Aethrion led the newly risen gods into a grand resting hall of pale, living crystal. Curved walls like seashell interiors, soft luminescent mist, and cushioned platforms arranged in circles created a serene atmosphere. A gentle hum vibrated beneath the air, like a lullaby sung by the realm.
"Rest," Aethrion said. "Your souls stabilize. Speak, learn. You'll be summoned when ready."
He left them to their uncertain peace.
Dante slumped onto a warm crystal couch, sinking into softness. Anarissa sat beside him, legs tucked under her. They breathed in unison, a quiet rhythm.
"Do you remember anything clearly?" Anarissa asked.
"Bits and pieces," Dante said. "Voices, faces, Dad's terrible cooking."
"I forgot about that. He thought he could improve spaghetti by adding… what was it?" Anarissa laughed, covering her mouth.
"Cinnamon," Dante said. "A crime against humanity."
She laughed harder, leaning into him. "Even death couldn't erase that memory."
He smiled, easing the ache in his chest. More fragments returned—warm evenings playing games, arguing about playlists, racing through forest trails near their old campsite.
"Do you remember the camping trip before… you know?" Anarissa asked.
"Yeah," Dante said quietly. "We were excited. You wanted to see the meteor shower."
"And you wanted to roast marshmallows until they combusted."
"That's the correct way to do it," Dante said.
She elbowed him, laughing.
Their light-hearted moment drew curious glances from other new gods, some envious of the easy closeness the twins shared.
One youth, tall and with bronze skin that glowed faintly, approached. His bright violet eyes were warm and easy.
"You two handle this better than most," he said with a grin. "Join us?"
Dante motioned to the empty seat. "Sure."
He sat, stretching his arms. "I'm Rethallos. I think I'm a fire or forge god, but I don't feel divine yet."
Anarissa smiled. "I'm Anarissa. This is my brother, Dante."
Rethallos' eyebrows rose. "Brother and sister gods? Rare. Usually ascension doesn't pair people up."
"Yeah, well," Dante said, "we didn't choose the method."
A girl with silver hair approached. She carried herself with grace, but her eyes were sharp.
"I'm Lyria," she said. "I thought I should introduce myself before the arrogant ones poison the mood."
Dante blinked. "Arrogant ones?"
Lyria pointed to the far side of the hall.
A cluster of gods had gathered there. One stood in front: a broad-shouldered man wreathed in cosmic sparks. He loudly proclaimed something.
Dante listened.
"Some ascended with purpose and pedigree," the man said. "Others clearly ascended by accident."
The tension fell.
Rethallos muttered.
Another arrogant youth spoke. "I sensed no refined divinity in them. Their energy is chaotic and impure."
A third added, "They won't last long. The Council will see through their fluke."
Dante felt irritation, but Anarissa touched his hand.
"Don't," she murmured. "It's not worth it."
He exhaled slowly. She was right. Not every fight needed to be answered.
Lyria stepped closer. "Ignore them. Many new gods hide fear behind arrogance."
Rethallos grinned. "Half of them will likely be vaporized in the examinations."
The hostile group heard this. One scowled, but they returned to boasting, pretending they hadn't.
More new gods joined Dante's circle—curious, less proud, relieved to find someone approachable.
Introductions passed: a trembling nature goddess, a slender youth claiming dominion over "astral tides," a towering woman who swore she heard music from stars.
Everyone was different, lost, and searching for reassurance.
Hours passed, or maybe minutes. Time felt soft here.
Eventually, the crystalline mist stirred, parting as Aethrion reappeared.
"It's time," he said.
Conversation died.
All the newly risen gods rose. Dante swallowed as the hall expanded, platforms unfolding into a walkway of floating light.
Aethrion gestured. "Today, you stand before the Divine Council. They'll evaluate your essence, potential, and stability. Fear won't help. Honesty will."
Dante muttered, "I'd settle for knowing what's inside me."
Aethrion's eyes twinkled. "You will soon."
The walkway carried them upward through luminous stone. The Radiant Bastion soared above like a mountain of refracted dawn. As they approached, the air thickened with ancient pressure—older gods watched, sensing, weighing.
Anarissa moved closer, and Dante felt her anxiety through their bond. He squeezed her hand.
"We'll get through it," he whispered.
"I hope the Council sees something good in us," she whispered.
The walkway led them to a massive gate of translucent gold, etched with pulsating runes. It parted silently.
Inside, a circular chamber like a star's center awaited. Thrones carved from raw creation hovered around it, each occupied by a being of overwhelming presence.
Light, shadow, flame, storm, silence—every divinity emanated from one.
In the center, a platform rose.
Aethrion's voice carried softly. "Step forward, newborn gods. Your examinations begin now."
Dante felt his pulse thunder. Anarissa inhaled shakily. The others tensed.
Whatever they were—or becoming—would be exposed here.
There was no turning back.