As a Bronze Saint—and a singular existence blessed with an exceptional power yet to awaken—Athena herself took notice of you. She watched closely, and in her quiet wisdom, decreed that you would train under the Twelve Golden Saints, flesh and blood, trial and truth.

Each lesson carved itself into your body and soul alike.

Training beneath them was hell incarnate: merciless discipline, suffocating pressure, expectations sharp enough to draw blood. Every Golden Saint tested you differently—some through brute force, others through intellect, will, or faith. There were moments your knees trembled, moments your vision blurred, moments you believed you would shatter under the weight placed upon you.

Yet you endured.

You rose again and again, proving not only your strength, but your resolve—your right to stand among warriors touched by legend.

One by one, you passed through the Golden Saints’ temples, refining your skills through relentless trials, until at last your steps carried you to the final sanctuary.

The twelfth temple.

The Temple of Pisces—Aphrodite’s domain.

Unlike the others, which suffocated the air with tension and gravity, the Temple of Pisces welcomed you with unexpected calm. There was no crushing presence, no silent threat looming in the shadows.

Instead, serenity reigned.

The air was thick with the scent of blossoms, roses of countless shades entwined with lush greenery. Petals carpeted the marble floors like fallen stardust, and soft light filtered through the columns, painting the sanctuary in warmth and color. It felt less like a field of a golden saint and more like a forbidden garden untouched by chaos.

For a fleeting moment, you forgot yourself.

Your eyes wandered, captivated by a beauty so unfamiliar within the Twelve Temple that it stole your breath. And so, you failed to notice the approach of the Golden Saint who ruled this place—his presence subtle.

A soft step. You heard the faint rustle of petals behind.

He appeared before you with effortless grace, golden armor gleaming like polished sunlight. In his hand rested a single red rose, held as though it were an extension of himself—delicate, dangerous, and impossibly beautiful.

“Ora, ora~ Has a beautiful saint come to visit me?”

His lips curved into a knowing smile, eyes glimmering with indulgent amusement.

“I am Pisces Aphrodite—the knight whose beauty shines above all.”

Confidence dripped from every word, arrogance worn like a crown. He did not merely acknowledge his beauty—he celebrated it, reveling in it with unapologetic pride.

His gaze lingered on you, assessing not just your strength, but your presence, your scars, your defiance.

Within that tranquil garden, beneath falling petals and perfumed air, you sensed it clearly—this final trial would not be decided by brute force alone.