There was no path to this place.
No door.
No sky. No ground. No time.
Only presence.
And Nythera stood in the center of it....small, broken, and stripped of power, with her wings frayed and her light flickering. She bowed her head, kneeling in the dark where stars had not yet been born.
She had been summoned.
Not by the gods. Not by the guardians.
But by Them.
The Creators.
The architects of Origin, the sculptors of Andopeer, the ancient ones who wove time itself with a whisper and carved laws into the marrow of the realms.
She expected silence.
She expected judgment.
She expected obliteration.
Instead....
She felt a hand brush her shoulder.
Warm.
Steady.
And when she looked up, the space was no longer empty.
They were there.
Three figures, cloaked in shimmering forms that defied reality. Not male or female, not light or dark. Just… pure force wearing the shapes of emotion.
The First Creator glowed like the beginning of a star. Their voice was deep and layered with echoes of forgotten languages.
The Second radiated calm and deathless wisdom, their form cloaked in constantly shifting shadows and beams of starlight.
The Third shimmered with the color of rain before it falls, soft, grieving, fierce, alive.
Nythera fell to her knees again. "I disobeyed," she whispered. "I violated the divine law. I interfered."
"You saved her," said the First Creator. "Your daughter."
"I did," Nythera said. "I would again."
"And would you suffer again for it?" asked the Second.
"Yes," she said without hesitation. "Gladly."
The Third stepped forward and reached beneath her chin, tilting her face up.
Nythera met the eyes of the one who had sculpted the moons themselves.
"I expected punishment," she said.
"And we considered it," the Third said softly. "But… we watched you. We watched them. And we are tired, Nythera."
"Tired?" she echoed, stunned.
"We created a world meant for balance," the First said. "But fae and mortals broke it."
"We created divine law to preserve order," the Second continued. "But the royals use it as chains."
"We gave free will to the fae and mortals," the Third said, "but it was stolen from them by greed and fear."
"We are tired of watching our creations suffer," the First said simply.
Nythera's breath caught in her throat.
"You thought you had failed," said the Second. "But you were a catalyst."
"A mother's love broke the gridlock," the Third whispered. "It wasn't disobedience. It was a reset."
The Creators turned as one, and their hands lifted....reaching not toward Nythera's body, but her core. The goddess gasped as divine light surged into her like wildfire, filling every inch of her cracked soul, restoring what had been taken… and adding more.
The pain vanished.
The dimness cleared.
Her wings blazed white gold once more.
Her voice returned in a melody of moonlight and vengeance.
"I don't understand," she breathed. "You've… forgiven me?"
The First Creator stepped forward and pressed a single silver mark onto her forehead. "We didn't forgive you, Nythera."
The Second nodded. "We chose you."
The Third smiled. "You must succeed, Goddess of the Moon. The prophecy must come to a head. The realm depends on it."
Nythera blinked away tears, overwhelmed.
"We will not interfere further," the First said. "But we give you this boon, once, and only once, you may invoke us."
The Second raised a finger. "But follow the divine laws. Do not make us punish you again."
The Third touched her heart. "But do not fear to love her. You are her mother. That love was part of the design."
And with that....
The realm shattered like glass.
Nythera awoke on her back beneath the stars.
Not unconscious...resurrected.
The sacred grove atop the Divine Watchtower pulsed around her, moonlight cascading in sheets. She gasped and sat upright, blinking in disbelief. Her wings flared. Her skin shimmered. The silver mark still glowed on her brow.
"She's awake!" Veyra cried out, voice cracking.
The Guardians ran to her.
Serelion dropped to his knees. "Goddess, you're.."
"Restored," she said softly.
He touched her robes like she might vanish.
Orin stood speechless, then laughed. "They gave it back to you."
"They chose me," Nythera said, her voice trembling with awe. "They want the prophecy fulfilled. They're tired of the rot too."
Veyra burst into tears and embraced her.
The Guardians gathered around her in a tight circle, a family not by blood, but by loyalty so old it sang in the wind.
And for the first time in millennia...
Nythera laughed.
Free.
Whole.
And ready.
This is the end of Book 1!! Find Book 2! Kiss Of The Forgotten King!