Qaritas stepped into Deepcrest like he was surfacing from darkness, blinking at the glowing warmth curling around him.
The village shimmered within the walls of the submarine canyon—structures carved from luminous coral and fossilized bones, each curve whispering of intention and age. It was a place alive in stillness, where every breath felt like it echoed through generations.
The Thermal Vent Gardens hissed gently, mist rising in curls that caught the bioluminescent drift. Warmth rose from the stone beneath their feet, and even the air shimmered in hues of amber and jade.
They'd made their way down from the cave with no monsters, no battles—only soft conversation and the crunch of gravel underfoot. Qaritas found himself oddly comforted by it. There was something sacred in the pause.
Zcain, ever the composed storm wrapped in silk, walked ahead of the group, Nimarza quietly at his side. His posture remained dignified, but there was a lightness in his steps.
Maybe she was why he smiled like that now, Qaritas thought. Like something fragile waited behind the war—and he'd only just remembered how to want it.
But that smile came slow—like it had to scrape its way past a thousand nights that taught him stillness was safer than joy.
Even now, it looked like it might shatter if anyone looked too hard.
The village welcomed them with laughter and floating lights; festival lanterns bobbed like fireflies in slow water, and children dashed past with kelp-wrapped treats in hand.
They stopped just outside the Luminescent Plaza where the Echo Chasm hummed in the distance. The echoes drifted in long, musical pulses—haunting and beautiful.
"It is," Zcain answered smoothly, without looking back. "Deepcrest listens. It always has."
There was a silence before Zcain added, softer, "These are mortals who've lost their place elsewhere. Deepcrest doesn't ask why they came. Only if they need safety."
A beat passed.
Daviyi turned. "Why?"
Zcain offered a sheepish smile, raising both hands in mock surrender. "It's a long story. Please pay no mind."
The inn was built into the wall of the canyon, half-organic and humming faintly with the warmth of the thermal vents beneath it.
A gentle hiss of steam drifted from the nearby hotspring-fed river, its surface laced with lazy trails of mist. The air smelled faintly mineral-rich—clean, like warm stone soaked in rain and lavender root. Beneath it, a gentle bubbling could be heard, rhythmic and soothing, like a distant lullaby played on stone drums.
That's when she arrived.
"Zcain. Your boots are trailing sin again."
The voice was pure gravel and disappointment.
An old demon woman shuffled into view like she'd been waiting her whole life for this moment—and probably had. Her back was crooked, horns curled like ram's spirals, and her eyes sparkled with the kind of wisdom that got people killed if they ignored it.
Zcain actually flinched.
"Gemma, dearest—"
"No. Don't you 'dearest' me." She waved a ladle. "You bring these poor children here half-dead and think I won't notice you've got your wife taking on the persona of Nimarza again!"
Gemma stalked closer, looked Nimarza up and down.
"I told you, child. That thing's a crutch. You don't need it."
"It's to keep my identity hidden," Nimarza murmured.
"Rnarah. You're home. No more hiding," Gemma snapped.
Qaritas blinked. That name… It wasn't familiar. But his pulse jumped like it was.
He didn't know why it felt sacred. Only that it did.
As he glanced around. Some—Daviyi, Cree, Niraí, Hydeius—stood still in shock. They knew. The rest of them... didn't. Not fully. Not yet.
Cree's eyes widened, a flicker of flame sparking at her wrist unbidden.
Cree and Daviyi didn't speak, but they looked at each other—and Qaritas caught something between them. An old grief. A shared sin. Or maybe just memory with teeth.
He was certain of one thing: this was the moment everything changed.
The name cracked the room.
Qaritas scanned their faces, searching for confirmation.
Komus, Ayla… and himself—stood like witnesses to a god they hadn't even been warned existed.
Everyone froze.
Daviyi staggered back a step, spoon falling from her fingers with a dull clink.
Hydeius just... blinked. Once. Long and slow, as if trying to process a truth too big for language.
Komus cursed under his breath, backing up a step. "Who is she?" His hand twitched near the hilt of a blade he knew wouldn't help.
Niraí's eyes went glassy, lips parted like she was watching a miracle—or a ghost.
A single tear slipped down her cheek, unnoticed—or maybe ignored.
Ayla sat straighter, not in reverence—but defense.
For a heartbeat, something ancient stirred—an echo of childhood laughter wrapped in rose-colored light.
Before blood. Before gods. Before bracing became survival.
Her fingers flexed at her side, as if bracing to draw a line—through memory, through godhood, through awe.
Some part of her still braced for judgment. Gemma raised her hand—and with a flick, the mask dissolved.
Beauty unfolded like a blade.
Something rippled across the room—like gravity had changed direction.
The air thickened with awe and confusion.
Hydeius muttered a name under his breath that Qaritas didn't catch.
Daviyi's breath hitched audibly.
Cree looked away, visibly trembling. Silken strands of rosy-pink hair cascaded around her in loose, flowing waves, like light dancing across the surface of heated Springwater laced with mica dust.
