When Cel opened his eyes, Selina's arms were still around him.
For a moment, he remained perfectly still - caught between the sacred ground he'd just left and the reality of her embrace. The warmth of it. The gentleness.
His breath hitched.
Then, something inside him broke.
Not violently. Not like shattering glass or splintering bone.
Like melting ice. Like a dam finally cracking under pressure it was never meant to hold.
A sound escaped him - small, choked, achingly human.
His shoulders began to shake.
Cel tried to stop it. Tried to force the trembling back down, to swallow the weakness rising in his throat. He'd survived torture. Starvation. Nightmares made flesh.
He shouldn't be—
Another sound tore free. Louder this time.
The tears came.
Silent at first, hot against his cheeks. Then accompanied by gasps he couldn't control, sobs that wrenched themselves from somewhere deep in his chest where he'd buried everything for so long.
The year in the cell. The maggot-infested food. The cultists' knives. Ren's death.
His father's fists. His mother's silence. His brother's cowardice.
The mirror lake. The crystal maze. The creature that had killed him.
All of it - every moment of pain, every betrayal, every second he'd told himself he had to endure because there was no other choice - tore free at once.
And he couldn't stop it.
Cel's knees weakened. His hands clutched at Selina's robes, fingers curling into white fabric like it was the only solid thing left in the world.
She held him.
Didn't speak. Didn't pull away. Didn't tell him to be strong or to compose himself.
She simply held him, one hand moving to cradle the back of his head with steady gentleness while he broke apart in her arms.
Time became meaningless.
Eventually, the sobs gradually quieted. The gasps turned to shaky breaths, leaving only exhaustion in their wake.
Cel pulled back slowly, roughly wiping at his face with trembling hands.
His cheeks burned. Not from fever - from embarrassment so acute it felt physical.
He'd just—
In front of her—
"I'm sorry," he choked out, unable to meet her eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"
"There is nothing to apologize for, Chosen One." Her voice held no judgment. No pity. No disappointment.
Only acceptance.
Cel swallowed hard, gaze fixed firmly on the ground between them. His throat felt raw, stripped clean.
"I just…" He didn't know how to finish that sentence.
"You have endured much." Selina's hand remained on his shoulder - light, grounding. "The soul remembers every wound, even when the body has been remade. There is no shame in acknowledging that pain."
Cel's breath came out shaky. He nodded once, not trusting his voice.
When she finally stepped back, her hands lingered for a moment before releasing him entirely.
The mist swirled between them, giving him space to collect himself.
Cel took a breath. Then another. His fingers rose to touch his face - flushed and damp, eyes surely red and swollen.
Humiliation seared through him.
He'd wept. Like a child. In front of someone who had guided him through death itself with perfect composure.
The transformation still didn't feel real, but the shame certainly did.
He forced himself to straighten, to look somewhere near her general direction even if he couldn't quite meet her eyes yet.
"Thank you. For everything."
He gestured vaguely, unable to articulate what her presence had meant.
Selina inclined her head, serene as ever.
A question surfaced - one that had been lurking since the moment she'd appeared in his dying consciousness. Something to focus on besides the heat still flooding his face.
"Selina." He cleared his throat. "What rank do you hold as a priestess?"
No hesitation. No cryptic deflection.
Her smile deepened, tranquil and certain as moonlight on still water
"Rank One."
The words landed like a physical blow.
His mind went blank, then exploded with implications he couldn't process fast enough.
'Rank One?'
A Divine Oracle - the title humanity gave to those who stood at the pinnacle of divine service.
Not just a priestess. Not even a high-ranking servant.
The highest authority beneath the gods themselves. The singular voice through which a deity spoke directly to the mortal world.
His embarrassment suddenly intensified a thousandfold.
He'd just—
He'd just cried on a Divine Oracle.
Sobbed into her robes like a child seeking comfort from his mother.
And before that—
Memory crashed through him like an avalanche.
His tone. The way he'd spoken to her.
Sharp. Impatient. Laced with frustration when she couldn't answer his questions. The edge in his voice when he'd pushed back against her words.
He hadn't been respectful. Hadn't been grateful.
He'd been angry - and he'd let that anger out on her.
Cel wanted to disappear.
He hadn't just questioned a priestess or shown weakness before a guide.
He had challenged a Divine Oracle with barely restrained fury.
And then wept on her shoulder.
His legs suddenly felt unsteady.
Cel's gaze dropped to the ground again. He couldn't look at her. Couldn't bear the weight of meeting those eyes now that he understood what - who - they represented.
His voice failed him.
Everything about her made sense now. The way she moved through his soul's landscape with absolute certainty. The calm that never broke, no matter what horrors he did. The patience that felt limitless, untouchable by mortal weakness.
Because it transcended mortality.
She wasn't just a guide. She was the voice of the Moon Goddess.
And he'd—
Shame crawled up his throat like bile, bitter and choking.
"I was..." He forced the words out. "I was angry. At everything. And I took it out on you."
His hands curled into fists.
"You were patient with me. Kind. And I..."
He couldn't finish. Couldn't articulate how wrong it felt now—lashing out at the one person who'd actually helped him.
"I'm sorry."
Silence answered him.
Cel kept his gaze fixed on the ground, watching mist curl around his bare feet. Each second stretched unbearably long.
Then—movement.
Selina stepped closer.
He flinched slightly, expecting… what? Blame? Divine wrath channeled through soft words?
"Chosen One." Her voice carried no anger. No coldness.
Only that same impossible gentleness she'd shown since the beginning.
Slowly, reluctantly, Cel raised his head.
She stood before him unchanged. Mask catching moonlight, lips curved into a beautiful smile. White robes stirring in wind that didn't exist.
But now he could see it - the presence that saturated every gesture, every word. The weight of divinity she carried with such grace.
