Maybe thiswasdeath.
“I failed them,” I whispered, letting the truth settle as I shattered the silence of the white expanse. “They’re gone. All of them.”
I couldn’t believe that. I wouldn’t.
The thought of losing the war, our allies, my mates, the entire world because I hadn’t been able to stop the stars from falling was unbearable. Not just because of the scale of it, but becauseIwould be the one who failed them all.
I hadn’t expected a response to my words, so when a low hum began to vibrate through the air, I snapped my head up, scanning the space in panic. The sound was too faint to define, but unmistakably there.
For what felt like minutes, I stood frozen, listening, trying to decide if it was real, or if my mind had created ghosts to fill the quiet.
“There you are.”
I turned sharply in the direction of the feminine voice, adrenaline surging through my veins, searching for the source. The nothingness around me trembled, rippling like disturbed water.
In the distance, a silhouette began to form, its edges traced in soft gold like sunlight diffused through sheer fabric. Slowly, the figure took shape—hair pale as starlight, a shimmering dress to match, and skin with a warm bronze undertone that glowed in the light.
There was something innately divine about her—not like the upper triads or the Archangels. No blinding majesty. No crushing weight of holiness. Just a peaceful kind of power, one that settled deep and quieted everything it touched.
Still, her presence hit harder than any battlefield. The sudden calm was jarring, almost unbearable. My body reacted before my mind could—every muscle tensed, waiting for her to strike, for the kind of hurt that went alongside power of that magnitude.
Instead, she smiled.
“Don’t fear me, child. I’m not here to hurt you,” she murmured, the sound so soft it barely disturbed the air. “You’ve been through enough of that.”
When she stepped closer, the space seemed to bend around her, every movement slow and deliberate. With each step, the panic in my chest eased, drawn out of me as if she were pullingit away thread by thread. I wanted to askwhoshe was and how she knew what I’d been through. But the words were trapped in my throat.
My hands trembled. I didn’t realize it until she reached out and took one. Her palm was warm and solid, and the moment her skin met mine, the tightness in my chest broke apart. My breathing steadied. The storm of panic clawing at the edges of my mind finally began to quiet.
“You’re safe,” she promised me, before gently releasing my hand. “For now, you are beyond what can harm you.”
So I wasn’t dead...yet?
I stared at her, uncertain whether to believe it. Her tone was too calm, too certain to be comfort. Her eyes, which were the color of a sunset, gold streaked with rose and orange, were filled with a sincerity I’d rarely seen. What she said felt liketruth. Still, relief never came. If I was still here, what of the others? What of Alfemir? Earth? My mates?
“You’re afraid,” she said—not as a question, but as a truth. “Not for yourself. For them.”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. The ache in my chest spoke for me—the hollow where five bonds used to be. Her words of understanding cracked something open inside me though, and my knees nearly gave out. The exhaustion I’d been holding back since the battle began surged through me all at once—the burns, the cuts, the raw pull of power that had torn me apart from the inside out. I could still feel the echo of it, even here.
Grief touched her face, mirroring my own sorrow in a way that felt achingly human. “You love them,” she whispered. “They are your soul mates, yet they cannot follow you to the realm of gods.”
My breath caught.The realm of gods.The words felt impossible, absurd—and yet something deep inside me stirred in recognition. This felt huge and altogether overwhelming. Whatdid it mean? If my mates couldn’t follow, then where did that leave me?
“They were fighting for me and our world until the end.” I whispered, thinking of their voices through our bond. “But I don’t want to be somewhere that they can’t follow.”
The pain crept through me, quiet but consuming, like something hollowing me from the inside out. When she spoke again, her voice carried a kind of understanding that made the hurt sharper. “The world below is not lost—it only sleeps, child. Time is paused until I figure out what’s happening and until you are ready to return. Rest easy.”
A long exhale escaped me, my body shuddering in quiet relief. Their faces flickered through my thoughts, anchoring me to something real—something that could steady me.
A low hum threaded through the space around us, steady and alive, the vibration of the air raising goosebumps along my skin.
She seemed to refocus as my breathing steadied, her gaze sharpening with curiosity—and a softness I’d only ever seen in people who cared about me, like Amelia or Noah—but beneath it lay a depth that made me feel completely seen. She tilted her head slightly, and when she finally spoke, her voice carried both weight and quiet authority.
“Who are you,” she asked, “to hold the power of a small deity?”
I blinked, unsure how to answer, but she continued before I could speak.
“The power you consumed from the stars,” she said, “is what woke me from my sleep.”
