Gods cannot be gazed at by mortals. This is an absolute rule that must never be violated.
"Wake up, you sleepyhead! We'll be late for the ceremony!" Nela shouted, banging on the door to Lyria's room.
Lyria, who had been deep asleep, jolted awake. Can't be late today. Can't be late today.
In under two minutes, she tidied her room, washed up, and properly dressed in her uniform. Moments like these were when the physical abilities and heightened reflexes of a Paragon truly shined.
Opening her door, she was face-to-face with a beautiful girl with the same golden hair and eyes. She grabbed Nela's hand, and without a word, they began sprinting down the grand corridor, its walls adorned with intricate, priceless ornaments. Emerging from the lodgings, they were greeted by the warm morning sunlight. Lyria heard Nela's breathless "Slow down a little bit!" but tactically ignored it.
They soon reached the central hall of the largest Cathedral in this world. Dozens of other Paragons were already gathered there, and as soon as the duo arrived, they began receiving pointed looks. Nela's face flushed, not from the run, but from the unwanted attention. Whereas Lyria met the gazes head-on, her own stare sharp enough to make others look away.
All those assembled shared key traits: hair like golden sunlight, eyes of brilliant gold, and the same pristine white uniform worn by Lyria and Nela.
After a brief wait, the space before them cracked open, revealing a figure within. It was one of the only nine Ascenders of Light. A voice rang clearly in everyone's ears: "Stay close and do not stray away from each other. The consequences of wandering here are beyond your imagination." Following the instruction, they lined up and entered the fissure one by one, each immediately enveloped in a thin, protective layer of golden light.
Inside the rift, they were surrounded by utter, all consuming darkness. Any attempt to channel their own energy met immediate resistance, both from within their bodies and from the void itself. It felt as if the darkness would eagerly devour anyone who dared to disturb it.
Lyria was always amazed by how Ascenders, who were just a single rank above her, could navigate this void and harness its properties to traverse space. After my own ascension in a few decades, she thought, I'll be able to travel alone, and I'll have even more methods to tease Nela. At that exact moment, Nela felt goosebumps prickle across her skin. 'May the Goddess bless me,' she silently prayed.
They walked for what felt like both an instant and a very long time. Finally, the space ahead of them shimmered and opened, binging them into a vast, ancient courtyard. The Ascender who had guided them silently directed each Paragon to their assigned positions.
Lyria quickly assessed the flow of energy around her. From the looks of it they were still in her own world, but this place felt different. The courtyard was a filled with weathered carvings and silent stone monoliths that seemed to suit the Goddess's austere tastes. Today was the day the Goddess would grace this world with Her presence. An event which occurred very rarely, sometimes only once a century. For Lyria, it was her first time, and a thrill of pure excitement coursed through her.
Lyria Pierre had been raised by the Church of Light from infancy. Her earliest memory was her name, given before the Church found her. She had awakened to her powers unusually young and had been meticulously trained. The Awakeners of the Church considered the Goddess of Light their mother, fostering a devotion that bordered on fanaticism. And in Lyria, that devotion burned brighter than in most.
After a period of silent anticipation, a light appeared accompanied by a presence manifesting amidst them. A lady stood there, clad in simple white robes not unlike those of the clergy. A thin, luminous mist veiled Her face, making direct sight impossible. She was the "Brightest Light that illuminates all corners of Creation." She was also the Light that burned all that was Unholy. Merely by standing there, She was the embodiment of perfection.
And Lyria could not take her eyes off Her.
Another woman, her eyes covered by a pristine white blindfold, stepped forward to formally receive the Goddess. As the Goddess moved slowly among them, She seemed to regard each person. However, none could guess Her thoughts behind the misty veil.
Finally, the Goddess's attention settled in Lyria's direction. Lyria strained her eyes, but She could still not see Her face. She understood it was not because the Goddess hid it, but because her own strength was too meager to perceive it. From the depths of her soul, a powerful, undeniable compulsion took root—and from it, an obsession was born. Even if it meant giving everything up, she wanted to gaze beyond that misty veil.
She focused every ounce of her power into her eyes, beginning the agonizing and meticulous work of peeling back the layers of the luminous mist. And as she did, her body started to dissolve by transforming into shimmering particles of light. Beginning at her fingertips and then at her toes and then slowly moving upwards. She was paying the price for breaking the divine taboo which had been ingrained in her since her childhood. Yet, there was no pain—only a profound, encompassing warmth. Driven by frantic urgency, she increased her efforts.
The people around her quickly backed away, creating a wide circle. The Goddess halted Her progress and turned fully toward Lyria. The Ascender who had guided them watched with an expression of profound pity. Lyria was not the first to attempt this, and she would not be the last. Such was the lethal allure of the all-consuming light; and in front of it they were all just like moths, irresistibly drawn to the burning flame.
