The path to Auraya's realm shimmered faintly ahead, alive with the soft green glow of growth yet distant, like a promise just out of reach. I had survived fire, water, the labyrinth, and shadow. I carried four fragments now—the flame of Thyrrion, the water of Selmyra, the crystal of clarity, and the shadow of Nyxion. Each pulsed with its own rhythm, a chorus of divine power and warnings.
But the Shattered Sky whispered differently now. There was unease in its voice, a tremor I had not felt before. And then I saw it.
At the edge of a fractured plain, where the starlight shimmered over blackened stone, a figure knelt. Its form radiated a dim, failing light, like a star at the edge of collapse. Wings, once grand and luminous, drooped raggedly at its sides. Armor of gold and crystal was tarnished and broken. Its face, half-hidden by shadow, bore the weight of centuries of sorrow.
I instinctively dropped to one knee. "Who… who are you?"
The figure lifted its head, revealing eyes the color of dying suns. "I was called… Lysara," it whispered, voice hoarse yet regal. "Once a goddess of the dawn, a herald of hope. But even gods can fall."
I took a cautious step closer. The fragments pulsed violently, sensing the presence of another divine essence. "What… happened to you?" I asked, awe and fear tangled in my chest.
Lysara laughed softly, a sound like wind through cracked glass. "Hubris. Betrayal. War. I trusted mortals, I trusted gods… and I was shattered. I was cast down into this realm of exile, my light fading. I linger only because the Shattered Sky drew me, a fragment of what I once was. And now… you, mortal, stand before me, carrying their gifts."
The air shifted. The ground trembled beneath her power, unstable and volatile. I realized that this was not merely a meeting—it was a test. Lysara's presence radiated both warning and temptation.
"Why do you linger here?" I asked. "Do you wish to harm me, or help?"
She smiled bitterly. "Both, perhaps. Or neither. I am a mirror, Eryndor. A reflection of what can happen if one wields fragments of divinity without restraint, without wisdom, without… humility. I see your fire, your water, your clarity, your shadow. You are powerful, yes—but power is only a seed. Without care, without sacrifice, it will rot, and you… will fall as I did."
I felt a chill. The fragments in my hands pulsed nervously. She was not just a warning; she was proof of failure.
"Can I help you?" I asked, impulsively. "Can you rise again?"
Lysara's wings twitched, scattering shards of light across the plain. "Perhaps. But only if I embrace what I have lost… and only if someone like you shows me mercy and courage, mortal. Many would kill me for what I am, to claim the power that lingers in my ruin. Few would… listen."
Her words struck me deeply. I realized that the journey through the Shattered Sky was not just about survival, not just about fragments, but about choice: mercy or vengeance, creation or destruction.
I knelt beside her. "I will listen," I said. "Tell me what you need."
Lysara's light flickered, struggling against the darkness that clung to her. "I need acknowledgment. I need someone to remember that even fallen gods carry truth. And perhaps… I need guidance. A mortal who still carries hope can teach a fallen deity what it means to endure."
The fragments in my hands pulsed violently, as if resonating with hers. Fire and water, clarity and shadow—they recognized her as divine yet broken. I felt the Shattered Sky hum with urgency: here was a lesson that no god could teach directly, only through example and choice.
"Then I will help," I said. "But I do not know how yet."
She nodded slowly. "Walk with me a while. Share your journey, and I will share mine. You may learn… more than you imagine. And perhaps, Eryndor, you will understand what it truly means to bear fragments of divinity. But beware—every choice now carries weight, not just for you, but for all realms."
Together, we began walking across the fractured plain. Her presence was both comforting and humbling. I realized something that chilled me: a mortal could gain fragments, could endure trials, but even gods could falter. If they fell, if they succumbed to despair or arrogance… then I, too, could fall.
The Age of Gods was not just beginning—it was already full of consequences, shadows, and fragile hope. And in meeting Lysara, I had glimpsed a possible future… one I could not ignore.