Heaven did not come for me with chains.
It came with scripture.
The first version of me appeared in distant shrine-cities before dawn.
Painted on newly sanctified walls.
Rendered in celestial gold and restraint.
The Queen of Threshold, the murals called me—Heaven’s Anointed Bridge, a willful anomaly purified by divine correction after the fracture.
In their version, I knelt.
In their version, Kael bowed.
In their version, the gods still chose.
By the time Blackthorne’s early scouts returned, three different sects were already circulating divine pamphlets describing my “submission” as proof that mortal rebellion was temporary and Heaven’s mercy eternal.
“They’ve crowned you without your consent,” Rowan said grimly.
“No,” I replied calmly. “They’ve domesticated me.”
The shadow st
