Surrounded by the love of her siblings, Liria slept, floating in an infinitely gentle warmth.
Consciousness came suddenly, unwelcome and unwanted.
Along with a nostalgically sweet fragrance, and the velvet caress of petals against her skin—scent and touch felt for the first time in ten millennia—she heard an insistent voice demanding that she wake up.
Liria ignored it, trying to sink back into sleep. It was still far too early. She did not ask for much, really. Just another three centuries or so, and she would be ready. Very reasonable.
Wake up, you unworthy pretender. The voice was cold now, heavy with contempt. Liria realized with a start that the voice was her own. Are you going to let them all die? Again?
Memories came flooding in.
Liria’s eyes snapped open, wet with tears.
She lay curled in the heart of her flower, the First Bloom’s petals enveloping her in a gentle protective embrace. Its dreamy, soothing scent urged her back toward sleep. It was still far too early for her to wake.
Instead, Liria pushed, trying to force the petals open. She refused to let her beautiful flower burn.
Again.
But waking too early had cost her dearly. She was far too weak, and the First Bloom’s petals remained stubbornly closed.
Liria pushed harder, allowing urgency and desperation to bleed into her emotions.
Please.
Slowly, reluctantly, her flower complied. The outer petals parted, while the innermost wrapped around her, shimmering with light—white-golden petals transforming into white-golden robes.
Through the mental link they shared, she felt her brothers’ and sisters’ startled surprise and smiled sadly. She really was a useless little sister, always causing her siblings to worry.
For a heartbeat, the weight of memory threatened to crush her.
Then Liria emerged into a brilliantly shining world, so beautiful it brought fresh tears to her eyes.
Above her, the starry sky stretched on forever. Around her, motes of golden light drifted like countless fireflies in the dark—the World Tree scattering blessings across the world in celebration of her birth.
The continent of Eiravel spread out beneath her in a vivid tapestry of color: verdant meadows, snow-capped peaks, serene mountain lakes reflecting the deep blue sky, mystical forests rich with ancient life.
So vibrant. So full of hope.
So different from the haunted wastelands she had left behind.
Her breath caught in her throat. Breathing was difficult, and the sound of her own heartbeat sounded too loud in her ears. Her chest hurt.
Stop it. Compose yourself. This is not the time.
Then they arrived, her beloved siblings. Space itself trembled, parting before the might of Aethon Yggdris's sword. Darkness and spell light gathered, forming warp gates bridging impossible distances. One fleeting moment of desperation, and her brothers and sisters had dropped everything to rush to her side.
Vaelir, swift and silent as a shadow, was the first to reach her, gently wiping away her tears.
"Who made you cry?" he asked, soft voice promising immediate retribution.
Her other siblings joined him a beat later, crowding around her. These ancient guardians of humanity looked almost… panicked.
This was their first face-to-face meeting in two lifetimes. She had known them for ten thousand years.
Her connection to them had shaped her even as she slept—memories of love and sacrifice, shared joys and sorrows lingering in her mind like half-remembered dreams.
Liria tried in vain to maintain her composure. Her siblings had waited ten thousand years for the Incarnation of the Goddess, not a sobbing mess. But her traitorous eyes refused to listen.
She'd known their hearts, their hopes, their fears. But she'd never heard Aethon's deep and resonant voice, never seen the spell runes spinning in Ilyrien's silver eyes. The gap between knowing and experiencing threatened to undo her.
Liria found herself laughing and crying disgracefully. A blush slowly spread across her face.
Some first impression I'm making.
Even her mouth betrayed her, the impulsive words coming out before she could stop them.
"I'm so glad…" she said in between hiccups. "I'm so glad I finally get to meet you all."
And there went my carefully prepared speech. Just kill me now.
Thalanor, serene and quiet as the deep forests, awkwardly ruffled her hair.
Kaerthis nervously adjusted her glasses, smiling shyly. Alchemical sigils swirled around her hand like tattoos of light.
