I just want her back… That's all I want.
The words had survived decades of silence. They had outlasted the rebuilding of the northern walls, the restructuring of the divine legions, and the quiet, tense peace that followed. For Ilyra, the Goddess of Justice, those few syllables remained the heaviest weight in her immortal memory.
"To think that Elysium fell because of a man in love," Ilyra muttered, her voice barely louder than the rustle of the leaves around her. "Fell in love with Death, no less... Or was it the other way around?"
Thysera's grip on her wrist loosened as Ilyra gently pulled her hand back. The flashback had receded, leaving only the sharp midday sun of her private estate. Thysera stepped closer, her ruby-red eyes scanning her sister's face. Her brow furrowed deeply, her expression a mix of frustration and profound worry as she caught the tail end of Ilyra's murmurings.
"I see that day still haunts you," Thysera said, her voice uncharacteristically soft.
Ilyra looked down at her index finger. The golden ichor stopped oozing, and the flesh knit itself back together in a matter of seconds, leaving the skin smooth and unblemished once more. She didn't look at her sister. Instead, she turned her back on Thysera, her gaze fixed on the marble arches of her manor.
"How could it not?" Ilyra said, her tone flat and devoid of warmth. "It was the day Elysium was exposed for the rot that festered within us. We called him a monster, yet we were the ones holding the cage."
Without waiting for a response, she began walking toward the grand entrance of her estate. Her silk robes brushed against the stone path with a quiet, rhythmic hiss.
Thysera stood in the center of the garden, watching her sister's retreating back. Her jaw tightened, and she clenched her hands into fists. The metal plates of her gauntlets groaned under the sudden, immense pressure of her grip, the sound sharp and discordant against the peaceful hum of the estate. After a long, lingering beat, she exhaled sharply and followed her sister inside.
As Ilyra crossed the threshold, she began climbing the sweeping white-marble staircase that led to the upper sanctums of her manor. Her boots clicked against the polished steps, each sound echoing in the high-ceilinged corridor. But with every step she took, the reality around her began to grow unstable.
The white pillars of her home seemed to bleed into a dull, uniform gray. The warm light of the afternoon dissolved, and the air grew thick with the smell of ozone and damp earth. By the time her foot touched the top landing, the estate had completely unraveled.
She was no longer in her manor. She was standing in the center of a vast, open plaza in the heart of Elysium's capital.
The memory gripped her instantly. A massive ceremony was underway, but it bore none of the grand fanfare or light that usually defined the realm of the gods. The eternal blue skies of Elysium were buried beneath heavy, purple-black rain clouds—an anomaly that wept a steady, cold downpour over the golden spires. The vibrant, polished streets looked drained of color, washed out in shades of ash.
All around her, the air was thick with the sound of weeping. Minor deities, spirits, and divine servants crowded the edges of the plaza, their collective grief a low, suffocating hum that drowned out the sound of the rain.
Ilyra's gaze locked onto the center of the square.
A massive, white-stone catafalque stood on a raised dais, surrounded by tiers of pale winter blossoms and symbolic offerings of silver and glass. Resting peacefully upon the platform was a body.
Ilyra moved forward. Her stride was careful, each step heavy as if she were wading through deep water. The crowd seemed to part for her without noticing her presence, existing only as shadows in the periphery of her grief. She climbed the steps of the dais until she was standing directly over the platform.
The woman lying there had porcelain skin that looked entirely translucent under the gray sky. Her beautiful, thick brown hair was spread neatly across the silk pillows, framing a face of incomparable elegance.
"You look so peaceful," Ilyra whispered, her voice cracking under the strain of the memory. "And yet... I know you're not at peace."
She reached out with a trembling left hand, her fingers hovering over the immaculate face before she finally let them rest against the woman's cheek. The skin was entirely cold, devoid of the radiant warmth that used to draw the gaze of every living thing in the pantheon.
"I... I'm sorry," Ilyra said, the words catching painfully in her throat. She choked on her breath, the composure of a goddess completely abandoning her. "I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you. Forgive me... Lunara."
The tears gathered in her platinum-silver eyes, catching the dim light of the storm before spilling over. They fell continuously, tracing hot lines down her face to drip onto the cold stone of the catafalque, joining the rain that washed over the monument of the fallen Goddess of Beauty.
Beyond Lunara's dais, the plaza stretched out into a labyrinth of sorrow. Countless white catafalques lined the grey stone, each bearing the pale form of a fallen immortal.
Ilyra looked away from her sister, her eyes scanning the grief-stricken crowd. Everywhere she looked, her kin were mourning their dead—husbands, wives, sons, daughters, and brothers-in-arms. A short distance away, she spotted Thysera. Her sister stood rigid beside a platform where a woman in shattered divine armor lay in eternal sleep. Thysera didn't weep. She simply stared at the corpse, her jaw set as the downpour grew heavier, washing the gold ichor from the dead warrior's breastplate.
Ilyra returned her attention to Lunara's sleeping form, her own tears mixing with the cold rainwater that pooled on the silk pillows.
"Save your tears, Ilyra," a voice murmured from behind her.
The sound made her spine go cold. She recognized it instantly. Ilyra turned around sharply, her silver robes whipping against her legs. Standing among the blurred, weeping shadows of the civilian deities was a solitary woman. She wore a heavy black gown, her long raven-black hair cascading past her shoulders, and a dark veil obscured her features. Her lips, visible beneath the mesh, were as black as the night.