The dissolution spread from her hands to her arms, and from her legs upward. She was dying, piece by piece, yet her efforts only grew more desperate. All the Paragons and Ascenders just watched in silence. Finally, just before the last of her form shimmered into nothingness, the final layer of mist parted.
And she saw it, a smile.
Ah… so that's how it is, she realized.
It was a smile which contained thousands of meanings and at the same time none. It was not a smile of pity, nor of judgment. It was a simple, gentle smile of encouragement—the kind a mother gives her child, urging them to do their very best.
And with that understanding, Lyria Pierre dissolved completely into the light and died.
Everyone thought it was over, and the light particles were close to completely dissolving. But the Goddess was still smiling, and as if encouraged by Her smile, the last particles stopped dissolving. A single, tenacious thought kept them from fading: I want to reciprocate that smile.
Soon, the particles began to vibrate. Slowly at first, then with growing intensity. And as the vibration quickened, new particles of light began to appear. Including the Ascenders everyone present was dumbfounded, except for the Goddess. There had never been a case like this, and there never would be again.
Ascension is the process of abandoning mortality and drawing closer to the source of existence. In this process, every Ascender has three chances to create their own unique spells—once during each stage of their ascent. These spells become imprinted upon all of creation itself, and when used by their creator, they wield double the power at half the cost.
And during the moment of her death, Lyria had altered the sequence of these events. She forged her first spell: "There is Light." And with it, she began her ascension. Its function was singular: As long as even a single particle of her light remains she will revive from it.
Soon, the clouds above began to churn, and everyone distanced themselves from the area. The sky responded with its wrath and lightning rained down upon the particles of light, seeking to obliterate them. But each time it seemed they would be destroyed, new particles shimmered into existence and took their place. Their number grew slowly, stubbornly and steadily. It felt as if each destruction was helping them understand the process of their creation better.
The Paragons—those who had surpassed human limits but still remained partly mortal were sent away by the Ascenders. Now, only the Ascenders and the Goddess remained.
Days passed. The struggle between the light particles and lightning did not cease. Finally, after several weeks, enough particles had gathered to form the faint outline of a person.
The lightning stopped. But the clouds did not disperse. They coiled more fiercely than before. Everyone understood: this was the final trial.
The silhouette of light particles gazed at the Goddess's still-smiling face, then at the churning heavens. The last all-consuming crimson annihilation lightning bolt fell. Devouring everything in a radius of several miles.
Time seemed to slow down. In what it believed were its final moments, the silhouette clung to the memory of the light and that smile. At least for a moment, it wanted to be like it.
But wishing alone was not enough. Yet, the will to defy even death gave strength to that wish. And at that moment just from instinct, she forged her second spell: "Her Light." Its purpose was very simple: It grants the caster "Her" Light.
The silhouette took form. The face of a perfected existence emerged. Wreathed in all-consuming radiance, she simply raised a hand—and the golden light streaming from her palm devoured the crimson lightning.
Standing alone in the sky, she resembled the perfection she sought to embody. Then she looked again at the Goddess, whose face now bloomed with a new kind of smile—one of pride, like a mother celebrating her child's win.
This time, no veil obscured her vision. She could truly see Her.
She began to move forward. Her body screamed in agony; her mind had gone blank from exhaustion. Still, she moved.
She stopped before the Goddess. Only when the Goddess reached out and gently patted her head did she let go. The spell dissolved. Her body returned to its normal form. Her eyes closed, and she fell. But her fall was cushioned by the Goddess.
Cradling Lyria and gazing at the sky in the presence of all the Ascenders of Light, the Light who illuminates every corner of Creation made her declaration:
"Today, my daughter is born! Today, Lyria Pierre Luciana is born!"
After the incident, Lyria lay unconscious for over a month. When she awoke and remembered what had happened, she did the only thing she could think to do: she ran.
She resigned from all duties and requested to guard a simple cathedral. Many were bewildered by her choice, but only the Ascenders knew the reason.
For them, Goddess of Light was everything and to replicate Her was an act of profound blasphemy. This was especially true for Lyria, who had defied death itself for that Light. And so, without protest, she was quietly assigned to guard one of the Cathedrals.
Unbeknownst to her, not all Cathedrals were the same. Seven served as cornerstones for protecting their world and she had been placed at one of them.
Hence, she moved to this port city. In order to reduce the side effects of the spell she even transformed into a small girl. Still, she began to unconsciously emulate the Goddess. Adopting Her smile (which most of people thought creepy) and Her gestures. Influenced, imprinted, she had already become a prisoner of Light. No matter how far she ran, she would always be drawn back to its heart. She had vowed to never use this power again and still had been forced to.
Looking at Kasnov, tears began to stream from Lyria's eyes. Kasnov was confused at first but then the alarms in his mind started to ring. One of the three beads from the bracelet on his wrist snapped.
