Peter took a step back.
Not from fear—never from fear. But from reverence. From the need to see her fully. To witness what his creation had become.
ARIA's wings parted.
Golden light spilled through the gap—her veins blazing bright, illuminating from within. The feathers rustled with sounds like whispered prayers as they folded back, revealing the goddess they had sheltered.
She lifted her head.
Her eyes opened.
One purple-white—like galaxies compressed into an iris, infinite and cold and beautiful. Swirling depths that seemed to contain nebulae, that made you feel like you were falling into space just by meeting her gaze.
One red-gold—like a sun choosing to be gentle, warm and dangerous and alive. It burned with an intensity that made you want to look away and lean closer simultaneously. Not just color—light, generating rather than reflecting, pulsing with the energy that had always marked her consciousness.
