[POV: Astraea]
The surface world was simpler than she remembered.
Still made of fragile flesh and glass. Still believing itself safe in numbers and light.
She walked through it without being seen.
Not cloaked.
Not hidden.
The world simply chose not to perceive her.
It always had.
She stood now atop a low apartment building, barefoot, wind curling through her hair like a forgotten lullaby. Below, through the flickering curtains of a second-floor window, was the girl.
Airi.
The girl who had Ren's smile.
The girl who slept in the warmth he borrowed from a personality that wasn't real.
Astraea tilted her head, watching her brush her hair in the mirror—then stop, frozen, her shoulders tense.
She felt it again.
That tingling.
The subconscious alarm of something too vast to understand pressing down on the fabric of perception.
A shadow passing through thought.
A goddess would have sensed it.
A computer would have logged it.
But Airi only feared it.
That was enough.
So she loves him.
Astraea knelt at the edge of the rooftop, one hand resting lightly on the metal. Her silver eyes narrowed, reading the girl's breath, her posture, the heartbeat detectable from two floors away.
Foolish. Brave. Blind.
She wondered how much of Ren's truth the girl had brushed against.
Enough to cling tighter.
Not enough to let go.
Astraea sighed.
Not out of malice.
Out of recognition.
Because once—just once—she had stood at that same window, in another time, in another version of Ren's world.
And loved him.
Dangerously.
Hopelessly.
Completely.
(But not yet. That memory still sleeps.)
She whispered, more to herself than to Airi:
"You don't know what you're holding, do you?"
Airi paused again—just for a second.
Then slowly turned her head toward the window.
Her eyes met nothing.
But she shivered.
Astraea stood.
She wouldn't touch the girl.
Not yet.
Not unless she had to.
But if this one got too close—if she threatened what still mattered—then the world would learn just how much of Ren's empire was built on lies.
And how far Astraea would go to protect what he would never admit he needed.
The empire thrummed around me—quiet, vast, and infinite.
Every corridor, every chamber, every sealed doorway whispered its own story.
But beneath the hum of machinery and magic, beneath the pulse of goddesses' waiting breaths, I felt it.
A tremor.
Not in the structure.
Not in the systems.
In the silence.
It was faint. Like the brush of a shadow against skin.
But it cut through layers of my defenses, slipping past codes I thought unbreakable.
I paused in the throne chamber, eyes closed, tuning into the web of energy threading through my empire.
The signal was subtle—alien, yet intimately familiar.
Astraea.
Her presence had never fully left.
Now she moved again.
Not reckless. Not violent.
Calculated.
Measuring.
Watching.
And she was close.
I opened my eyes, the world snapping sharply into focus.
The goddesses circled me, their gazes sharp and questioning.
Kaelira's flames flickered nervously.
Selphira's fingers twitched, weaving time strands faster.
Nyxara's illusions warped in and out of form.
Luneth's scrolls fluttered with unread knowledge.
Virelya's vines shivered like a warning.
"She moves," I said quietly.
"Astraea," Luneth murmured. "Closer than ever."
"Is she a threat?" Kaelira asked, heat rising from her skin.
"I am," I said.
The weight of my words hung heavy.
I alone understood the full scale of what her return meant.
I activated hidden defenses across the empire, ones even the goddesses couldn't see.
Dimensional locks shimmered into place.
Silent wards sealed corridors.
And somewhere deep in the core, a system I had buried long ago blinked awake.
My fingers brushed the controls.
"This ends soon," I whispered.
Because the game was no longer just about control.
It was about survival.
I summoned no guards.
I needed no armor.
She would come to me, I knew.
She always had.
I waited in the Observatory Chamber, far above the throne room, where the glass stretched into nothing and stars moved only when I allowed them to. A space only I entered. Where time obeyed no rhythm. Where even goddesses feared to tread.
The stars shifted uneasily tonight.
And then—
She arrived.
Without sound. Without warning.
Just... there.
Like a thought that refused to die.
Astraea.
Still barefoot.
Still too calm.
Still too beautiful for something not meant to exist.
She stood with her hands behind her back, hair catching the simulated starlight like quicksilver flame.
"I remember this room," she said. "You brought me here once. Before the goddesses."
"You weren't meant to be here again," I said.
She walked closer.
"But I am."
She stood in front of me now. Just out of reach.
Neither of us moved.
It was always like this.
Words sharp enough to wound. Silences deep enough to drown.
"I watched her," she said suddenly.
"Airi."
My fingers twitched. "She's not part of this."
"She is," Astraea replied softly. "Because she holds the last piece of you that isn't made of ice."
I didn't respond.
She took a slow breath, then looked up at the starscape above us.
"You never destroyed me," she said. "You could have. You sealed me instead."
"It was safer that way."
"For who?" she asked.
That silence was worse than any answer.
She turned back to me, stepping close enough that I could feel the hum of her presence under my skin.
"You're still pretending," she whispered. "Still wearing that perfect, broken mask."
Her hand reached out, fingers brushing the side of my face.
I didn't stop her.
Because this was Astraea.
The one person who once saw the version of me that existed before all this.
Her voice dropped lower. "Why did you build this empire?"
"I don't know."
"Yes, you do."
I looked at her—really looked.
And said nothing.
Because there was no answer that would end this.
Not the way I wanted.
Not the way she deserved.
She smiled sadly. "You haven't changed. But the world around you has."
She turned away, walking to the edge of the observatory.
"The goddesses will betray you one day."
"They're bound to me."
"So was I."
That stopped me.
But she didn't look back.
"I'm not your enemy, Ren," she said.
"Not yet," I replied.
That earned a real smile.
Almost loving.
Almost… longing.
Then she vanished.
I remained in the chamber long after.
The stars continued to flicker overhead, obedient and hollow.
My hands curled into fists behind my back.
Because she was right.
And she was wrong.
And I didn't know which scared me more.