"You are not the first to question the divine." Her tone remained even. "Nor will you be the last."
Cel's breath hitched.
"But you're a Divine Oracle." The words tumbled out before he could stop them. "The highest voice of the goddess. I shouldn't have spoken to you the way I did. With anger. With—"
He gestured helplessly.
"You deserved better than that."
Selina regarded him for a long moment.
"Your tone was inappropriate, yes."
The blunt truth hit like a fist.
But there was no cruelty in her statement. Just fact, stated simply.
"However." She tilted her head slightly. "I do not serve to be worshipped. I serve to guide. To guide you."
Her hand lifted in a small, dismissive gesture - as if brushing away his concern.
"You may speak to me as yourself. It is enough."
The shame didn't vanish - it couldn't - but something about her words cut through the worst of it.
She had never demanded reverence. Never once reminded him of her status, even when he'd pushed boundaries most priests would have punished him for crossing.
Even now, standing before him with her true nature revealed, she spoke with grace rather than command.
Cel's chest tightened.
Not from unworthiness - though he felt that keenly.
But from recognition.
He had spent his entire life surrounded by power. His father wielded authority like a weapon, crushing anyone who dared question him. The nobles of the Sun Clan wore their status like armor, ensuring everyone knew their place.
And here stood someone with more power than any of them could dream of.
Who chose not to wield it as a tool of domination.
"Then..." He straightened slightly, meeting her masked gaze. "I'll speak to you as myself."
A pause.
"And I'll make sure you never regret guiding me."
Selina's smile deepened - genuine warmth that transformed her serene expression into something radiant.
"I never have, Chosen One."
The simple certainty in those words settled over him like a blanket.
Not forgiveness - she had nothing to forgive, apparently.
Just acceptance.
Cel bowed his head. Not in apology this time.
In respect. True respect, given freely to someone who had earned it through every patient word, every quiet truth.
When he raised his eyes again, something fundamental had shifted inside him.
The guilt remained - it would serve as reminder, fuel to be better.
But beneath it, something else had taken root.
Trust. Deep and unshakeable.
Whatever came next - whatever trials or horrors the future held - he would follow where she led.
Because Selina wasn't just the goddess's voice.
She was his guide.
And he would not dishonor that gift again.
Silence settled between them, heavy with unspoken understanding.
He didn't need more words. Neither did she.
The mist around them stirred.
Selina's gaze lingered on him - just a moment longer - before she turned away.
"Follow me, Chosen One. There is more yet to be done."
Cel followed without hesitation.
They walked in silence through the transformed landscape of his soul. The mist parted before Selina as if bowing, then closed behind them like a curtain.
With each step, Cel felt the difference. Steady. Strong. No trembling weakness in his legs, no exhaustion dragging at his limbs. His body moved with an ease he'd almost forgotten existed.
"What happened to me?" he asked.
She didn't slow her pace, but her head turned slightly toward him.
"Your physical form in the Hollow Realms succumbed to its injuries," she said simply.
The words should have struck harder. But after everything - after dying twice already - the revelation felt almost distant.
"Then how…" He gestured at himself, at the body that felt foreign in its wholeness. "How am I still here?"
"Your soul was preserved within the trial - protected by divine ground." Selina's voice carried a weight he hadn't heard before.
She paused, as if choosing her next words carefully.
"What the Moon Goddess granted you is not mere healing. It is true resurrection - the reforging of flesh and bone around a soul that had no vessel."
Cel's breath caught.
Not healing. Not recovery.
Resurrection.
His soul had survived the trial, and the goddess had forged him a body capable of matching that survival - whole, strong, unmarred by the year of torment that had destroyed the first.
Perhaps that was why the trial existed at all - to prove his soul worthy of such a gift.
Cel let the truth settle as they continued forward.
Eventually, the terrain shifted.
The cracked earth gave way to something smoother. The jagged stones retreated. Even the bluish-white flowers thinned until only mist remained, thick and luminous around the edges of a clearing Cel didn't remember seeing before.
At its center stood a monolith.
Not stone. Not metal.
Something else.
Cel stopped walking.
The structure rose before him - taller than he was, seamless and dark. Deep midnight blue pulsed across its surface like a slow heartbeat, while threads of pale light coiled beneath, moving in patterns he couldn't follow.
Sapphire beneath moonlight - cold and radiant.
Divine.
He knew that without being told. The same way he'd known the frozen sea was sacred. The same way he'd recognized the fairy-like creature in the crystal maze as something beyond natural.
This wasn't just an object.
This was touched by divinity itself.
Selina came to a stop beside it, one hand resting lightly against the smooth surface. She didn't look at him, but he felt her attention anyway - patient, expectant.
Cel's chest tightened.
He knew what came next.
Every Chosen One, upon receiving their first blessing, was granted three things.
A trait - passive power, woven into the core of their being. Not meant for spectacle or battle, but something that changed who they were on a fundamental level.
An authority - active power, immediate and tangible. The god's first true answer to their Chosen One's nature. Something meant to be used, whether for protection, destruction, or survival.
Both could stem from the same paragon or draw from different aspects of their deity's domain.
And an artifact - a divine instrument forged by the gods themselves. Weapon or armor. Whatever form it took, it would be theirs alone - bound to them until death.
Unlike future blessings - earned through achievements - this first gift was granted freely. A mark that the journey had begun.
Cel's hands trembled slightly as he stepped forward.
The monolith responded.
Silver light bloomed from its core - threads like veins of pure moonlight spreading outward beneath the surface. They coiled and twisted, drawing patterns that burned themselves into his vision.
Runes.
He couldn't read them. Didn't recognize the script.
But he understood them anyway - meaning that bypassed his eyes entirely and settled into his mind like instinct.