Her eyes, twin orbs of rose quartz, glowed with a soft, luminous warmth—gems polished by the breath of the heavens themselves.
They shimmered with unfathomable depth, as if each glance could whisper centuries of love stories and still leave you yearning to hear more.
Her skin was the color of warm ivory kissed by blush, smooth as satin and dusted with the faintest shimmer, as though the stars had left their trace upon her. Her lips, full and petal-soft, held a gentle, inviting curve, the color of ripe strawberries at dusk.
Not soft. Not gentle.
Terrifying.
The room didn't just fall silent. It froze.
Even Qaritas—a being of fractured memory and voidlight—felt something pulling at him.
Like a song sung in a language he'd forgotten but once loved. A desire to fall to one knee. To confess things never spoken aloud. To weep for her. To reach.
Cree took a step back, visibly shaking. Hydeius gritted his teeth. "She's doing it—whatever that is."
Niraí covered her face with one sleeve. "I can't… I can't think straight…"
Daviyi tightened her grip on her spoon, jaw clenching. "Stop staring…" she muttered—to herself, or maybe to everyone. It didn't matter. Her heart was racing.
But the words rang hollow, even to her own ears.
Zcain's smile vanished. "Gemma! You should've warned us! She didn't take her second dose—"
Gemma snapped, "She's home. She doesn't need to hide who she is."
Zcain growled, stepping forward. "Then give her time to drink the vial—"
Gemma raised her cane and whacked him across the shoulder. "Don't raise your voice at me, boy. You're still the brat who tracked sin across my clean floors."
Zcain actually winced. "That was one time."
"Twice."
Rnarah raised her hand calmly. "It's fine. I already had my medicine earlier."
She lifted a delicate vial from her sleeve—half-empty—and smiled. "This was only a whisper of what I can do."
Her voice slid through the air like warm silk dipped in honeyed glass—too gentle to resist, too resonant to forget.
It didn't echo. It lingered—like perfume caught in the throat, or a song you weren't sure you imagined.
She drank. The pressure cracked. One by one, they exhaled.
Daviyi's shoulders dropped. Cree let out a sharp breath, unaware they'd been holding it.
Even Komus blinked, slack-jawed and dazed, like someone waking from a dream they weren't sure was theirs.
Qaritas swayed slightly, the spell loosening in his chest like a knot he hadn't known was there.
Breath by breath, they returned to themselves.
Rnarah stood in full.
Qaritas saw it all in their eyes—the recognition. The pieces falling into place.
No one moved.
Not because they were paralyzed by fear—
—but because wonder had stolen movement from their limbs.
The air itself held its breath.
Not reverent. Not afraid.
Just... *watching*.
As if the world had never seen beauty this old, this devastating, and now refused to blink.
Qaritas wasn't sure if he'd knelt or if the floor had risen to meet him.
Behind him, someone whispered something like a prayer—or a curse— but even the air refused to carry it.
It wasn't silence.
It was surrender.
"Let me officially introduce Rnarah, the Ascendant of Love and Beauty. My beloved and wife by mortal laws." Zcain smiled, one hand resting at her waist.
"YOUR BELOVED!" Several voices shouted.
"Daughter of Xriana, the Ascendant of Fate and Tysesh, the Ascendant of the Veiled Mind." Niraí whispered.
"One of the lost Ascendant children. She was here this whole time," Hydeius added, voice hollow.
"Ecayrous wasn't lying, Our children are alive." Cree breathed.
"No," Zcain corrected gently, stepping forward. "For once, he wasn't lying. Your children are alive and safe. I made sure of it."
He took her hand then—carefully, reverently. A gentleman still, but now a man who'd torn cities apart for this one act of devotion.
Qaritas didn't speak.
He only watched the way Rnarah looked at Zcain.
Not like a weapon. Not like a shield.
Like home.
Komus blinked, still trying to adjust to the new gravity Rnarah's presence had pulled into the room.
Gods and their glowing spouses.
He exhaled slowly, hand still twitching from the instinct to kneel—or bolt.
Then Gemma cleared her throat like a warhorn.
Right. Awe was over. Bread was in danger.
"Enough talking about Ecayrous," Gemma huffed, turning on her heel. "Dinner is inside, and if my bread gets cold, I will give you another lesson in torture. Don't test me, Zcain. After the last time, you couldn't sit straight for a week."
Zcain winced. "To be fair, I deserved that one."
"You deserved three. I was merciful."
No one moved.
The weight of revelation still hung in the air, but Gemma's glare left no room for further awe.
Qaritas lingered a moment longer than the others.
The warmth of Rnarah's presence wasn't fading—it was threading through him like old music.
His fingertips brushed the stone wall near the door.
She's not what I expected, he thought. But maybe... I knew her once.
Behind him, the others had already begun to move.
He stepped forward at last—into the light, into the warmth, into the next truth waiting to unfold.