a faint echo after slipping from his lap, her red eyes glowing with a devotion that felt like chains. The Deities formed a semicircle before him: Seraphine, a river of turquoise; Ashka, a contained wildfire; Veyra, a silver blade; Zahara, an obsidian beast; and Elysia, a beacon of light that seared his newborn hope. But Renn didn't look at them; his gray eyes were lost in the past—Lira's white dress soaked red, my shaking hands trying to hold her life in, the sky laughing silently as her eyes dimmed.
A rumble shook the hall as the jade doors burst open, the sound crashing like a world breaking apart. Lyria stormed in with steady strides, her electric-blue hair sparking like a fractured sky, her light armor dusted with dirt and blood that wasn't hers. In her right hand, she dragged a mangled body: an angel with broken wings and tattered armor, a wreck of what was once holy. With a disdainful flick of her wrist, she tossed him into the center of the guardians' semicircle, before the throne. The angel hit the marble with a wet crunch, his ragged breaths shattering the silence as he struggled to stay conscious.
Kaelith, envoy of the Radiant Sky Sect, lifted his gaze with effort, his vision blurred by defeat. The hall unfolded before him like a fever dream: a semicircle of women whose beauty cut deeper than any sword. But his breath caught as he recognized Zahara—her black scales and draconic aura from the Dragon Plane—and Elysia, her radiant wings and divine light from the Lesser Gods Plane. "Impossible," he whispered, his voice a trembling thread as his mind reeled. How can dragon and divine coexist here?
He tried to stand, his hands shaking against the marble, but Lyria stepped forward with a smile dripping venom. Her boot slammed into his back with a force that echoed like thunder, forcing him to his knees, his face pressed to the floor. "Father," she said, her voice icy yet tinged with dark delight as she looked at Renn, "I caught this winged rat defiling our Garden. A pest not even worth the air it breathes."
Kaelith growled beneath her foot, his celestial pride twisting like a wounded beast. He lifted his head as much as he could, his eyes finding Renn's, then Elysia's. "Release me," he gasped, his voice gaining strength despite the pain. "My defeat's already been felt. The Radiant Sky Sect marches here with an army of light. Free me, and I'll plead your case before my highness." His gaze locked on Elysia, a flicker of reverence and desperation in his eyes. "One like you shouldn't dwell among shadows."
Renn watched from the throne, his face a mask of ice, his gray eyes glinting with a calm more terrifying than any rage. But inside, a hurricane roared. Memories of Lira stabbed like daggers: her fragile body trembling in my arms, her warm blood slipping through my fingers, her eyes fading as I roared into the void. He'd been a messiah in another world, a savior no one deserved, weaving a web of death to cleanse the wicked. And now, when these Deities—his daughters—gave him purpose, when Elysia offered the miracle of Lira, this world dared threaten them. A low laugh escaped his lips, a sound half-mournful, half-mocking, swelling until it filled the hall like the hiss of a funeral wind.
"An army?" he said, his voice soft but sharp, a whisper dancing on a guillotine's edge. He rose slowly, his gray robe billowing like a raven's wings, and took a step forward, his shadow stretching over Kaelith like a verdict. "Do you think your broken wings scare me, little angel? That your words of light can douse what burns in me?" He tilted his head, his smile a twisted blade dripping poetic venom. "You don't know the weight of a shattered world. You haven't seen innocence bleed out on the street while the sky stays silent. But I have."
Kaelith tried to speak, but Renn raised a hand, silencing him with a gesture that was both dismissal and command. "I planned a purification once," he continued, his voice dropping to a blood-chilling murmur, "a gospel written in blood and shadows. And I succeeded. But it wasn't enough. Every night, she calls me from the grave—my Lira—her voice a whisper begging for justice. And now…" His eyes swept over the Deities, his daughters, each a reflection of the beauty he'd coded and lost. "Now that I have a purpose, now that these souls claim me as father, now that the light promises her return, you come to rip it away?"
His laugh returned, a sarcastic echo ringing like a locket falling into the abyss. "The universe is a cruel thief, isn't it? But I finally see it clearly. This world cries for salvation too—not your light, winged rat, not your crystal armies. My peace." He stepped closer, his presence filling the hall like an impending storm. "I'm the messiah they didn't ask for, the savior they don't deserve. I'll be judge, jury, and executioner—not for glory, but for them." His eyes blazed with dark resolve, a villain bearing his own cross. "I'll bring order to this chaos, a justice that bends the wicked and shields what's mine. Not the peace you beg for, but the one they need."
He stopped before Kaelith, his shadow swallowing the angel's light. "And you," he whispered, his voice a blade cutting deeper than any weapon, "are the first verse of my new gospel." He turned to Lyria, his gray eyes flashing with an unyielding command. "Cut off his wings."
Lyria smiled, her lips curling into a grin of pure delight. "It'll be my pleasure, Father," she said, raising a hand where lightning coiled like starving serpents, ready to tear flesh and bone with a single strike.