The scent of blood lingered in the air.
Justine lay still in the holy infirmary of the upper realm, her once-glorious wings dimmed, feathers singed and stained. The marble bed beneath her glowed faintly with divine energy, attempting to mend the wounds that refused to heal. Her mind, however, was the true battlefield.
Hajun.
The name echoed, each syllable cutting deeper than any sword. Not just because he defeated her, but because she recognized that power—those movements. That overwhelming will.
She gritted her teeth. That was Hajun Ardyn. The real him.
A soft chime interrupted her thoughts. The door opened, revealing Seirune, the Goddess of Time. Her footsteps made no sound as she approached, eyes filled with something far more unsettling than pity—understanding.
"You hesitated," Seirune said gently.
Justine flinched. "...I did not."
"You pulled your strike. Your blade never aimed for his heart."
Silence.
Her fingers curled into fists. "I couldn't. Not him."
"Then you remember."
A sharp inhale.
"I remember enough," Justine whispered, voice trembling. "The way he fought… the way he looked at me. He wasn't just fighting to win. He was fighting to wake me up."
Seirune sat beside her, folding her hands.
"He's not the same man who died fifty years ago."
"He never was just a man," Justine muttered. "He taught us to fight gods, not kneel to them."
Seirune's gaze turned distant. "And yet, you chose to kneel."
"I was told he died because he went mad. That he was dangerous. That…" Her voice cracked. "That I betrayed him for the greater good."
"And now?"
Justine's eyes flicked toward the shimmering mirror across the room. It displayed Hajun walking through a ruined battlefield, his cape torn, eyes sharp as ever.
"Now I don't know who the traitor is anymore."
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