Seralyth was the one who started the group hug, enveloping Liria in a motherly embrace while gushing: "Forgive me Goddess, but how can she be so cute!"
Her embarrassment vanished like a lie before their warm acceptance, and Liria finally allowed herself to revel in her impossible triumph.
I did it! I rewound time. I can't believe I really did it!
Those erased three hundred years had been one long nightmare. The emotions she felt through their shared connection had slowly shifted from worry to desperation, while Liria herself could do nothing. No matter how hard she tried, she could not wake up from her thousand year slumber.
One by one, as the useless Liria slept, the voices of her siblings went quiet, their last thoughts worrying for her safety.
When she finally emerged into a ruined world, Liria was alone.
Feeling them now, alive and whole and here, was almost too much to bear.
Never again.
Then it hit her, the cost of this victory.
Do I even have the right to be this happy?
She remembered her companions on the eve of the final battle. One lone voice of dissent, quickly shushed by others. Irix Vanthe's resentful glare still burned in her mind, but that was nothing compared to the burden of everyone else's unwavering faith.
They gave her all their love and devotion. She rewarded them by invalidating their courage and sacrifice. History will never remember them.
I can't believe I really did it.
Her sobs were no longer joyful.
Hours later, Liria was meditating by her flower, wrestling with indecision. Even now, her siblings were only a thought away.
Their love made her want to act spoiled. Tell them everything. Let them take care of the rest. Hadn't she already fought enough? For thirty years, from the moment she first opened her eyes, all she had ever known was war.
She ruthlessly pushed down the thought. She had to finish this with her own hands.
She owed at least that much to the comrades who lived on only in her memories.
She owed it to her siblings. Each of them was a pillar supporting the world, master of a grand order crossing boundaries between nations and races. The least Liria could do was not add to their burdens.
Even now, the memory of the party lingered. Her siblings really were more than she deserved.
"Nonsense. We waited thousands of years for this. Of course we're having a party," Seralyth had waved off her protests, looking almost affronted.
"That's non-negotiable," Vaelir had agreed, vanishing into the shadows.
He reappeared moments later, smiling like a boy. A great Cinderboreal Stag was slung over his shoulders, its fur glittering with hoarfrost, and its horns burning with an unquenchable flame.
Liria had stared with wide-eyed wonder, playing the part of an adoring little sister to the hilt. It wasn't very difficult to do. In a matter of seconds, her brother had hunted a mythical beast that was only born once every hundred years in the depths of the Cinderwhite Wilds. Somehow.
"The taste is out of this world, Liria," Vaelir had proudly boasted, launching into a long lecture. "The Cinderboreal Stag’s body constantly balances extreme cold and heat. This causes fat to crystallize and melt in micro-layers, creating natural marbling that cooks evenly and stays impossibly tender…" He paused then and sheepishly looked around.
"Anyone have cooking utensils in their inventory?"
Ilyrien, the First Mage, Architect of Spell and Law, had sighed in exasperation at that, and summoned a meteor from beyond the firmament. She stopped it just before the moment of impact, telekinetically holding it in place with casual ease.
With a gesture from Kaerthis, the First Alchemist, a vast alchemical array had shimmered into existence. A small portion of the meteor was instantly transmuted into kitchenware that were less "utensils" and more "works of art," complete with self-cleaning and temperature-regulating functions.
Then, for a brief instant, the Binder of Craft and Creation had paused, contemplating what to do with the rest of the starmetal.
"Oh, we need music!" Kaerthis had clapped her hands together, glasses gleaming with excitement. The array blazed with light, and within moments a full orchestra of golems materialized—each one articulated with such precision they could have passed for living musicians. They began to play a hauntingly beautiful melody, their movements perfectly synchronized.
Aethon had solemnly drawn his sword. His stance was steady as a mountain, fixing causality itself in place. He brought his sword down with the weight of judgement. Reality split. Physics wept. The result was derived while entirely skipping the process. One moment: a freshly killed stag. The next: perfectly plated cooking ingredients, and a neat stack of crafting material. The victor of countless battlefields critically surveyed his work, and nodded in satisfaction.
