The sound of the stars seemed to silence before the grandeur of the Celestial Gate. The heavens shimmered in reverence as a figure walked with slow yet steady steps toward the threshold between worlds. Her face was serene, like the surface of an untouched lake, and her eyes... her eyes carried entire constellations. They were like two compressed universes in the form of pupils, filled with stories, secrets, and power. Her long black hair danced with the cosmic wind, and her robes, made of pure divine light, rippled in harmony with the celestial energy around her.
Nyara. A name that made planets bow and galaxies hush.
But in that moment, something in the air shifted.
The scent of betrayal reached her before the betrayers themselves. Her instinct, honed over eons of existence, whispered in her ear. She stopped before the gate, and for a brief moment, hesitated. She felt the weight of the universe change, as if the very heavens were holding their breath.
The other gods appeared with sweet smiles and familiar faces. Brothers, companions, comrades of eons... all masked with the vilest falsehoods. Before she could react, she felt the pain.
Her wings. The wings of the soul.
They were being torn from her, piece by piece, by merciless hands that ripped apart the essence that made her divine. Her power was sealed with ancient runes and chains forged in the heart of time itself. Nyara screamed. A scream that tore through the fabric of existence and echoed across celestial and mortal planes.
Entities beyond comprehension trembled. Ancient creatures awoke from their eternal slumbers. And, in whispers, the news spread:
A god has fallen.
The final blade sank deep into her chest, staining the celestial ground with divine blood. The gods stepped back, observing her disintegration with cold eyes. Fragments of her soul floated, like ashes in the wind. They thought they had erased her from existence.
But death... did not want her.
Silence. Dampness. Pain.
Nyara gasped. She felt the air thick and filthy. Her back was pressed against something rough, and her body... fragile. She tried to open her eyes. The ceiling was made of rotting wood. The smell of mold and garbage was overwhelming. Beside her, a bucket of dirty water.
What?
The voice came out hoarse, weak. She raised her hand with difficulty. She was injured, covered in bruises and scars. The clothes on her body were nothing more than filthy rags. She sat up with effort and stumbled to the bucket. Kneeling, breathing heavily, she looked into the water.
The reflection stared back at her. It was her. The eyes, the hair, the face... but she was young. Mortal. Thin. Fragile.
Then the memories came. Not hers, but the girl whose body now housed her soul. Fragments of suffering, cold, abandonment. Cruel laughter. Kicks. Taunts. Words repeated like curses:
Weak. Useless. Shame.
The girl trembled, curled up in a corner, her eyes teary as she awaited death in silence. But then, Nyara's soul entered. And death left.
She steadied herself. The wood creaked beneath her weight. Her eyes scanned the surroundings: a warehouse filled with trash, rags, and broken pieces of furniture. A shelter for the forgotten.
Footsteps. Voices. Laughter. The door creaked open with a snap.
"You're still alive?" sneered one of the boys, entering with a cruel smile.
Three of them. All young. Torn clothes, arrogant glances. The leader took a few steps forward, his smile fading as he locked eyes with Nyara. There was something in them... something ancient. Something that froze him.
He grew irritated. "Why are you looking at me, you bitch?"
He charged with a clenched fist. Nyara did not flinch. When he threw the punch, she dodged it with ease. It was as if time slowed down for her. Her movements were rusty, but her battle instincts... would never abandon her.
The boy stumbled back, incredulous. He shouted and charged again. Nyara spun her body and, with a swift motion, struck his neck. The impact was precise. He fell, unconscious.
The other two widened their eyes, frozen. One of them stammered something, but couldn't finish the sentence. They grabbed their unconscious friend and fled the warehouse, tripping over their own feet.
Silence.
Nyara breathed deeply. Her limbs ached. She was still weak. Mortal. But the spirit inhabiting this body was not.
The night fell over the village like a heavy cloak. Nyara walked slowly, hiding in the shadows, observing the world around her. Everything was strange, but not entirely unfamiliar. There were echoes of a distant past.
She found a small cemetery on the outskirts. Silent. Abandoned. She sat in front of a tomb covered with moss. The inscription was nearly faded, but the date was still visible.
Two thousand years.
Two thousand years had passed since her fall. Since she was betrayed, torn apart, and shattered. Her eyes, tired and furious, turned to the starry sky.
"I'm back," she whispered, her voice thick with hatred and promises.
The stars seemed to tremble.
She was no longer a goddess. Not yet. But the fire inside her would burn until it set the heavens alight.
And when the last of the traitors fell to their knees, begging for what they once dared to destroy, Nyara would smile.
The storm had returned.