The Beginning of the Final Sentence
The funeral pyre smelled of incense and betrayal. In the center of the circular temple, upon a black stone altar, lay Lyra. Her long, straight silver hair cascaded like a waterfall over her white and violet imperial gown. She remained reclined, eyes closed, in that sacred limbo where life meets ancient magic. But the moment she felt the first beat of her new heart, her eyes snapped open. There was no confusion, only a cold wonder in her purple gaze. She had returned.
Aurelios, the Sun God, stood before her. His figure was slender and athletic beneath his white and gold armor, but his hands trembled as he held Aethelgard, the Light Reaper. It was a blade of solid gold that pulsed with a rhythmic glow; a divine weapon that only those of pure lineage could wield without being reduced to ash. Its power did not merely cut through flesh—it erased the very existence of any trace of darkness.
His golden eyes were clouded by a sadness that Lyra did not understand until she felt the cold metal against her neck. He did not look her in the eye; he merely stared at the golden sword, determined to execute the sentence before she could react.
“Lyra...” his voice sounded broken. “It pains me to do this. But the council has spoken. The heavens do not want you alive.”
Aurelios pressed the sharp tip against Lyra’s throat. She stared at him fixedly with a gaze that was icy and profound. He tried to read her intentions, but he was utterly unable to decipher what she was thinking.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, a tear sliding down his jaw. “I’m sorry, Lyra... but the heavens do not want you alive.”
Blue flames erupted around the altar, ready to disintegrate her. Aurelios maintained the pressure of the blade, trembling, never suspecting that it was already too late.
Suddenly, a digital static resonated in Lyra’s head. In front of her purple eyes, a purple and gold interface materialized out of nowhere. A notification flashed in aggressive red:
[INFAMY LEVEL: 100%] [PROTOCOL: VILLAINESS ACTIVATED]
Aurelios recoiled sharply. Instinct warned him that something was wrong as he saw that red light reflected in his wife’s pupils. She said nothing at first; she only allowed her lips to curl into a wicked, triumphant smile that chilled the Sun God’s blood.
“Are you sorry?” her voice was now dark, unrecognizable. “You shouldn’t be sorry, my husband. You should be afraid.”
The blue flames froze and then exploded, turning into a fire of deep purple and absolute black: the Underworld Flames. The dark power extinguished Aethelgard’s light instantly. Aurelios was thrown back by the shockwave as the temple trembled. Through the black fire, Lyra’s silhouette emerged, majestic and terrifying.
The Villainess Protocol was activated.
