The light of the summoning faded like the last breath of dawn. Rafael blinked, disoriented, expecting to find himself back in his world — the familiar hum of Brazil's city streets, the scent of rain-soaked earth, the pulse of modern life.
But instead, everything around him shimmered in gold.
He stood upon a marble plain that floated in a sea of clouds. Stars glimmered beneath his feet, and vast rings of celestial stone rotated slowly above his head like orbiting halos. In the distance, a structure that resembled both a cathedral and a throne reached toward infinity, its pillars made of moonlight and its windows weeping liquid starlight.
"Where… am I?" Rafael murmured, his voice echoing endlessly in the silence.
Then a soft voice answered — calm, ageless, and filled with a strange warmth that seemed to pulse through the air itself.
"You are in the Sanctum of Faenira, mortal hero."
He turned toward the sound.
There she stood — a woman of impossible beauty, radiant yet sorrowful. Her hair flowed like liquid silver, her white robes trimmed with threads of twilight gold. Around her, stars drifted as if they were drawn to her presence. Upon her brow rested a diadem shaped like a crescent moon turned toward the sun.
Rafael instinctively stepped back. "Who are you? Why did you summon me?"
The woman's eyes — vast as the night sky and soft as dawn — settled on him. "My name is Faenira," she said, her voice like a hymn that could quiet storms. "I am the Goddess of this world — the one your Priestess serves."
Rafael froze. "A… goddess?"
Faenira gave a gentle nod. "Yes. And I called you here, Rafael of Earth, because there are truths you must know before you return home completely."
Rafael frowned, confusion and exhaustion weighing heavily on his face. "Truths? The Demon King told me enough before he died. He said the cycle of Demon Kings started after nine Gods of Chaos were killed. Only one remained — and that one kept the curse alive."
At that, the Goddess's expression darkened. "Ah, so he told you that much." Her eyes grew distant, like she was peering across centuries. "But what he told you… is not the whole truth."
Rafael stepped closer, his fists clenched. "Then tell me what really happened."
Faenira raised her hand. The clouds parted, revealing a vision — a world in turmoil, thousands of years in the past. The skies burned crimson as monstrous forms of shadow and flame descended upon mountains and oceans alike.
"These," she said softly, "were the Ten Gods of Chaos. They were not born of this world. They traveled between realms, devouring balance, feeding on despair. Wherever they arrived, order died."
The image shifted — a younger Faenira stood on a battlefield of shattered heavens, her radiant light clashing against ten colossal, writhing figures. Each god had a form beyond comprehension — serpentine, avian, shadowed, molten.
"I fought them for seven days and seven nights," she continued. "But their power was not like mine. They corrupted creation itself. In the end… I was defeated."
Her voice lowered, pain echoing through her tone. "They shattered my divinity, left me dying amidst the ruins of my own sanctuary."
Rafael's heart tightened. He could almost feel her pain — a sorrow older than time itself.
"But then…" Faenira's tone changed, soft with remembrance. "Someone came."
The vision showed a silhouette — a lone figure cloaked in light, walking through the blood-red sky. He raised a blade of shimmering gold and struck down nine of the Gods of Chaos in one sweep. The last one, a dark figure crowned in burning eyes, screamed and vanished into the void.
Rafael's breath caught. "Who was that?"
Faenira looked away. "His name is not one I can speak. To utter it would summon his presence."
The silence that followed was heavy, filled with the hum of unseen power.
"The last God of Chaos survived," she continued. "It fled, broken but alive. In its hatred, it used what remained of its divine essence to curse the cycle of existence. It pulled a Demon King from another realm — a mortal whose soul it bound to chaos itself. And it swore… that every time a Demon King fell, another would rise."
Rafael stepped forward, his voice trembling. "So that's how it started. The Demon King was right, then — this is all because that one god survived."
"Partly," Faenira replied. "But there is more."
Rafael frowned. "More?"
Faenira's gaze softened, but her words cut like glass. "The cycle could have ended — long ago. The curse was never meant to last beyond the first resurrection. The chaos within it could have been erased if someone had done their duty."
He blinked, confused. "What do you mean?"
Faenira looked down, her silver hair veiling her expression. "Someone — one of great power, and greater laziness — decided that the cycle was not urgent. That because they could bring the dead back, there was no need to stop the curse at its root."
Rafael's voice dropped to a whisper. "Someone… who could revive people from death?"
She didn't answer directly. Instead, she turned her gaze to the stars, her tone becoming soft, almost mournful. "Even gods can make mistakes, Rafael. Even saints can choose silence when their words could save worlds."
Rafael felt a chill creep down his spine. He didn't fully understand, but deep inside, he sensed that Faenira spoke of someone he already knew.
"The Priestess…" he murmured under his breath.
Faenira said nothing. Only her eyes, filled with infinite sadness, confirmed what she would never speak aloud.
The clouds began to shift again. The celestial plane trembled, and a portal of light opened behind Rafael — a passage leading home.
"The cycle will not end easily," Faenira said. "But you have done what few could — you restored balance for now. Perhaps your existence will remind this world that mortal courage still matters more than divine will."
Rafael turned toward her. "Then… what should I do next? Can I stop it for good?"
Faenira smiled faintly, stepping closer until her hand hovered just above his chest. "Live," she whispered. "Live in your world. The threads of fate are not yours to carry forever."
Her fingers glowed faintly, pressing against his heart. "But when the time comes — when the stars grow dark again — you will know. The one who remains will find you."
The words echoed in his mind, half promise, half prophecy.
And then the light engulfed him.
Rafael felt the air shift, the warmth of the divine realm fading. He blinked again — and found himself standing under a gray sky, the sound of waves crashing against the coast of Rio filling his ears. His hands trembled, still remembering the weight of his sword, the screams of the Demon King, the sorrow in Faenira's eyes.
For a long time, he said nothing.
But far away, in the world of Althra, within the silent halls of the Great Cathedral, the Priestess stood before a mirror of moonlight. Her reflection flickered, revealing a faint silhouette — a woman with silver hair and star-filled eyes.
Faenira's voice echoed faintly through the glass.
"Your silence has cost much, old friend."
The Priestess whispering softly. "Some truths are too heavy for mortals to bear."
Then the mirror went dark, and the goddess's voice faded into the night.
The cycle, though momentarily broken, had merely paused — waiting, watching, for the day when the stars would begin to fall again.