"You're not mourning me," the veiled woman said, her voice cutting through the patter of the rain. "You're mourning the idea of me."
Ilyra's face drained of color. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she watched the figure slowly reach up and lift the veil.
"No… No, it's not possible," Ilyra stammered, stepping back until her spine pressed against the lip of the catafalque. "This can't be. You're dead."
She frantically spun around to look back at the platform, needing the physical proof of the corpse to anchor her sanity. "You're right here! I can see you!"
Before she could turn back to the stranger, a cold, vice-like grip clamped down on her left wrist.
Ilyra flinched, looking down. The hand belonged to Lunara's corpse. The dead fingers were locked around her flesh, pulling her down toward the white stone.
He didn't kill me, Ilyra, the corpse whispered, its lips moving with a sickening, rigid stiffness. You all did.
Paranoia consumed Ilyra in a sudden, suffocating wave. She tried to yank her arm back, but her divine strength felt entirely useless against the dead woman's grip.
Elysium killed me, the corpse continued, its hollow voice echoing in Ilyra's mind. Their hubris killed me. You killed me.
"Please stop! It's not my fault! It's not my fault!" Ilyra cried out, her composure completely shattering.
She used her free hand to try and pry the cold fingers from her wrist, but they were like stone. The sky above them grew darker, the rain turning into a torrential sheet that blurred the rest of the plaza into nothingness.
"Let me go! Let me go! Lunara, please let me go!" Ilyra begged, her voice cracking.
NEVER!
The word wasn't spoken; it was shrieked.
Right before Ilyra's eyes, the porcelain skin of the corpse began to turn a bruised, rotting grey. The beautiful brown hair sloughed away in clumps, and the flesh on her cheeks eroded into black dust. The incomparable beauty vanished in a heartbeat, replaced by the grinning, skeletal teeth of a decomposing monstrosity. The figure lunged upward from the silk pillows, reaching for Ilyra's throat.
Ilyra threw herself backward to dodge the nightmarish form, losing her balance completely.
Thud.
The impact of her back hitting a hard floor broke the illusion.
Ilyra sat up with a gasp, her chest heaving as she panted heavily. She wasn't in the plaza. The rain was gone. She was on the floor of her own bedchamber inside her manor, having rolled straight out of her bed during the violent episode.
Sweat soaked her nightclothes, making the fabric stick to her skin as she trembled from the residual terror of the dream. She slowly pulled herself up, using the edge of the mattress for support, and sat on the edge of the silk sheets.
She looked toward the tall arched windows of her room. The sun had long since set, and the quiet, artificial starlight of Elysium's night sky cast long, peaceful shadows across the floorboards. It was completely still, yet the phantom feeling of cold, rotting fingers still lingered around her left wrist.
"That was a nasty nightmare, dear sister," a voice spoke from the shadows.
Ilyra flinched at the sound, her heart leaping back into her throat. She immediately scanned her darkened bedchamber, her hands gripping the silk edge of the mattress. Her gaze landed on a figure standing quietly in the furthest corner of the room, where the artificial starlight couldn't quite reach. Two distinct, neon-purple eyes glowed in the darkness.
"I-is that you, Lunara?" Ilyra asked, her voice cracking with a noticeable stutter.
"It is," the figure answered, her tone smooth and airy. She stepped forward just enough for the faint light to catch the edge of her dark garments. "Forgive me for the sudden visit. I simply felt like seeing you tonight. I hope I'm not intruding on your rest."
Ilyra stood up from the bed, her legs still feeling slightly weak beneath her. She carefully examined the silhouette, her eyes narrowing as she tried to look past the glowing irises. The vivid horror of her dream was still fresh, and she was not entirely convinced that the apparition before her wasn't another cruel trick of her own mind.
"Is it really you?" Ilyra questioned, her posture rigid as she took a single, cautious step forward.
Lunara slowly closed the distance between them, her movements fluid and entirely silent. However, after taking only a few paces, she stopped, maintaining a distance of a few meters. She saw how much Ilyra was trembling and chose not to press further.
"You're still burdened," Lunara said softly, her head tilting slightly to the side. "I thought after decades of us being apart, you would have found a way to forgive yourself by now." She let out a quiet sigh. "Please stop blaming yourself, Ilyra. None of what happened back then was your fault."
Hearing those specific words, delivered with that exact tone of gentle reproach, the last of Ilyra's doubts melted away. This wasn't the rotting, vengeful corpse from her nightmare. This was the sister she had lost.
Unable to contain the decades of repressed grief any longer, Ilyra closed the remaining distance and threw her arms around the woman, pulling her into a tight, desperate embrace. She fought the violent urge to weep, her jaw clenching as she tried to maintain some semblance of her divine dignity, but the emotional dam had completely broken. She failed to contain herself.
"Lunara… I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Ilyra sobbed, burying her face against her sister's shoulder. The tears hot against her skin. "I was weak. I still am. I failed you when you needed me most. I failed you…"
Lunara didn't pull away. She gently wrapped her arms around Ilyra's shaking frame, accepting the full weight of her sister's sorrow. She began to slowly rub her back, her touch cool but grounding as the Goddess of Justice completely broke down in the quiet of the night.