Ivy stood in the temple’s heart, her pulse thudding like a war drum. The chamber was ancient—cracked marble, golden dust, glowing veins of magic that pulsed through the walls like veins through skin.
Before her, the three thrones loomed: Fire. Shadow. And Chaos.
Behind her, Kael and Ember stood watch. Silent. Ready. But the air between them trembled—because they all knew what this moment meant.
This was the choosing.
Or the claiming.
“I don’t understand,” Ivy whispered. “How can I belong to all three?”
“Because you were made to,” a voice said from the shadows.
The goddess appeared—no longer cloaked in dreams, but fully formed. Ethereal. Terrifying. Her eyes were galaxies, her hair starlight. And her smile? It was both motherly and cruel.
“You were forged from broken truths,” the go
