"Then what are y—"
Before Uriel could finish speaking, a deep vibration rippled through the obsidian beneath her boots. The very air trembled. The temperature didn't rise—but the weight did, like the pressure of an approaching storm.
Then came the thunder.
From the shadows above the dais, a figure descended, his aura parting the heat and silence like a divine spear tearing open the realm itself.
He didn't walk.
He manifested—step by step down the wide staircase behind the throne, each footfall echoing like judgment itself.
He wore black armor lined with gold veins—no cape, no crown. He didn't need them. His presence screamed who he was.
Zeus.
His eyes gleamed like lightning pressed into human form, and in his hand he carried no weapon—but power coiled at his side, ready to erupt at a thought.
He reached the throne, paused, and then sat with the kind of confidence that made the flames along the walls bend toward him in obedience.
The room went still.
The Seven Sins bowed their heads.
Even Sloth lowered her gaze—though hers was more out of caution than reverence.
Only Anubis remained standing.
She didn't bow, neither did she flinch.
And Zeus smiled.
A slow, amused, and dangerous smile.
"Already standing before my throne, Anubis?" he asked, voice calm, low, and resonant. "Are you perhaps, eyeing it?"
Anubis didn't blink.
"No," she said. "I don't want the throne."
"Oh?" he leaned forward slightly, fingers curling over the throne's edge. "Then what do you want?"
Anubis met his gaze, her voice unshaking. "What I seek lies far beyond the seat of kings. I didn't return to rule."
Zeus studied her for a long moment. His stare was impossible to read—like he was deciding if he was proud… or preparing to destroy her.
Then, softly...
"Good," he said. "Because the throne doesn't suit those still finding their form."
It wasn't a threat. It was a reminder.
And though Anubis didn't react, she felt it.
The full heat of what Zeus truly was—not just a father of demons, but the architect of Hell's law. A god who had killed greater gods to earn his crown.
And still, she didn't bow.
Not because she had no respect for him but because she saw him as more than a just a king.
She didn't need to bow.
A step echoed behind her.
It was Sloth.
She slithered closer, her robe trailing behind like smoke through water. Her face was painted in a smile that didn't touch her eyes.
"Forgive me, Lord Zeus," she said smoothly, voice dipped in honey and venom. "But shouldn't those who claim to seek nothing be more careful about where they stand?"
Zeus didn't look at her.
His gaze remained on Anubis. But the corner of his mouth curved again.
"You've always had a sharp tongue, Sloth," he said lightly.
"And sharp instincts," she replied. Then she turned fully to Anubis.
"You walk among us like a born lord, yet you weren't born at all, were you?" she asked, smile widening. "You were built. Forged. A creature with borrowed flame."
Anubis's voice cut through her words.
"And yet… I'm the only one who walked through the Black Forge and came back with my will intact."
Sloth's smile faltered, just barely.
Uriel bristled behind her.
Zeus chuckled, once. Quiet and deep.
"She has you there."
Sloth didn't retreat, but the venom in her gaze turned colder.
"I'm not impressed by defiance. Nor by flare. Even sparks can burn for a moment… before dying beneath a storm."
"Then watch closely," Anubis replied, her voice like steel wrapped in flame. "You might learn how long a storm can kneel before something greater."
The room stilled.
And Zeus—still seated, still sovereign—watched them both.
His sonorous voice filled the hall one last time.
"Then let the realm decide."
And with a flick of his hand, the fire behind the throne burst open, revealing a hidden passage—a spiraling descent of runed steps, glowing violet at the edges.
The path to the Vault of Origin Flame.
"Walk the fire if you dare," Zeus said.
"If you come back… then I'll believe you're ready for what comes next."
Anubis didn't hesitate, she stepped forward and the flames parted for her.
"If you come back, I will bow only to you," Sloth added. All the other sins turned their heads in her direction. Even Zeus himself was taken aback by her declaration.
------
The steps beneath her feet glowed as she walked—runes lighting up one by one in violet, not red. Not hellfire. Something older. More personal.
As she descended, the pressure changed. The realm above faded, swallowed by the stone and heat and memory. It wasn't dark—but neither was it light. It was something in between.
A weight pressed behind her eyes.
A whisper brushed her ear.
"Do you remember?"
She closed her eyes as the air thickened and the walls closed in—and when she opened them again—
She was somewhere else.
---
*A Room in the Past*
The scent hit her first. Dust. Candle wax. Molded wood.
She stood barefoot on cracked stone. Her demon form was gone. No flame. No runes.
She looked down—
Small hands. Scars. Fragile fingers.
Her eyes widened.
No… not widened.
Blank. Sightless.
She was blind again.
She turned slowly, and the room spun in echo: small, square, windowless. Cracks in the stone walls. A cold draft curling through a broken shutter. A candle flickered on the table, its flame barely alive.
And there—on the floor—Cerene, no more than ten, sat cross-legged.
Blind, thin, and silent.
In her lap sat a hand mirror, old and cracked, one corner chipped off completely. Her hands gently traced the edge of the frame like it was treasure.
It was the only gift she'd ever received from anyone. Telma precisely.
She couldn't see her reflection. She never had. But every night, Cerene would sit with the mirror and imagine. Pretend. Wonder.
What did a girl who didn't matter look like?
She held the mirror up to the candlelight, tilting it, breathing softly, as if waiting for it to whisper her shape back.
"One day," she whispered aloud, voice small and raw, "I'll see myself."
"And they'll see me too."
While she was still talking to herself, she began to hear footsteps.
They were fast, heavy and slurred.
The door swung open.
A boy—her cousin brother—drunken, cruel, seventeen and furious at the world. He stumbled into the room, saw her hunched in the corner, and scoffed.
"What are you doing with that?"
Cerene froze. "Just sitting."
"You think you're pretty or something?" he sneered.
"No."
"Then why the mirror?"
She didn't answer.
He walked forward, grabbed it from her hands.
"No! please—"
Crack.
He slammed it against the stone wall.
And it shattered instantly.
Shards rained across the floor like falling teeth. Some bounced against her legs. One sliced her palm.
She didn't scream.
He was already walking out, muttering something about freaks and curses and girls who should've died at birth.
The door slammed.
And Cerene sat in silence.
She reached for the broken glass blindly. Found a large shard. Her fingers trembled as she touched the sharp edge.
She didn't cry.
She just held it in both hands and whispered:
"One day, I'll burn them all. So bright they'll never look away again."
And then, she smiled.
The first smile she ever made alone.
---
Back in the Vault
The fire roared around her.
Anubis fell to her knees as the memory seared itself into the flame. Her demon form returned, cracking through her skin like new armor forged in pain.
The voice returned.
"You asked for power."
"But you held onto something else."
"Your need to be seen."
She opened her eyes—burning now. Not with pride, but with clarity.
"I don't need them to see me anymore," she said aloud. "I don't need mirrors."
"I am the flame. I am the reflection."
A new rune carved itself across her chest.
It glowed not violet. Not red.
But white.
The Color of Flame that disobeys.
And above her, a new power opened.
Not gifted, not granted by anyone but...
Claimed.