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I could never conceive their names because they are timeless. But I know their identities in the deepest part of my soul. Their skin shines like diamonds dipped in hellfire and angel light. Eyes birthed from this womb of time nomortalcan tread. And they are why.
Draped in the folds of the first darkness and blood fire, he sifts his hand into my hair, stroking the hellfire I inherited from him: theHighest God of Hell. Clothed in the raiment of angel wings and moonlight, she brushes my cheek, shedding the glitter of stars onto my skin: theHighest Goddess of Heaven.
The strongest and Highest hearts to mend the bridge between heaven and hell with the purity of unconditional love.
Iam the fulfillment of their promise.Iam their dream come true.
The Nether-mark, my eternity of a triskeyle, is their sign and seal.
Tears cascade down my cheeks. This feels like coming home. I reach for them with the feeble mortal arms they formed for me. They kiss my tears, and I memorize their fragrance. I linger between heaven and hell, sharing triune quintessence and the lifeblood of my true makers who carried me through the Nether-Void, created my mortal fabric and left me in Talahn-Feyal to grow—to protect me from all other gods.
I have grown. My glorious redoing. My rebirth.
“Where is the spirit rose?” I wonder in a whisper of starry bubbles when their arms loosen.
They smile at me. Their confession in a single gesture.
Iam the spirit rose. I can never lose my essence. My greatest power is growth of spirit.
So, I grow again. A rose of pure, glowing silver as frost and silk in moonlight. Veins of pure flame networking through it. A center of black ebony. And golden filaments shooting from the bud. The scent of death and blood of hell but the after-aroma of celestial, honeyed nectar.
When I lift my head to show my creation to my true parents, they are gone. All of the Aether is gone.
Instead, poisonous vapors prey on my back. I’ve returned.
With a shimmering grin, I rise on an invisible and eternal throne, turn, and face all the lower gods, Morrygna, and Aryahn Kryach.
I present my spirit rose and proclaim in a voice like the first sunrise, “Trial complete!”
“Thank you for the gown,”I express to Morrygna after all the gods have departed. Including Aryahn Kryach. Pride expands my chest. By now, much of the gown ends have turned to dark scraps, but everything else is intact.
She smiles, and I swear her one whole eye glints with a flicker of starlight. Or perhaps silvery moonlight. Either way, I grin back at her.
“The gods won’t stop hunting you,” the Goddess of Doom warns me, smoky voice deepening as she pats the head of one of her hellwylves.
I shrug. “I look forward to it.” But at the moment, I looked forward to something more. Heat clawed up my neck and dampened the space between my thighs at the sheer thought of what I wanted.
“You may return to your world now. To Nathyan Ghyeal.”
I lick my lips, musing, and shake my head. “It’s not my world. Not truly.” Perhaps for a time.
Morrygna strides toward me. Incense-laced smoke curls around her, her hair like a dusky river draping both sides of her body to her waist. I meet her eyes as she circles me, follow them as she taps her chin, studying, assessing...judging. When she stands before me again and drops her arms while tilting her head, she inquires, “What do you want, Bandye?”
In my hands is my spirit flower. At first, I study it, finger a petal. Thorns sharp enough to spear. Without hesitation, I drag one thorn across my hand and hiss an inhale. Steadying myself through the pain, I clench my fist and wring out a trickle of blood drops into the center cup.
When I raise the flower to her, glancing at Morrygna, she blinks, swallows, then accepts my parting token, gripping the thorns. She deadpans. “Do you know why I am called the Weeping Goddess?”
I gift her a knowing grin. “Name the river Feyr Ayn-Asgaydh.”
“Free One,” approves Morrygna with a nod. “The irony. When you will leave and she will stay.”
I shake my head, a heaviness settling in my limbs at her last statement, but I don’t linger on it. “She is the true Queen. She has her freedom. And now, you will have yours.”
Morrygna inhales the scent of my blood inside the spirit rose, nodding. “Gods are forbidden to shed human blood. Thank you, little bride. Where is your freedom tonight, Isla?”
“No bride.” I bob my brows with an eager smile, the delicious heat spreading “A mistress.”
“Then, allow me to escort you, little mistress.”
