Rhys stood in the center of the chamber, his body a vessel for a power that was both ancient and new. He was the Son of Creation, the primordial God of Life, but he was also Rhys, the man who had walked a long and lonely path to reach this point. He had not just reclaimed his old self; he had forged a new one.
He looked at Emma. She was staring at him, her green eyes wide with an emotion he could not quite read. It was a mixture of awe, of fear, and of a deep, unwavering trust. He was no longer the simple, mysterious guard she had hired. He was a god. But he was still her partner.
He smiled, a small, genuine smile that held all the warmth and weariness of his mortal life. "It's over," he said, his voice a quiet, human sound in the vast, cosmic silence.
He held out his hand to her. She took it without hesitation. Her hand was warm, a small point of familiar reality in a world that had just been fundamentally rewritten.
