The air in Vega's private realm did not move; it was breathed into stillness by the goddess herself. Celestial blossoms, their petals forged from condensed starlight, hung motionless on branches of woven shadow and nebula. The gentle, glowing orbs that illuminated the secluded garden seemed to pulse in time with Vega's simmering anger. Across from her, Kanji was a statue of implacable calm, a black hole of intent in her radiant sanctuary.
Vega, her form a symphony of cosmic geometry, finally broke the silence, her voice a low hum of constrained power. "Very well," she said, the words sharp as shattered crystal. "Let us dispense with pretense. State the purpose for which you dragged me from my duties, Naein."
Kanji's crimson eyes held hers, unwavering. "The seal on Khazad weakens. We have twelve years until it fails completely."
The name, spoken aloud in this place of power, acted as a psychic shockwave. The tranquil lights flickered. The very concept of peace in the garden frayed at the edges. Vega's composure cracked, a fissure of primal dread revealing itself before she masterfully restored her divine mask.
"You are certain?" she asked, her voice now devoid of its earlier heat, replaced by a cold, clinical tone.
"The non-existent realm where Sophia trapped him is not a perfect prison," Kanji explained, his voice flat, each word a hammer blow. "It is a cage, and the lock is her own existence. That lock is decaying. We do not have the luxury of waiting."
He let the grim truth hang in the air before shifting his focus. "Where is Kagiroi?"
Vega's gaze narrowed, the stars in her eyes swirling with suspicion. "The First Hero is in seclusion, guarded by the Seven Ancient Celestial Beasts. His Lightborn nature is a beacon. To reveal him now would be to paint a target on his back for every remaining servant of Khazad."
"A precaution I would have taken myself," Kanji acknowledged. "And why has the paragon of light gone to ground? Surely, he is eager for the final battle."
A trace of a sneer returned to Vega's lips. "There is a stark difference between you and Kagiroi, Naein. One is a creature of kindness and hope, the other… a being of cruelty and darkness. Need I specify which is which?"
"You refer to me," Kanji stated, not a question.
"Astute," she spat. "Is it any wonder? Your own clan disowned you. The heavens weep for the angels you have slaughtered. Humanity whispers your name as a curse. You are a blight, and you have the audacity to sit in my presence and speak of salvation."
Kanji's lips curled into a thin, bitter smirk. "Oh, I understand my reputation. Hatred is the currency of my existence. But it is a currency I have learned to spend."
"And do you take pleasure in it?" Vega leaned forward, her light intensifying. "Does the loathing of all creation warm you in the night?"
"What about you?" he countered, his voice dropping, the smirk vanishing. "You, who sit in your realm of perfect balance, passing judgment. You have never had to watch everything you tried to protect turn to ash in your hands. You have never been so powerful that your very existence was considered a crime by the gods. We are not the same."
The raw, unexpected bitterness in his tone gave Vega pause. The divine fury in her eyes banked, replaced by a flicker of something else—not sympathy, but a grim understanding. "You have… endured," she conceded, the admission tasting foreign. "To fight so relentlessly, only to see your efforts unravel… it would carve canyons of bitterness into any soul."
Kanji looked away, his gaze seeming to pierce the veils of reality itself, focusing on a memory two million years old. "…Hmm… Your former Teacher, Sophia…" he began, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. "I respected her. She was the only true god I have ever acknowledged. A symbol of a kindness so profound it felt like a weapon."
He turned his piercing gaze back to Vega. "She sacrificed herself, trapped her own essence in that empty realm to cage the monster. I fought alongside you in that war not for the heavens, not for humanity, but to protect her. And I am still fighting now because I promised her I would finish it." The confession hung in the air, stark and undeniable. "It is not that I lack hatred for the gods. I do. But my promise to her outweighs it all."
Vega observed him, the last of her animosity dissolving into the sobering gravity of his words. The story of the Celestial War was a foundational myth, but for the being before her, it was a personal, unfinished debt.
"Sophia was the best of us," Vega said, her voice soft with a reverence that transcended their conflict. "Her sacrifice was the axis upon which reality turned. To know that you fight in her name… it changes the composition of things." She studied him, this paradox of destruction and loyalty. "Your resolve is… admirable."
"My mind is made up," Kanji stated, the finality in his voice absolute. "This ends now. No more seals. No more prisons. In twelve years, we gather everyone—gods, emperors, heroes, and monsters—and we kill Khazad. Permanently."
Vega nodded, a slow, solemn gesture. The weight of the endeavor was incalculable, but the alternative was unthinkable. "I see. This will be the final war. We will end him together."
"Then our accord is struck," Kanji said. "I will find Kagiroi and secure his strength. And I will… persuade my 'friend' to join the cause."
A knowing look passed between them. Vega did not ask for a name; the history was too long, the relationship too complex. "Understood," she replied simply. "I will prepare the celestial hosts. The threads of fate must be woven for war."
With his purpose stated and their fragile alliance forged, Kanji did not offer a farewell. He simply ceased to be there, his form dissolving from her realm as if he had been nothing but a collective nightmare.
Vega was alone again. The serene beauty of her garden felt hollow now, a painted backdrop against the coming storm. Her eyes remained fixed on the void he had left behind, her mind no longer on the chaos he embodied, but on the chilling certainty in his words. He was a weapon, yes—a flawed, hated, and brutal weapon—but he was the only one sharp enough for the task ahead.
She closed her eyes, not in peace, but in focus. The time for celestial contemplation was over. The gentle rustle of star-petals in a non-existent breeze was replaced by the silent, grim calculus of mobilization. The battle for a kingdom had been a prelude. The war for all existence had just been declared, and its first, most unlikely general had just departed her realm.