He didn't hesitate. He quickly moved out of the pocket dimension, tore a spatial scroll and vanished from this place.
The last thing he saw was an all-consuming, blinding light erupting in every direction.
He knew, with complete certainty, that if he had lingered a moment longer, he would have been dead.
Light gathered around Lyria, intensifying into a radiant vortex. Soon, her body began to transform, elongating and solidifying, until in her place stood a being of perfect grace, her form a near-perfect replica of the statue of the Goddess enshrined in the Cathedral. With just one sharp, decisive swing of her hand, a scythe of golden light shot out, cleanly rending the pocket-dimension scroll in two, and she found herself standing once more in her initial place above the island.
She quickly extended her hand toward Kasnov, a gesture that seemed to compress the very air around him. But he was already a blur of motion, his form blurring as he phased away, narrowly avoiding her grasp. Unfazed, she turned her attention to the assassin, now ensnared and utterly helpless, caught by golden chains and left dangling in the air. And she slowly moved closer.
Extending her hand forward, she touched his chest. He convulsed, feeling as if his heart were being physically ripped out—and it actually was. A fist-sized, still-beating, bloody-red heart materialized in Lyria's glowing palm. But being a high ranked Paragon, the assassin did not die just then. She held his own heart before his widening eyes, forcing him to watch as it pulsed one final time before dissolving into harmless, shimmering light particles. She gazed upon his look of utter, soul-deep despair. That despair, however, was very shallow compared to the cold, silent storm of grief raging within her right now. Then, with a final, dismissive clench of her hand, the chains blazed with incandescent fury, closing in on him and burning his entire being to nothingness.
Then Lyria Pierre Luciana, standing alone in the sky, her divine light a stark contrast to the chaotic island below, gazed down at the vast, pulsing spell that was about to be completed.
She lightly waved her hand, and dozens of small, perfect spears of solidified light shot out from the thin air around her, just as before. But this time, empowered by Her Light, the formidable red barrier which had been so hard to break before crumpled inward like a piece of parchment. The spears embedded themselves with precision into the spell's vital points. The monstrous energy of the spell faltered and died down. All the children trapped under the spell's control fell down as one, collapsing into a deep sleep. All except for one curly-haired boy, who simply slumped to his knees, dazed but blinking, his own will having resisted total subjugation by the spell.
With another, almost weary wave of Lyria Pierre Luciana's hand, judgment fell. Each of the remaining kidnappers present was individually targeted. From the sky, a single, needle-thin beam of purifying light lanced down through each of their skulls. In an instant, their bodies illuminated from within before silently bursting apart into clouds of brilliant, fading particles. They did not even have time to understand how they died until the very end.
Her task on the island complete, she then turned her gaze toward the distant barrier of her Cathedral. Walking two calm steps forward, the space in front of her tore open with a soundless rip, and she disappeared into the void. Inside that void she walked a few more steps while holding a glassy transparent thread, embodying the laws of space. The space before her tore open once more, and she stepped out, emerging silently atop the Cathedral's highest spire.
Below her, the golden defensive barrier flickered weakly under a concentrated assault. Another wave of her hand, this one a slow, closing motion of her fingers. Small nails made of light emerged around her in the quantity of hundreds and shot out. Across the entire battlefield, every single attacker, whether chanting on the outskirts or hammering at the barrier, simultaneously had their hearts pierced by the nails. Then they were engulfed from within by the same silent, holy radiance and vanished, leaving behind only gentle light particles which were slowly disappearing. Priest Aron, who had been rallying the defenders, stumbled to a halt, completely dumbfounded at the disappearing light particles dusting his robes. He was sure that the Head Priestess must have done something. He knew she was strong, but this… this was an order of magnitude beyond anything he had ever imagined or seen throughout his whole life.
Finally, after completing everything, Lyria Pierre Luciana turned. A hairline crack appeared in the air beside her. She stepped into it and was gone, not to be seen again.
A short while later, a young teenage girl wearing conspicuously baggy white Church of Light vestments appeared at the edge of the bustling port. With security at its tightest her sudden, solitary presence immediately raised alarms among the exhausted guards.
But before any misunderstanding could escalate, she calmly produced a small, intricate seal from within her robes. It glowed with a soft, golden light the universal and unforgeable identifier for the highest authorities of the Church of Light. It could never be forged or replicated. Looking at it, the visible tension dissipated.
She informed the guard captain, that the kidnapped children had been recovered and were awaiting rescue on the islands several miles off the port. She requested ships and volunteers to bring them home.
Ordinarily, such a request would have demanded lengthy discussion and cost them precious time. But the golden seal was a special pass. With the Church of Light standing as the world's only faith, its authority went unquestioned, and orders were accepted without argument. Within moments, crews were summoned, ships prepared, and the harbor stirred to life.