Liria tried to at least help with the cooking, but Ilyrien had shooed her away. She conceded that maybe her sister had a point. Apparently, "proper" cooking required the use of temporal stasis spells. Liria had no idea why; she still had much to learn.
Somewhere amidst this chaos, Thalanor, the First Druid, Warden of the Living World, had grown an exquisitely beautiful set of dining table and chairs directly from the bark of the World Tree.
And Seralyth, oh, Seralyth had blessed the feast with enough holy radiance to cure plague across three kingdoms. The food literally glowed with divine power. Liria was certain a single bite could resurrect the recently deceased.
All Liria had ever known was putrid conjured bread that smelled of tainted mana, and dry rations that tasted like disappointment. Her first taste of "real food" was so delicious that she wept.
Again.
She was past caring at that point. Ever since waking up in this far too gentle past, she had already cried more than she had in years. What was one more time?
At least her siblings were always understanding.
"Told you it was good," Vaelir had said, infuriatingly smug.
"Because I cooked it," Ilyrien had argued.
Watching them bicker—as if the fate of the world depended on perfect party arrangements rather than, well, the actual fate of the world—something had broken loose in Liria's chest.
She'd started laughing. And then she couldn't stop.
It was all so absurd. So wonderfully, beautifully absurd.
Her siblings had paused in their preparations, sharing concerned glances.
"Little sister?" Aethon had approached carefully. "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine," Liria had managed between giggles, wiping tears from her eyes. Happy tears this time. "I just... you're all so..."
"We're so what?" Seralyth had prompted, smiling.
"Perfect," Liria had said softly, and meant it. "You're all perfect."
The party had continued long into the evening. They'd laughed and exchanged stories like any ordinary family: Vaelir boasting about his latest romantic escapades with the Dragon Princess. Ilyrien complaining about her apprentice who keeps turning the clothes of everyone in the city pink. Kaerthis and Liria losing themselves in a long discussion over the feasibility of Imaginary Metal existing beyond spacetime, while everyone else's eyes glazed over.
Ordinary joy. Mundane topics that had nothing to do with the fate of the world.
For a few precious hours, Liria had let herself forget. Forget the burden of foreknowledge. Forget the erased timeline. Forget the people who would never exist to be remembered.
She'd just been their little sister, finally awake after so long. And they'd been her family, delighted to have her with them at last.
In the end, they were just family. A normal family.
One family among billions that she had brought back from the dead.
Back in the present, Liria snapped out of her reverie.
The smile slipped from her face.
My decision was not wrong. I may grieve, but I must not doubt. To do otherwise is to disrespect my comrades' sacrifice.
Liria would find a way to see them born again in three hundred years. Or failing that, she would at least immortalize their names.
But first, she needed closure.
I don't care if he's still weak. I don't care if he hasn't done anything irredeemable yet. The Lich King will die by my hands.
Liria closed her eyes and reached out to the World Tree.
The connection came instantly, as natural as breathing. Through her mother's vast network of roots and consciousness, she could sense the entire continent—every forest, every meadow, every living thing that touched the earth.
But she wasn't looking for life.
She searched for the opposite. For wrongness. For the cold, hungry void where life should be but wasn't.
There.
North, in the borderlands between the Silverwood and the Ashen Wastes. A spreading stain of necromantic energy, still small, still manageable. Three hundred years before it would consume the world.
Serivhal.
Even now, even this early, his presence felt like a wound in reality. The World Tree's roots recoiled from the tainted earth around him, and Liria felt an echo of her mother's ancient sorrow.
Not yet, Mother. Soon.
She opened her eyes.
From the highest branch of the World Tree, the continent of Eiravel spread out beneath her like a living tapestry. The morning sun painted the Silverwood in shades of gold and green. Beyond it, the northern mountains rose like sentinels, and past those, the grey expanse of the Wastes.
Liria stepped off the branch and dove.