The One Who Writes Existence

Chapter 12 - Memories 2

Eterna raised her hand and placed it against the gate.

The fortress trembled.

A deep, guttural growl resonated from the very walls, as though the citadel itself was alive—as though it recognized her presence and sought to reject her.

The bindings that had kept this place sealed for millennia flared to life, roaring against her touch, trying to push her back.

She did not move.

Her power surged, and the runes shattered, their ancient bindings unraveling in an instant. The resistance faded.

The gates, which had remained closed for an eternity, shuddered and groaned as they slowly creaked open.

Beyond them lay darkness.

And within that darkness, she was waiting.

The throne room of the citadel was vast, its towering pillars lined with chains forged from the souls of the fallen. The air was thick with the scent of burning embers and something far more ancient—something that whispered of untold power and endless solitude.

At the far end of the hall, upon a throne of black stone, Nyxara sat in silence.

She did not stand as Eterna entered.

She did not speak.

She simply watched.

Her crimson eyes burned with unreadable emotion, flickering like dying stars against the void.

A bitter, knowing smile—one that carried the weight of an eternity spent alone.

"Back?" she echoed. "To what?"

She leaned forward slightly, her fingers drumming against the armrest of her throne.

"To kneel before a 'Master' I do not recognize?"

The very walls of the citadel seemed to pulse as her power flared, raw and untamed, filling the air with the scent of fire and blood.

The chains lining the pillars rattled violently, their spectral cries filling the room. The shadows in the corners of the throne room twisted and coiled, writhing in response to their master's fury.

The fortress itself trembled.

But Eterna did not react.

She had seen this before.

She had seen Nyxara's rage, her grief, her isolation.

And she would not turn away now.

"You were never abandoned," Eterna said, her voice steady. "You chose to leave."

Nyxara's smile faded.

The flames that burned in her eyes darkened.

The very air seemed to hold its breath.

And then, her voice dropped to a whisper.

"I chose?"

A shadow passed over her features.

"Or was I forced?"

The silence that followed was deafening.

For the first time in countless millennia, Eterna and Nyxara stood face to face once more.

Sisters. Rivals. Two halves of a broken past.

And neither would leave unchanged.

The air between them grew heavy, thick with unspoken words, with the weight of a past neither had ever truly let go.

Finally, Nyxara's voice—low, edged with something that could have been warning, could have been amusement—broke the silence.

"You dare set foot in my domain?"

Eterna met her gaze without hesitation.

"I came to bring you back."

For a moment, there was no response.

Then, slowly, Nyxara smiled.

Not in warmth. Not in welcome.

But in something far more dangerous.

Chapter X: The Return of the Forgotten

Part 3: The Weight of the Past

The silence between them was a storm waiting to break.

Eterna stood unmoving at the threshold of the throne room, her presence unwavering against the weight of Nyxara's fury.

Across the hall, Nyxara sat upon her throne, her fingers resting against the armrests as if she were carved from the very obsidian stone beneath her. The flickering light of the infernal flames cast jagged shadows across her form, accentuating the sharpness in her gaze.

"I was forced."

Her words were not shouted, yet they carried a force that made the very air tremble.

Eterna's expression did not change.

"You forced yourself."

A spark of something dangerous flashed in Nyxara's crimson eyes. The chains lining the citadel's walls snapped taut, rattling as though screaming in protest. The throne room darkened, as if the fortress itself was holding its breath.

Then—laughter.

It was low at first, bitter and edged with something raw. But as it grew, it was no longer laughter. It was something else entirely.

A storm. A collapse. A sound not meant for mortal ears.

"You always were the self-righteous one, weren't you?" Nyxara exhaled, rising from her throne at last.

Her presence filled the chamber.

The shadows around her deepened, shifting and twisting like a living thing. The air cracked with power, the very space between them bending under her influence.

This was not the Nyxara that once wandered the cosmos beside Eterna.

This was Nyxara, the Demon Goddess, the Forgotten One, the Queen of the Infernal Realms.

And yet—Eterna did not waver.

"I am not here to argue over the past, Nyxara." Her voice was steady, resolute. "I came because you are needed."

Nyxara tilted her head, studying Eterna with a gaze that flickered between amusement and something unreadable.

"Needed?" she echoed, her voice a whisper of mockery.

A pulse of power rippled through the throne room.

The torches along the walls snuffed out, plunging the chamber into absolute darkness.

For a brief moment, there was nothing.

Then—Nyxara moved.

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AUTH here,

"Hey, old reades!

Re-edit review time! Did I level up or mess it up?

BTW, shoutout to White_serpent! I know you didn't beg me (this time), but I'm adding that character anyway! It's happening, and it's gonna be EPIC!

Don't worry, I didn't forget the novel's massive concept (aka my sanity's worst nightmare). I've got it under control... or so I tell myself.

Spill the beans, friends! What's the verdict on the re-edit?

And A important thing...

"Harem or no harem? Honestly, your guess is as good as mine! I'm just winging it, writing whatever comes to mind.

So, let's just forget about that for now.

As the saying goes, 'The customer is always right!' [And, yes, I meant to say customer. What did you think (°-°)... That I will say..]

I've got two reasons for writing this here:

1. You can't read my mind (unfortunately?).

2. This Chapter is a whopping 912 words! (I have to increase words count and don't worry because this chap is free)

Thanks for sticking with me, folks!"