Goddess Lucia stood frozen before the divine mirror, her breath catching in her throat.
The image before her—the battlefield torn apart, the swirling fragments of divine puppets dissipating into ash—was already enough to rattle her.
But what truly made her knees weaken, what sent a violent tremor through her chest, was him.
Kyle.
His name didn't escape her lips, but it surged through her heart with a clarity that drowned everything else.
She watched as he stood tall amidst the divine wreckage, unwavering, unbothered, his eyes glowing with a terrifying confidence. That aura. That strength. That impossible, undeniable presence.
That was Kyle.
Her fingers curled tightly, nails biting into her palm as her body trembled. She had felt it before—his mana. When the mirror first lit up, when the puppets shattered.
But a part of her… had refused to believe it. Had denied it.
Because Kyle was dead.
Because she had failed to protect him.
