The world was ending quietly.
At first, there was only wind—soft and endless, carrying the scent of the dying sky. The mountains dissolved into pale dust, the rivers turned to silver threads of light, and the stars fell not as fire, but as feathers burning into silence.
Lyssara and Seraphyne stood upon a plain that stretched without horizon. The earth beneath them glowed faintly, like the skin of a sleeping god. Every heartbeat sent ripples of light through it. The storm above had stilled, but it had not gone. It waited—vast and watchful—as though the sky itself were holding its breath.
Lyssara turned toward Seraphyne. "Is this the end?"
Seraphyne's eyes reflected the shifting light. "It is the breaking. The last breath of the heavens before they unmake themselves."
"And us?"
The goddess looked away. "We were never meant to survive the dawn. We were born from the wound between worlds. When that wound closes, so shall we."
Lyssara reached for her hand. It was warm—almost human. "Then let it close around us both."
For the first time, Seraphyne smiled—not with power, not with sorrow, but with something achingly gentle. "You would burn the world for love."
"I would let it be reborn for it," Lyssara said softly.
Their fingers intertwined. Around them, the light thickened, forming waves that moved like an ocean made of stars. The air hummed with the sound of creation unmaking itself, a low, sorrowful note that trembled in their bones.
Seraphyne turned to the sky. "When I fell, I thought the end of divinity was the end of all things. But now I see it isn't. It's the beginning of memory."
Lyssara looked up. The storm was splitting open again, revealing not darkness, but a sea of light beyond—the birthplace of everything that had ever been.
"Then let's remember," she whispered. "All of it."
Seraphyne raised her free hand. Light gathered around her like a crown, bright enough to blind. "If we remember together," she said, "then perhaps the new world will, too."
The sea roared. The sky broke.
They stepped forward.
The ground vanished beneath them, replaced by waves of light that lifted their bodies, weightless, eternal. Lyssara could feel the world unraveling through her skin—the prayers of every soul, the dreams of every forgotten god, all merging into one endless current.
And through it all, she felt Seraphyne beside her.
The goddess's voice was barely more than a breath. "When this light fades, when the next world rises… if you ever find the moon, look beyond it. I will be there."
Lyssara turned toward her, tears bright as glass in her eyes. "And if you ever walk among mortals again… listen for the sound of rain. That will be me."
Their lips met—not in fire, but in stillness. Time folded around them, and the world sighed.
Then the sea consumed them both.
When the light dimmed, there was nothing left of the plain.
Only a single bloom remained—a white flower growing from the place where the last dawn had died.
And as the new sky opened its eyes for the first time, the petals caught the wind and scattered toward the horizon, glowing faintly in the newborn sun.