POV: Liora – The Moonsundered
Arrival at the Spiral Hall
The escort led her through a staircase made of cascading crystal — not carved, but grown from the empire's living core. At the base was a hall with no walls, only a sky of drifting galaxies and a floor of soft moss that pulsed like a breathing garden.
Five women were already waiting there.
Each sat in silence, but none of them were still.
Kaelira's cloak of fire trailed behind her like the tail of a comet.
Selphira sat perfectly poised within a glass orb of frozen time, her silver-white hair glinting with trapped starlight.
Nyxara stood behind a veil of illusion, barely visible — her presence thick with secrets and shadows.
Luneth was wrapped in silence itself, scrolls hovering around her like gentle moons.
And Virelya, bright-eyed and soft, stood barefoot in the blooming roots that surrounded the meeting ground.
Liora had expected coldness.
Instead, she received careful, curious gazes — like stars turning toward a new constellation.
The First Meeting
"It's rare he wakes a goddess himself," Kaelira said first, voice like flint and flame.
"He usually waits," Selphira added, her expression unreadable. "But he didn't wait for you."
That made Liora hesitate. "Why me?"
Nyxara stepped forward, her illusion flickering — and for a moment, Liora saw everything. Realms crushed beneath silence. Women reaching out in worship. And at the center, always him.
"You remind him of something," Nyxara said, her voice echoing with the weight of unseen truths.
Virelya stepped in gently, like spring after storm. "He never says what that is. But… when he chooses to speak, it always means something."
Liora's Doubt
She looked around at these powerful women, these goddesses who had not only been chosen — they had been kept. They loved him, and it showed.
But why her?
She was once a lunar monarch, yes. But her world was gone. Her voice had not sung in ages. Her light had dimmed.
She finally asked what she feared most:
"Do I belong here?"
Luneth's eyes flicked toward her, calm and wise. "You were not brought here to belong."
"You were brought here because he saw what even the stars forgot."
Kaelira's Warning
Kaelira rose from her seat and walked toward Liora.
There was heat in her — not anger, but testing.
"He will never ask you to worship him," she said. "That is not his way."
"But you will want to," Kaelira continued, voice low. "And that want will not fade."
Liora swallowed. "Have you all…?"
"Loved him?" Selphira asked with a ghost of a smile. "Yes."
"Yearned for him?" Nyxara whispered. "Desperately."
"Waited through centuries for a single glance?" Virelya added, tears in her voice. "We did."
Luneth didn't answer.
She only looked at Liora — and nodded.
The Seed of Devotion
Later, Liora wandered the outer balcony, gazing into the stars of this impossible world. She touched her wrist where Ren had held her hand. The warmth still lingered.
He hadn't kissed her.
He hadn't claimed her.
But he had remembered her name.
And that was enough to shatter centuries of silence in her chest.
Not desire.
Not need.
But a longing so raw it felt sacred.
She knew now why they stayed.
Why they waited.
Why they loved a man who never truly gave himself to anyone.
Because he was the one thing left untouched by time.
And now, Liora wanted not just to worship.
She wanted to understand him.
She wanted to be chosen again.
POV: Ren – Beyond the Edge of Worlds
There are markets that operate in open shadows — black markets, smuggler dens, illegal slave circuits. I had long since buried those.
But the Abyssal Vault was different.
It was older than the concept of morality. Hidden beyond timelines, behind silence spells and god-forged contracts, the Vault was where the elite traded what should have never been owned: fallen queens, divine daughters, rare species, sacred oracles.
They were displayed as trophies. Prized for purity. For power. For bloodline.
No one ever came to save them.
Until now.
How I Entered
I did not break the gates.
I simply was inside.
Time here bent easily under my will. The guards saw nothing. The alarms never activated.
I walked through wards meant to repel ancient warlocks and banished gods.
I was none of those things.
I was worse.
I passed silent halls where displays floated in crystal prisons — women from dead realms, still frozen in beauty, their names replaced with price tags.
I left a trail of open cells behind me.
The Auction Chamber
A thousand masked figures from across the multiverse gathered in a golden amphitheater. Wealth radiated from them — in runes, in soul sigils, in silence.
On the platform, a pale girl knelt in chains.
"A demi-goddess from the drowned realm of Vylun," the auctioneer announced. "Memory-reduced. Obedience-implanted. Opening bid: 400,000 soul coins."
I raised no hand.
Instead, I whispered into the vault itself.
"I am the Worldwalker."
The magic buckled.
Every soul coin ledger rewrote itself.
All bids vanished.
And one name replaced them all: Ren.
Their Panic Meant Nothing
Some shouted. Others tried to teleport out. A few pulled blades.
It didn't matter.
They had forgotten where they stood.
This was no longer their world.
It was mine.
They tried to trace the spell. Counter the override. Rebind the chains.
But I had already bought everything.
Every soul.
Every name.
Every prisoner that had ever passed through this place — across eras, realms, even erased timelines.
All were mine now.
And none of them even knew I'd arrived.
The Transaction
At the core of the Vault lay the Root Chamber — a vault within a vault, where the ledger of every slave transaction was etched in runes of bone.
I approached the console.
Spoke a single command:
"All. Purchase. Immediate."
The machine shivered.
Soul coin calculations rippled through time. The number exceeded any recorded exchange in the multiverse.
And I paid it in silence.
With wealth drawn from the endless conquests no one remembered me taking.
No alarm triggered.
No witness escaped.
The Vault simply… emptied.
The Forgotten Wake
I walked through the aisles where women now opened their eyes. Some wept. Some screamed. Others simply stared.
One whispered, "Where are we?"
Another: "Who freed us?"
I offered no answers.
Only open doors.
No one remembered the auctioneer's name.
Or how the market vanished.
Only a whisper remained in its place — passed by frightened merchants in future decades:
The day the Vault forgot its masters… and remembered its dead.
After
Back in the empire, the women were brought not to cages… but to healing gardens, libraries, and sanctuaries prepared in advance.
Each was offered memory recovery.
A name restored.
A home forged anew.
And in every corner of my vast kingdom, the same silent truth took root:
You were not forgotten.
Because I remembered.
Because I came back for you.
Because I could.