The chamber of light was endless, its air trembling with divine pressure and the scent of something sacred and ancient — roses grown in the marrow of stars, sharp and intoxicating. The goddess stood before him, her hair a silver cascade that rippled like a current through the luminance. Her lips parted, and her voice — crystalline and commanding — filled the expanse like the ringing of celestial bells.
"You have been given a second chance, Jaeson," she said, her eyes a prism of molten gold, unfathomable and serene. "Your soul was shattered once, but it endures. You will not squander this life again. You will help me with the disorder that plagues my realm."
But he didn't bow. He didn't even blink. Her tone grated through him like a blade dragged against stone. The way she spoke — as though his will were dust beneath her feet — ignited the embers of a king's fury that had not dimmed across the centuries.
He moved.
Each step was heavy, resonant, like thunder answering thunder. The goddess felt the vibration of his presence before he even reached her; a ripple of raw, mortal defiance tearing through her sacred calm. She tried to will him to stop — a command that would have made any lesser creature crumble. Yet her divinity struck a wall inside him, dissolved, useless.
His immunity, born of a thousand battles as the Esper King, thrummed in his veins like molten steel.
"You forget yourself," he said, his voice low and rough, the growl of a storm gathering behind his teeth.
Her breath hitched. His hand rose — not to strike, but to claim — sliding around her waist until his fingers rested against the softness of her hips. His pull was inexorable. Her chest collided against his, the curve of her body fitting into the sculpted heat of his own. The light of her divinity flickered around them, confused, trembling.
"Speak to me like that again," he murmured, his eyes boring into hers, "and I'll remind you what tone a goddess should use when addressing her better."
Her heart, immortal though it was, stuttered. The power that made stars obey her seemed to recoil inward, scattered by the proximity of his unyielding soul. For the first time, she felt small — not weak, but disarmed. The weight of his gaze pressed against her like chains woven of pure will.
Her throat tightened. Words faltered. Then, in a breath barely above a whisper, she obeyed.
"Please," she said. "Please… help me."
Satisfied, he released a low hum, the corner of his mouth curving upward. His eyes softened, just slightly, though the hunger of his pride did not fade.
"Better," he murmured.
And so she explained. The heavens themselves quivered as she spoke of what had gone wrong — of the mortals who had slipped the boundaries of fate, transmigrated from other worlds, beings who now walked among her creations like parasites wearing human faces. "They bring imbalance," she said, hands trembling in spite of herself. "They are echoes that should not exist. Chaos is spreading. Kingdoms will burn. The threads of destiny fray with every breath they take. I need someone who understands both power and restraint — someone like you — to correct it."
Jaeson's gaze turned inward, shadowed by thought. The silence between them was thick enough to breathe. Then he nodded once, decisively.
"I'll do it," he said. "But I don't fight for nothing anymore."
Her brows drew together, wary. "What do you want, then?"
"You," he said simply. "When it's done — when your little balance is restored — you'll be mine. You'll serve me, not as a goddess, but as my woman."
Color flared in her cheeks like dawn bleeding into sky. "You dare—"
"I do," he interrupted, voice iron, body immovable. "You think because you call yourself divine, you're beyond being wanted? No, goddess. You've drawn me into your light. Now you'll live with the consequence."
Her lips parted to protest, but the words were swallowed by the heat of his hand sliding lower, gripping her backside with a possessive pressure that drew a gasp — half outrage, half shock.
"Jaeson—!"
But he silenced her the way he had always silenced rebellion — with a kiss that broke the stillness of eternity. It was searing, defiant, claiming. Her power flared against him instinctively, a storm of divine radiance, but his soul burned brighter, consuming it. Her knees nearly gave out beneath the collision of sensations — the hardness of him, the scent of mortal fire, the taste of defiance that no god had ever dared to challenge.
And then — like a thread snapped by unseen scissors — his presence vanished.
His soul was torn from the ethereal plane, sucked downward into the mortal realm below. The air shivered in his absence. The goddess stood there, trembling, her breath ragged, her cheeks flushed crimson, her eyes molten with equal parts fury and disbelief. Her body still felt the echo of his touch — phantom heat searing the memory into her immortal skin.
For a long, brittle moment she simply stared into the space where he had stood, the air still vibrating with his defiance. Then her voice broke the silence, low and dark, a melody poisoned with pride.
"So be it," she whispered. "You think you've mastered me, Jaeson? You think you can bind a goddess to your mortal whims?"
Her eyes hardened, the gold within them shifting to the burning blue of wrath restrained. She raised her hand, and the universe itself seemed to bend at her gesture.
"I'll show you," she said. "I'll show you what a goddess is."
Her power unfurled — a brilliant storm that swallowed the chamber, weaving the pattern of reincarnation through the aether. Unlike the others who had crossed dimensions with their memories intact, Jaeson would not awaken in glory. His rebirth would be true — blank, slow, human. He would grow from boy to man, from obscurity to greatness, clawing his way through the world she ruled, proving himself once more.
Her whisper followed him as his soul descended — both a curse and a promise.
"Rise again, Esper King. And when you remember me…"
Her lips curved, sharp and soft all at once.
"…come claim what you think is yours."
And in the mortal realm, far below, a newborn boy drew his first breath — crying into the dawn as the goddess watched from her radiant throne, her pulse still betraying the faint tremor of something dangerously close to desire.