The golden halls of Heaven stretched endlessly before him, bathed in an ethereal glow. Pillars of light cascaded from the sky, illuminating the path that only he dared walk. He had returned—not as a son seeking solace, but as a warrior bringing judgment.

Kaelion tightened his grip on his blade as he approached the throne. The name once meant something here, whispered in reverence by angels and mortals alike. Now, it was a curse, an echo of defiance against the mother who had created him.

The Goddess of Creation stood before him, draped in robes woven from the very fabric of existence. Her gaze was calm, almost pitying. “You’ve come a long way, my child,” she said, her voice carrying the weight of eternity.

Kaelion’s jaw tightened. “I am not your child.”

With a battle cry, he struck—his blade, forged from the bones of fallen titans, aimed straight for her heart. It was a weapon meant to cut through divinity itself.

And yet… nothing.

The weapon halted inches from her, as if time itself refused to let it move forward. His breath hitched. He tried again, and again, but each strike faded into irrelevance, his might reduced to nothing before her presence.

The Goddess sighed, stepping forward. “You are powerful, my son,” she murmured, reaching out. “But you were never meant to unmake me.”

Kaelion staggered back, the weight of inevitability crushing down on him. For the first time in his existence, he felt fear.